Sin
The scars on her face and body were a constant reminder of the torment she endured at the hands of her malefic stepmother, Vivienne.
Each scar told a story of pain, cruelty, and a life filled with darkness.
They had become a barrier between her and the world, isolating her from the possibility of a better future.
Yet, as she gazed at the castle in the distance, taking a painful bite out of an apple, she couldn’t help but feel the spark of hope ignite within her. If only she had a chance to rewrite her life, her destiny, and reclaim her true identity.
One of a witch.
Half witch, half fae.
In a house filled with fae, she was the only witch. A product of her tool of a father sleeping around on his expeditions. She was certain she had more half-siblings around the continent, but only she was kept. Not for any familial feelings or because she was special, but because of her blood.
The blood of a witch could provide magical power to create spells to profit from. Always the entrepreneurs, her family.
When her step-sisters would eventually be married off, it would only be allowed for a cost, since they viewed everyone and everything around them as property and profit.
Not that they minded, Sin assumed. Anything to please their mother, who had a knack for cruelty that would make interrogators blush.
Each scar on Sin’s body was for her blood.
Only her blood could create the powerful, more expensive spells.
So expensive that they lost track of the accumulation.
Because of it, Sin could easily stash coin within her mattress.
Not that she could ever spend it, because the only time she could ever leave the house was when they sent her into the woods to forage, since a witch could always sense the power emanating from each plant like it had a beating heart.
Their magic practically whispered to each other in the middle of the night when she’d escape the manor, seeking the witch Magnolia, who’d been secretly mentoring her for decades.
“Wrong,” she’d corrected for what felt like the hundredth time, her tone stern but laced with an undercurrent of worry as her words from last night echoed in Sin’s mind. “If Vivienne kills you for this, don’t you think it should be worth something?”
Sin swallowed, glancing down at the incomplete rune magically tattooed on her wrist—marks that only she, Magnolia, and perhaps other witches could see.
The first mark had appeared when she was a child, paralyzed by Vivienne’s spell as Sin watched her mother die. Every decade of torment throughout her years of enslavement had etched a new mark onto her skin, and a new line of script in an ancient witch language, Vhaevari.
Tempestum, Magnolia had called it—a form of Wrath Magic that thrived on pain and rage, historically wielded by the most infamous villains now dead. That magic seemed to pulse beneath Sin’s skin, feeding on the negative energy she bottled inside.
The fall air carried a biting chill that made her shiver, and then flinch in pain from the sudden movement.
Sin had barely made it up to the top of the apple tree after her beating from Vivienne, but she would die before letting her stop her from doing things she loved. From dreaming of a future she yearned for.
At this rate, Vivienne may cut her losses and kill Sin anyway before her tempest magic can break free. Sin yearned for that future as well, but also feared it.
Tempest magic was known in history to consume the wielder’s soul and make them do heinous things. Only one other known to have it still lived today. Jafar. And that monster was on the other side of the realm. Soon enough, she thought, she would end up becoming the monster on this side.
Blood oozed from her wounds, soaking into her tunic from the violent jerk of pain.
The pain caused Sin’s mind to drift to the relentless control Vivienne held over her life. The memory of her mother’s death blazed in her mind as vividly as the day it happened, casting a shadow that refused to recede with the sun.
Her father had been little more than a bored bystander as Vivienne glamoured herself as him in her glass stilettos.
Promises of atonement for abandoning them so Sin’s mother would invite her into their house, cook a meal with her, smiling with the face of her former lover she did not know was a monster.
The poison worked its way into their food, but because Sin was half-fae, it only paralyzed her, forcing her to watch her mother die.
Rather than simply cut off Sin’s head, or whatever her name was from before that she couldn’t remember, Vivienne decided to keep her for entertainment, and a blood bag of money that would ensure her wealth for as long as she lived.
Sin knew that her birth was merely the product of an affair that made her survival more of a cruel joke than a mercy.
“Witches must look out for each other,” Magnolia’s words from last night echoed once again in Sin’s mind.
Her voice was low and urgent as Sin turned back towards the manor.
Premonition skittered its way across her bones at her words.
“You’ll need everything I’ve taught you when you get out of here.
” Because the rune was nearly complete. Perhaps another few years or so, Sin assumed.
Her jaw tightened. The fae’s cruelty had woven itself into the very fabric of society, making her wonder how long they’d held their iron grip over the lands.
The thought deepened her resolve to remember every one of Magnolia’s lessons, to silently practice her Vhaevari every day, not just to decipher the script across her flesh.
