CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
42
Morwenna
The air hitched in my chest with a ragged inhale. One, two, three... I counted silently as I released the breath, but a leaden weight still clung to my lungs. It’s just a knock, Morwenna, I muttered under my breath. There’s nothing to it. Yet, my knuckles tapped a hesitant rhythm on the familiar oak door.
Returning home after the Daniel debacle wasn’t exactly on my agenda. Mom rarely expected my presence; frankly, I didn’t make the effort often.
Back then, Daniel’s apartment had become my de facto home.
Now, staring at my childhood door after a three-year absence – yes, three excruciating years – the unfamiliarity sent shivers down my spine. Mom wouldn’t be expecting me, never did.
Doubts gnawed at the edges of my composure. What if she wouldn’t take me back? The very reason I avoided home for so long – the suffocating shield she’d erected to protect me from those wretched “curse” whispers – reared its ugly head. But honestly, what choice did I have?
Steeling myself, I swallowed hard and rapped a light, tentative knock on the door. It wasn’t a sound that would rouse the neighbors, more of a polite inquiry. No answer. I knocked again, this time a little firmer. Still nothing, but the faint sound of rushing water and a radio’s murmur drifted from within. Mom was definitely home.
Frustration simmered. I pounded on the door with renewed vigor, my voice cracking as I called out, “Mom!” When the silence stretched on, I impulsively reached for the doorknob. To my surprise, it… turned.
One thing I knew about my mom: she never left the door open.
I peeked inside the small apartment.
The space was filled with old, traditional items—wooden furniture, lace doilies, and framed black-and-white photos. It was neat as always; Mom’s cleanliness bordered on obsession.
I stepped inside, the familiar scent of lavender greeting me.
My eyes scanned the cramped space, landing on the doorway to the shared room Theresa and I once occupied. We had gone our separate ways long ago, our differences driving a wedge between us.
Spinning on my heel, a glint of gold caught my eye. A photo frame lay abandoned on the floor by the bedside table.
Reaching down, I brushed away a layer of dust, revealing a picture of a time long gone. A picture-perfect family, frozen in a tableau of forced smiles. Mom, Dad, Theresa, and me – a unit fractured beyond repair.
Mom’s marriage to a toxic man had shattered the fragile illusion of happiness. The details were a tangled mess. Love, perhaps? Seeking security after a previous heartbreak? Whatever the reason, it had backfired spectacularly.
When I was born, my appearance became the catalyst for Dad’s venomous suspicions.
My eyes, a startling violet, held no resemblance to theirs.
He’d accused Mom of infidelity, a cruel accusation even the negative blood test couldn’t erase.
“Dad’s child,” the doctors had declared, the words a hollow victory.
Neither Mom nor Dad possessed genes for such an anomaly.
His next accusation, fueled by his warped mind, was even more outlandish – witchcraft.
Constant arguments escalated into violent confrontations, culminating in the fire that ultimately drove us from his house. The flames took Mom’s sight in one eye, a permanent reminder of his cruelty.
A promise hardened in my chest, a vow etched in the fires of that night. If I ever encountered that monster, the blade in my pocket wouldn’t hesitate. A cold comfort, perhaps, but a necessary one.
Out of desperation, Mom had found protection with the Brothers of Sin, Prince Aric in particular. He’d put a stop to Dad’s relentless stalking, granting us a fragile peace.
Yet, here I stood, the picture frame in my hand a stark reminder of a past I couldn’t outrun.
The smiles in the photograph – a facade, a desperate attempt to paper over the cracks in a crumbling foundation.
Everything, it seemed, was a carefully constructed illusion.
A jolt ripped through me, tearing my gaze from the worn photograph.
“Theresa?” Mom’s voice, laced with hesitant surprise, echoed from the doorway. I pivoted slowly, the picture frame clutched in my trembling hand.
The flicker of hope in her eyes died as quickly as it arose, replaced by a profound sadness. It wasn’t Theresa she’d expected, not anymore. Not after three years of a chasm wider than any ocean dividing us. A chasm that swallowed not just Theresa, but Mom too.
