A/N: It has been, what, more than a decade since I last posted? And this, dear friends, is a risk (firstly, because I have a terrible habit of not finishing my stories and secondly, I'm a coward). I didn't want to post this story but it has been gathering dust in my notes app and as I sit here, in this coffee shop, editing this author's note, I humbly ask you to be nice. Be forgiving. This experience now feels foreign to me but here I am.

Without further adieu. Here is the first chapter.

Chapter 1: Bound by Verdant Traitors

My name is Cyrene Eirlys, daughter of Vincent and Eirwen Winterfrost, and I want vengeance.

The words echoed in my mind like a mantra, a lifeline tethering me to my purpose. Vengeance was the ember that burned within me, refusing to be extinguished even in the face of despair.

I was bound, immobilized by heavy iron shackles that bit into my wrists and ankles with every slight movement. A coarse gag silenced my voice, its fabric soaked with the metallic tang of blood from where it had rubbed my lips raw. A blindfold, tightly knotted, plunged me into darkness, robbing me of even the smallest comfort of sight.

I had to convince myself, over and over again, that this was not how I was going to die. Each breath, each faint shudder of my body, was a testament to that resolve. Yet, despite my determination, tears burned hot trails down my cheeks, betraying me.

The anger swelled as I heard them—their laughter echoing in the cold, damp chamber. Their voices were tinged with delight—a sick, twisted pleasure drawn from my suffering. They reveled in the sight of pain, in the power they wielded over the helpless. My cries, muffled by the gag, seemed to feed their sadistic joy.

I hated them for it. I hated myself more for letting them see my weakness.

But hatred was good. Hatred was fuel. It fanned the flames of vengeance within me, sharper and hotter than the tears I shed.

I forced my breathing to slow, steadied my trembling body against the cold stone beneath me. Each rattle of the chains as I shifted reminded me of my captivity, but also of the strength I still had.

This will not be my end.

For the moment, I was alone. The rare silence gave me space to recollect my thoughts, though they spiraled around one singular, all-consuming purpose: I wanted them dead. Every last one of them—my so-called blood relatives.

My parents' faces flickered through my mind. Vincent Evergreen, strong and steadfast, always with a firm but kind word. Eirwen Winterfrost, whose laughter was a melody I would never hear again. They had been taken from me—ripped away in a storm of cruelty and chaos.

Even now, the image of their lifeless bodies haunted me. My father's hand, once so strong, lay slack against the blood-soaked rug of their bedroom. My mother's eyes, always bright with love and warmth, stared vacantly at the ceiling. They were there one moment, vibrant and alive, and then… gone.

I could still hear my desperate cries, calling out their names, begging them to wake up. The memory of my wails echoed in my ears, raw and heart-wrenching. That was the moment I became an orphan—a moment that changed everything.

In the hollow ache of their absence, one truth burned like a brand in my mind: my relatives had killed them. I didn't need proof to know it. I could feel it in the way they had circled us like vultures after my grandfather's passing, in their whispered conversations and resentful glances.

Grandfather had named my father the sole heir of his estate, and I knew it was that decision that sparked their greed and jealousy. They had plotted in the shadows, their envy festering into murder.

Their actions had shattered my family, but they had also made one fatal mistake: they left me alive.

They thought I was a child, powerless and broken. They thought they could control me, silence me, erase me as they had erased my parents.

They were wrong.

I might have been gagged and blindfolded, bound and beaten, but I was not broken. Not yet. Vengeance was the iron in my blood, the fire in my veins. It would keep me alive, keep me fighting, until the day I would make them pay for every drop of blood, every scream, every tear.

I swallowed my sobs, choking them down along with my fear. Weakness would not serve me here. Instead, I focused on the darkness behind my blindfold, imagining it as the void into which my enemies would fall, one by one.

And when their eyes weren't on me, when I was no longer their entertainment, I allowed myself to feel. To grieve.

The tears came unbidden, streaming down my face in a quiet, cathartic release. In these moments, I believed it was the only way I could cling to sanity. After all, who wouldn't weep? My parents—my whole world—had been taken from me not so long ago.

They thought they had broken me. They thought they had won.

They were wrong.

I was no longer the naive girl who begged for mercy. I was something far more dangerous—a storm building, silent and patient.

Their greed had undone my family. But I would be their undoing.

A/N: That wasn't too hard. I made it out with barely even a scratch. A few chapters have already been finished (mostly because they've been drafted for years) but I have to work out the timeline as I tend to skip writing boring parts and just jump to the good parts.

Let me know what you think!