The first witch…
Arabella's thoughts turned inward, her gaze distant. She couldn't quite picture the woman, was she terrifying, commanding power with the ease of a queen? Or was she fragile beneath it all, a girl thrust into darkness who wore strength like borrowed armor?
Whatever the truth, the echoes of her legacy lingered. The suffering she must have borne... Arabella could feel it like a ghost brushing her skin. She didn't fear her— rather she pitied her. Deeply.
And the demon, Dantallion— Arabella had heard his name too many times now. There was something slippery about him, something ancient and unreadable. He wasn't a servant. He wasn't a protector. He was a force, and she had no intention of being swept into his current.
Her lips tightened. Never. Even if her body broke, even if death wrapped its fingers around her throat— She would never call for him. She would not add another shadow to her life already drowning in gray.