“Morwenna!” Mom quickly corrected herself, her eyes fixated on the photograph cradled in my hand. A yearning flickered across her features, a hesitant desire to snatch the frame, tempered by a fear that chilled me to the bone. It was a fear of me.
It was a fear I knew all too well. The fear of the “curse” they all claimed clung to me like a second skin. Every place I ventured seemed to erupt in misfortune.
Like the time I accompanied Mom to the bustling Chimera marketplace. She was lost in the vibrant tapestry of fabrics when a swarm of tax collectors descended upon a nearby stall.
Apparently, the owner had neglected to pay her dues to the government, and her livelihood was promptly shut down. Guess who received the blame? “It’s your daughter’s curse!” the woman had shrieked, her voice laced with venom. “Other customers came and went, but when yours arrived, Alina, bad luck followed her like a shadow. This is all your fault!” Her words had burned into my memory, a searing brand of shame.
There were other incidents, too. Once, when I visited a neighbor, their beloved cat disappeared the next day. Another time, I attended a wedding, and the ceremony was disrupted by a sudden storm that no one had predicted. And then there was Daniel, who nearly got fed on by a vampire guard while trying to protect me from being captured and taken to Draven’s castle.
Bad things seemed to happen whenever I was around, and people made sure to remind me of it.
I was often banned from certain places, labeled as a bringer of misfortune.
The worst part was that Mom, the one person who was supposed to have my back, agreed with them.
She never defended me, never stood up for me against the cruel comments. And now, her distance only fueled my resentment.
She stood there, looking at me with a mix of fear and disappointment. The way she distanced herself made me despise her even more.
My hand, clutching the forgotten photo frame, trembled as I extended it towards Mom. I maintained a careful distance, the air thick with unspoken tension. “Here,” I managed, the word barely a whisper.
Mom hesitated, her expression a mask of indecision.
Slowly, she reached out and took the frame, the contact fleeting and cold.
My hand dropped limply to my side, the silence stretching between us like a chasm. I hated the silence, a constant reminder of the miles that separated us.
Taking a deep breath, I attempted to bridge the gap. “I just found it on the floor, by the bed,” I explained succinctly, wanting to avoid dredging up unnecessary details. Mom offered no response, a familiar ache settling in my chest. This dance, this desperate search for connection, always ended the same way – in deafening silence.
With a defeated sigh, I turned away, surveying the stagnant familiarity of my room. Frozen in time, untouched since my departure. The tell-tale creak of floorboards announced Mom’s retreat.
Then, my gaze snagged on the reflection in the dresser mirror. Mirrors held a sinister allure now, tainted by the horrors in Draven’s manor and the unsettling echoes within my dreams.
Nothing mirrored the turmoil inside me, except perhaps the newly shorn hair. Once a cascade of annoyance, it now grazed my shoulders. Memories flickered - Mom’s practiced braids, her insistence on “luring men” with my “ethereal eyes” and “unparalleled beauty.” Hollow compliments, relics of a bygone era.
Shaking off the past, I spoke, my voice catching in my throat. “Mom, did you...” I faltered, swallowing hard, “did you ever love me?” It was a bold question, one that hung heavy in the air. Her retreating steps faltered, then stopped.
Emboldened, I pressed on. “After everything – the insults, the relentless downgrading...did you even see me as your daughter?” My voice wavered, a tremor of vulnerability.
Mom pivoted, shame radiating from her like heat waves. Her gaze wouldn’t meet mine, a silent confession. The truth hung heavy in the air.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I know,” I said, the words laced with a steely resolve. “You never did. But I held onto the hope that you were my mother, regardless.”
“People’s opinions held no sway over me,” I continued, voice hardening. “It wasn’t in my nature to care. But your words, Mom...they cut deeper than any outsider’s whispers. The constant gossip, the judgement...I used to believe it stemmed from you.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing back the tide of emotions. “Mom!” I called, forcing them open to meet hers, the shame still clinging to her like a shroud. “Even the Brothers of Sin didn’t know. You kept me hidden, a secret. Did you hate me? Never loved me?”
A sharp retort pierced the tension. “No!” Mom exclaimed, her voice laced with desperation. “None of that is true, Morwenna. I never hated you.”