Because no matter what lay ahead, Magnolia promised Sin would have a future, one she would fight to seize, no matter how many more beatings she would take.
The rage within her coiled tighter each day, an ever-present serpent that hissed at the edges of her control.
Sin’s nails bit into her palms until the skin broke, the self-inflicted pain a focus away from the rest, grounding her against the tempest threatening to erupt at that moment.
If she ever let it out—truly unleashed it—she feared she wouldn’t recognize herself in the aftermath.
Sin’s heart had slammed against her ribs when she’d made it to her room in the early hours of the dawn, the echo of footsteps in the corridor like a war drum pounding through the suffocating silence.
When her bedroom door burst open, and Vivienne stormed inside, eyes locked immediately onto the romance book accidentally left out on the makeshift bedside table…
“What is this?” Vivienne’s voice cut through the tension like a whip.
Sin had read hundreds of novels like that, slowly teaching herself to read, among other things. For Vivienne to catch her now…
Before Sin could react, or lie, her wrists were yanked above her head, bound by the hook in the corner of the room.
The iron cuffs bit into her skin, their chill searing into her flesh.
Vivienne’s gaze pinned her still, satisfaction curving her lips as she circled Sin like she were staring at a meal.
“You never learn.”
Sin focused on the oldest bloodstain in the room, the deep maroon decades old, like an ancient witness to her countless punishments since.
Her rage bubbled beneath her skin, daring her to release it as if she could with will alone, but she clenched her teeth as if that alone would force it down. Not yet.
The wounds on Sin’s back burned as she decided it was time to climb back down the tree and return before Vivienne found her.
Maurice, another servant in the manor, found Sin as she stumbled her way through a back door, panting and sweating. He had long, wavy, white hair to match his elderly fae age, however many hundreds or thousands of years Sin assumed, though he would never tell her.
“Stars, child. This is a disaster,” he fussed as he unbuttoned the back of her dress to get a look at the wounds. For the next rushed ten minutes, he did his best to clean them up and apply bandages that soaked within seconds. It was all that could be done before she would have to serve lunch.
“Let me go in your stead,” he urged for the hundredth time.
“No,” Sin said firmly. “She will not win today.”
And that was that.
Her back burned as she served lunch, each step sending a wave of pain up her spine.
Her hands trembled when she set a tray down, but she stilled them before anyone could notice.
The new mark on the rune throbbed, reminding her of the beating, but more so that the rune looked complete, terrifying her more than any lashing could.
Her father’s eyes flicked up, twisting with distaste before looking away. Belladone and Ricina, her two half-sisters, chattered about the upcoming ball hosted by the eldest prince of Asera, their voices shrill with excitement.
“Mother, can we please go?” Belladonne pleaded with the person she knew held the real control. “It’s going to be so much fun!”
Vivienne’s expression hardened. “No. No male will marry you if you keep attending those disgraceful parties. You’re coming with us to your aunt’s.”
Their groans of frustration grated on Sin’s nerves, but she kept her eyes on the floor, fearful of them catching the rebellious glint in her eyes.
“And Sin?” Vivienne’s voice startled her. “You’ll stay here and make sure the house is spotless for our return in two days’ time.”
Sin nodded, keeping her face expressionless. Inside, her mind spun with an impossibly daring idea.
As Belladonne and Ricina pouted like children, Sin’s pulse raced. The thrill of forming a dangerous and likely fatal plan mingled with the sharp edge of fear. She could already feel the weight of Vivienne’s enchanted stilettos in her hands once she’d taken them.
If they would be away, she could go to the ball. Her hidden savings might be enough to convince Magnolia to glamour her scars for just one night, and those stilettos might be powerful enough for the glamour to last until sunrise.
The thought of such freedom, however fleeting…
It made her pulse race and chest tighten with anticipation.
Magnolia had always insisted that witches protect one another, and despite the risks, Sin believed the older witch would not deny her this small rebellion—a chance to glimpse freedom, however short-lived.
She’d steal the shoes and ask Magnolia to use them for the glamour spell, but like Vivienne had done to her mother. A kind of revenge that would have Vivienne spitting like a cat with outrage. The image made the corners of Sin’s mouth threaten to lift.
Doing this would be risky. If Vivienne noticed they were gone, the punishment would be severe, possibly death. But without them, the glamour might falter, and her secret would unravel. One night. Just one night to feel life in her blood.
With great effort, she stifled the spark of hope threatening to bloom on her face as she stood in the corner of the dining room, counting the minutes until they left.