I passed out last night, but as soon as I woke up this morning, I tried to read what he wrote all over my body, the ink trailing like a madman’s map. But the words were jumbled, smudged and warped, almost disjointed. Like his thoughts poured straight from his brain through the pen without ever stopping to make sense and it was just raw impulse.
But one thing stood out. One thing that hit harder than the rest.
He didn’t write over my scars.
Every mark I’ve got, every wound that healed ugly—he dodged them. And I don’t know how to feel about it. Was it respect? Or was it disgust? Was he repulsed? Is that why he wouldn’t kiss me or take it further? Is that why, after everything, he finally let me go?
I try to shake the intrusive thoughts again as I sit on the dusty floor, telling myself that I need to get out of my own head and it’s not that important, but it suddenly is. It’s all I can think about.
I reach down to untie the black ballet shoes that I’ve worn all morning, trying to mold my feet to their shape and get used to the pain, the pressure and the balance. I wince as I unravel them, the pain evident of what the barbed wire did to my flesh last night.
Blush said it’ll take time, and it won’t be easy. But I want to learn. Not just for myself, but for this place and stupidly... for Madame. Even if she never says it, I want to be something she’s proud of. Or at least something she can use, for now.
“Hey, Blush,” I call out and she instantly turns to look down at me. “Do you drive?”
She shakes her head once, and I sigh in defeat, glancing away.
“Why? You need to be somewhere?” she asks, her curiosity kicking in.
“I just wanted to collect my stuff from a place in the city.”
She nods slowly, eyeing me with that knowing look before a sly smile spreads across her face.
“Well, maybe you can ask Wrath.”
The thoughthadcrossed my mind this morning when I realized I still needed a ride to get to my lockup. But the longer I sat with it, the clearer it became that Wrath is a last resort. I can’t have him digging into my past. I don’t need or want that. I don’t needhimplaying the dark knight in shining armour.
I’m my own fucking knight. And I plan to handle this on my own.
Sure, it would be easier to let him deal with it—I know he could turn them all inside out without breaking a sweat. But where’s the satisfaction in that? I wantrevenge. Cold-blooded, drawn-out and personal.
The kind that doesn’t just end something... itetchessomething new into you and stains your fucking skin proudly for a life time. I want it brutal, loud and unforgiving. Something so raw it shakes this rage right out of me. Only then will it feel real. Only then will it feelmine.
But I know I need to tread carefully, especially with Zye. I don’t underestimate him. He’s always on edge, always alert. But I also know he’s got enemies lurking around every corner. If he thinks I’m still dead, which is likely, since he would’ve gone to hell and back to drag me back by his side, then I’ll pick them off, one by one. Let their minds dismantle, leave them drowning in confusion and panic.
I pull on my boots, tightening the laces like I’m bracing for something, because I am. No more stalling. After a brief nod to Blush, I make my way to Madame’s chamber, hoping to see her.
As soon as I slip past the curtain, I step inside, but the room is empty. She’s not here. I let out a sigh, already turning to leave when something stops me. That same pendant from before, sitting on the cabinet, glowing red beneath the flicker of candlelight like it’s breathing.
I move toward it, draw in its pull like a moth to an open flame. When I’m standing over it, I reach out, fingers hovering. The air warps and my vision edges into a blur. Then the whispers start. Soft, female and incomprehensible. But they’re getting louder and closer. Like something’s waking up.
“Can I help you, Aurelia?” Madame’s voice comes from my right, smooth and sudden, and I flinch, my head snapping toward her like I’ve been caught doing something I shouldn't.
“Oh, I…” The words fall apart on my tongue as my eyes drift back to the pendant.
Madame glides around her desk, all quiet power and silk, and I watch her from the corner of my eye until she stops beside me. She lifts the pendant with gentle fingers, and my gaze follows it like it’s holding my breath hostage.
“You’re drawn to this?” she asks.
“I guess it’s just… pretty.”
“It belonged to a young woman who worked here once,” Madame says, her voice distant now, almost nostalgic.
I lift my head, drawn to the shift in her tone.
“She founded Oddity. A long time ago.”
My brows arch, caught off guard and I turn to fully face her.