My voice, laced with a bitter edge, cut through the tense silence. “You do,” I accused, “If you didn’t hate me, you wouldn’t keep such a distance, treating me like some monstrous creature ready to pounce. Wouldn’t you be happy I’m finally home, back in this room after three damn years?” I paused, forcing myself to breathe evenly. “If you didn’t hate me... you wouldn’t have let me go, Mom.”
“Morwenna—” her voice cracked as she started to protest.
“I’m a curse to you. I know.” I interrupted, a raw vulnerability creeping into my tone. I instinctively wrapped my arms around myself, seeking comfort in the familiar press of my own skin. “I can see it now. Why you never wanted the amulet off, why you kept me caged in this world. You were terrified exploration would be my downfall, the world’s downfall. You couldn’t bear the thought of me being out of your sight, yet when I finally defied you, did you secretly wish I’d just… vanished?”
A strangled cry escaped Mom’s lips. “Don’t say that, Morwenna!”
The scream that clawed at my throat remained stubbornly trapped. All I could manage was a choked whisper, “Just… don’t lie to me, Mom.”
Tears welled in my eyes, blurring her form. Mom, sensing my turmoil, took a tentative step closer, stopping just short of an embrace. “If I remove the amulet,” I rasped, my hand reaching up to touch the cool metal, “would you still want me gone? Out of your sight… forever?”
Before I could complete the motion, Mom’s hand met mine in a soft, calming grip.
Her emerald eyes, filled with a lifetime of regret, locked onto mine.
With a gentle pressure, she enveloped my hand in both of hers, causing the picture frame she clutched to clatter to the floor.
The glass, thankfully, didn’t shatter completely, but a spiderweb crack marred the image of Dad’s fake smiling face.
Taking a shaky breath, Mom spoke, her voice thick with emotion. “I haven’t been the greatest mother, Morwenna, and I won’t deny it. I’m… so sorry.” Her words were raw and honest, that echoed in the deafening throbbing of my chest. “Sorry I wasn’t there when you needed me most. Sorry for piling impossible expectations on you. Sorry for shielding you from the world. Sorry for not defending you from the world’s cruel judgment. I’m sorry… for failing you.” Her grip tightened on my hand. “There’s so much more I want to say, to truly show you how deeply sorry I am. But if there’s even a sliver of forgiveness in your heart, I beg you, let’s start over. Let’s rebuild this family, together. I… would love nothing more.”
Mom’s emerald eyes shone with sincerity, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within me. “I won’t pressure you, Morwenna. You’re an adult now, free to choose. You can reject me now, and I’ll understand. You can hate me, even burn me down, and I wouldn’t blame you.”
“It’s hard sometimes, Mom,” I choked out, a knot of emotion tightening in my throat. “So hard...” Those three simple words carried the weight of twenty-six miserable years, a yearning finally acknowledged. “But hearing you say that...” I continued, voice thick with barely contained tears, “that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Her hands, warm and familiar, squeezed mine tighter before falling limp. We bumped heads gently, a silent apology echoing in the gesture. “I’m so happy I brought you into this world, Morwenna,” she mumbled, her voice thick with regret. “You’ve been a blessing, even if I was too blind to see it for all these years.”
A blessing.
Those words, whispered with such raw sincerity, were the balm I’d craved for so long. They eclipsed the venomous whispers of “curse” that had dogged me for years.
“I’d give anything to rewind, Morwenna,” Mum continued, her voice trembling. “I know the chasm between us might be too vast to bridge, but… all I yearn for is your forgiveness.”
My gaze flicked to the shattered picture frame, its shards like jagged teeth scattered across the floor.
Glass, reflections... they were all the same.
Every time I saw it – a glass cup, a window, anything – a harrowing memory flooded back.
The image I saw in the mirror after finding Daniel... maybe it was because Draven, being a wizard, had enchanted the manor’s mirrors.
Whatever the reason, any glass or mirror around me triggered a phobia – a horrifying aversion to my own reflection.
Victoria’s voice echoed in my mind, a chilling whisper: “Revenge. Bloody revenge.” It clung to me like a curse, refusing to be silenced.
