It will end us again, I thought.

A hand shot out, and I flinched, only to realize it was Miha. She turned the knob for me, and once the door was open, I bolted.

“My queen!” she called after me, but I did not stop, having no issue getting through the second door.

I was only halfway down the hall when Adrian called my name.

“Isolde!” His boots thudded against the floor in pursuit. “Isolde!”

He caught up with me and yanked my arm, forcing me to face him.

I slapped him, hard.

“How dare you,” I seethed.

“What would you have me do?” he hissed furiously. He held my shoulders, bending over me. “Did you not see what was happening in that room?”

“You wax poetic about how excruciating it was to watch me burn alive. You begged to be a monster so that you could avenge me. You say you will not live another lifetime without me by your side, and yet you welcomed a witch-hunter into these halls.”

I did not even recognize my voice as I spoke, and there was a part of me that knew he had no choice, but I could not handle his reasoning in this moment.

“Will you watch me burn again?”

“You aren’t even a witch!” he yelled, his body shaking. “You have no power beyond driving me to the fucking edge of insanity.”

I tried to hit him again, but he held me too tight, so I did the only thing I could to escape him—stab him in the heart. I shoved my hands against his chest and released my blade. The second it pierced his skin, he let me go, and I watched his blood darken the fabric of his tunic.

“Fuck you,” I said.

This time when I left, he did not follow.

***

I raced upstairs and slammed my door shut. I could not contain my anger, so I let it rage. Books and candles flew, and I tore tapestries off the wall and my blankets from my bed. I threw jewelry and ripped my dresses from the shelves of my armoire. I was so careless in my frenzy, I froze in horror as my carved music box fell to the floor.

“No, no, no,” I said, kneeling to pick it up. As I did, pieces of mother of pearl and wood chips were left on the ground, and the music it once played—a lullaby my mother had sung—sounded off-key and ruined.

“No,” I cried harder, hugging the box to my chest.

This had been a gift from my father, and while that relationship had withered away, this—this gave me some connection to my mother, and I had destroyed it.

I wallowed in my sadness upon the floor, clutching my music box, and did not move until I heard a faint and muffled laugh.

It was light and pretty, and it only fed my fury.

Ravena.