“Mom!” I exclaimed, our foreheads still pressed together in a comforting bump.
“Yes, Morwenna?” she whispered.
“Tell me everything,” I let out. My heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs.
“Everything about what?” she asked, a hint of confusion softening her features. I hadn’t yet provided enough context.
“Remember when I was born?” I began, my voice barely above a murmur. “You said I had heterochromia, right?” Mom had always downplayed it, calling it “mismatched eyes” instead of the unsettling “eyes of the demon” some in Chimera whispered.
“Yes,” she confirmed.
“And you also said you noticed my eyes changing colors?”
She pulled back slightly, her eyes searching mine intently. “Yes, of course,” she affirmed. “But where is this leading, Morwenna?”
“To the truth,” I declared, my voice gaining strength. “The whole truth.” I gestured towards the amulet nestled against my skin. “This,” I started, her eyes following the movement, “it all began with my mismatched eyes, didn’t it? It wasn’t... natural, was it?”
A flicker of unease crossed her brow. “You’re confusing me, Morwenna,” she admitted gently.
Taking a deep breath, I stepped back, needing some space to gather my thoughts. “No, Mom, listen,” I urged. “When you first noticed my eyes, you met a witch, right? And she made this amulet...”
Mom nodded slowly, her expression contemplative. I paced the room, my mind racing to connect the dots.
“So, how did you meet the witch who forged the amulet?” I asked, halting my stride to scrutinize Mom at close range.
“Someone mentioned a witch residing in one of the Brothers of Sin’s estate,” she replied, her voice laced with a hint of trepidation. Elara’s mother, I instantly connected, remembering Elara’s prior disclosures about the estate and its connection to Prince Aric, the same prince Theresa worked for. “As luck would have it, the Prince of Lust granted me an audience in exchange for...well, for...” Mom’s voice faltered.
“For Theresa,” I finished, a knot of sadness tightening in my gut. So, this was how Theresa became entangled with the Prince of Lust – a sacrifice borne by Mom for my sake.
With a dismissive wave of her hand, Mom continued, “Yes, Theresa. Initially, the witch wouldn’t entertain my plea. However, after I offered Theresa to work for the Prince, she acquiesced. It seems the witch is also in the Prince’s employ, you see. A double whammy, so to speak.”
“Then what happened?” I pressed, pushing through the thickening tension.
“The amulet was...forged,” Mom said, her voice hushed. “And I was warned never to remove it from you.” My fingers instinctively brushed against the cool metal pendant at my throat.
The amulet pulsed with a faint, otherworldly luminescence, a mesmerizing interplay of cool sapphire and shimmering moonlight.
Crafted from a sleek, silver alloy, it resembled a stylized raven’s wing, its edges seemingly defying the laws of physics with a razor-sharp thinness.
A single, onyx teardrop, polished to an inky blackness, adorned the center, its depths swirling with a faint, mesmerizing mist.
Modern in its design yet undeniably enchanted, the amulet felt strangely warm against my skin, a constant, comforting hum thrumming beneath its surface.
My mind was a frustratingly blank canvas. Magic forgery. That was all I could conjure. The very concept felt mockingly inadequate. Perhaps the answer lay within the pages of ancient tomes in Chimera, but even then, comprehension remained elusive.
My initial goal was to unearth the identity of the traitor who betrayed Victoria, but my thoughts felt sluggish, tangled.
Normally, I excelled at connecting the dots, but this… this was different.
The connections I sought transcended the physical realm, delving into the murky depths of something far more profound – the vestiges of a betrayal that echoed through a thousand forgotten years. Dammit.
A shiver danced down my spine as the realization settled in.
Forging the amulet couldn’t have been a simple task.
The witch – my mother’s acquaintance, I presumed – must have understood the turmoil I was in back then.
And that meant they would’ve known the late Victoria. Well, of course they would. But Lady Jen had made it abundantly clear that mentioning her name was strictly forbidden. So, tracing my lineage seemed like a dead end. How could I, anyway? I wasn’t exactly blessed with magical abilities.
Tearing myself away from the frustrating puzzle, I finally faced Mom. “What happens if I remove the amulet?” Maybe, just maybe, the answer to my questions resided within the very object obscuring my mismatched eyes. After all, magic was used to forge it, right? And the answer to the source of that magic could lie… right here. All I needed was a nudge from Mom to solidify my secret plan (secret because, well, I didn’t want to drag her into this).
Mom hesitated, a furrow etching itself between her brows. “I-I don’t know,” she stammered, “they never told me much!”
Perfect. Now I had the green light for my plan. But wait... rewind. Did I just hear Mom correctly? Did she say “they”?
“They?” I echoed, trying to make sense of the plural pronoun. “Who are they, Mom?”
She swallowed hard, a flicker of unease darting across her eyes. “Actually, Morwenna,” she began, her voice barely a whisper, “it wasn’t just one witch who forged your amulet.”
This was getting even more intriguing. Elara’s mother wasn’t the sole creator?
“Then who was it? Another witch?” I pressed, curiosity gnawing at me.
Mom met my gaze, a tremor in her voice. “This… this wasn’t any witch. It was a mage.”
A mage? Hold on. A male mage? Could it be Draven… or someone else entirely? My head was spinning. The mystery surrounding the amulet, and my eyes’ heritage, had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.
A prickle of unease snaked down my spine. “Who’s the mage, Mom? Is it Lord Draven?” I blurted, the very mention of his name a tremor in my voice. After all, the man was a walking paradox – part wizard, part vampire, and a confirmed magic wielder. Witnessing his arcane displays on more than one occasion, suspicion naturally gravitated towards him.
He was, after all, the first to recognize me as Victoria’s reincarnation – or at least, that’s what it assumed. Perhaps others held the knowledge, but Draven seemed to possess the most intimate details. If he were the one who’d forged the amulet, it could explain his obsessive need to claim me.
“No,” Mom said, dispelling my suspicions like mist before the dawn. “It’s someone else entirely.”
Relief washed over me, momentarily but was replaced with something else entirely. So it wasn’t Draven. But then, the question loomed – who could it be?
“Who is this ‘someone else,’ Mom?” I pressed, my patience wearing thin. This cryptic dance was maddening.
“His name is Xulin Vimic,” she revealed, her voice laced with a hint of awe. “The Prince of Wrath, yes, but also the godmaster of time itself.”
The name struck a discordant chord within me. Xulin Vimic. Did I know him? The answer swirled in the murky depths of my mind, not my own, but a borrowed memory, an echo of a life not mine.
Images flickered, dark and fragmented, tinged with an inky blackness that threatened to consume me.
A face began to materialize – obsidian hair cascading down in a long, low braid, eyes mirroring the abyss itself. Wait. Obsidian eyes.
A jolt of recognition pierced through the haze. My own memories surfaced, coalescing into a singular truth. It was him.
He was the one who’d helped me concoct the garlic dust, the very weapon I’d wielded against the Vampire guards, before Draven ensnared me in his web. The one who’d offered his assistance, his face forever obscured by a mask.
This man, Xulin Vimic, the alleged forger of my amulet according to Mom, had been my secret benefactor. My head throbbed with the influx of information, the world around me tilting on its axis.
Memories flooded me again, but this time, they weren’t mine.
“Victoria du Saint-Clair,” a bright voice chirped, “but most folks here call me Tori! What’s your name?”
“Xul...”
“Xul, huh? No last name?”
“I don’t do last names.”
“Why?”
“It’s a shadow, a constant reminder of a past I’d rather forget.”
My head spun, the borrowed memories turning dark, suffocating.
In a dizzying instant, I found myself on my knees, the pain a foreign echo in my own body.
The sterile familiarity of my room dissolved, replaced by a breathtaking vista.
A universe of swirling stars stretched around me, an ethereal nebula mirroring the Milky Way.
In the center, a massive book hovered, its pages exuding a faint, golden light. I, too, seemed to float, weightless and free.
Panic clawed at me. Where was I? How was this possible? Was I… seeing Victoria’s past memories?
“This is the ‘Book of Styxfall,’” said a voice—Draven’s voice.
“Wow... it’s magnificent!” responded another voice—Victoria’s.
Then, a rush of darkness. A thick, suffocating fog enveloped me.
I plummeted into an abyss, a scream caught in my throat.
Then, a hand materialized out of the gloom, strong and steady.
Relief washed over me, assuming it was Draven, but as my eyes fluttered open, I saw nothing. Just an empty void.
“Morwenna! Morwenna!” My mother’s frantic voice pierced the darkness, her hand shaking my shoulder. The oppressive fog lifted instantly. Gasping, I found myself back in my room, the familiar surroundings grounding me.
My breath came in ragged bursts. It began with my own memories, then morphed, triggered by something beyond comprehension. It was like experiencing Victoria’s past firsthand, a past bathed in a strange, alien light. It wasn’t chaotic… but it wasn’t devoid of darkness either.
“Morwenna!” My mother’s voice, laced with urgency, snapped my head up. Her eyes, full of worry, held me captive. “Are you alright?” she asked, her voice soft. She knelt beside me, pulling me into a tight embrace. A wave of protectiveness washed over me as I surrendered to her warmth. For the very first time, I felt truly safe, truly held.
“I thought I lost you,” she murmured. “It was as if you weren’t even… breathing.” The concern etched on her face brought a fresh wave of confusion within me: Should I tell her? Could she ever understand the truth? Was I even ready to face it myself?
“Mom!” The word ripped from my throat, a desperate plea. She untangled herself from the embrace, her eyes searching mine. I needed to speak, the weight of the secret a suffocating mass in my chest. She had to know, for my sake, for hers. If the worst came to pass, at least she wouldn’t be left in the dark.
“Yes Morwenna,” Her voice was a soothing balm, yet it did little to ease the knot tightening in my gut.
The words clawed at the back of my throat, a prisoner held captive by an unseen force.
It felt like Victoria, that wretched spirit, was exerting her will, determined to keep my lips sealed.
A wave of frustration washed over me, the sensation of being trapped in an intangible prison.
Mom seemed to sense my struggle. Her arms enveloped me once more, her fingers stroking a calming rhythm through my hair. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmured, her voice thick with concern.
My breath hitched, a sharp gasp escaping my lips. I knew Victoria’s game. She craved secrecy, a shroud over the pain she inflicted. It was as if her chilling whispers echoed in my mind: silence is your only escape.
A surge of defiance coursed through me. Damn that ghost.
“Mom,” I managed, the word a ragged whisper. The pain in my chest tightened, threatening to explode.
Swallowing the agony that felt like it would kill me, I spat out, “Mom, I-I want to tell you something.” She still stroked my hair, and the pain in my chest turned worse, almost unbearable, but I was strong. I could do this. I had to.
In a whisper, I said, “I want to tell you everything... the truth.” My words hung heavy in the air as she finally pulled back, her gaze unwavering. The urge to confess threatened to shatter me, a torrent of emotions threatening to burst forth. But I held on. Even with Victoria’s torment gnawing at my insides, I knew she wouldn’t dare take my life outright. After all, I was the key to her twisted schemes.
“What is it, Morwenna?” Mom asked, her eyes searching mine.
“I want to... I need to tell you the truth,” I stammered, taking a deep, shuddering breath. The weight of the secret threatened to crush me, every fiber of my being yearning to confess. “Why... why I wasn’t supposed to exist. Why my birth will bring...” My vision blurred, the edges of the room dissolving into a hazy watercolor.
“Morwenna! Morwenna!” Mom called out in fear as darkness covered me.
Victoria. That cunning witch had woven a potent spell, silencing me before I could shatter its hold. But I refused to be defeated.
Be strong, Morwenna. Be strong, Morwenna Petrova, I repeated the mantra deep within me, fighting the darkness enveloping me.
I pushed on. “It will bring chaos to this world!” I gasped out the final words, straining against the veil of oblivion. Then, the bloody darkness swallowed me whole.
My dead end!
The phrase echoed in the desolate wasteland of my unconscious mind.
“Wake up, Morwenna!” Her voice became a frantic drumbeat, trying to pull me back from the abyss.
My dead end, I repeated in my mind.
I had gone to sleep now—a sleep only I or Victoria could wake me from.
Mom’s voice echoed, “Morwenna!”
Wake up!