LOGAN'S POV.
The guards carried me from the council chamber to my quarters. My body still felt drained from what had just happened in the meeting, but my mind refused to rest. When they opened the door, I saw the color of my room that I had chosen. I never choose the color for fun but because of one of the dangerous reasons it represents 'danger.'
The entire room was painted in shades of red…the walls, the drapes, even the sheets on my bed. My cursed hands moved inside the gloves as if mocking me. Every breath I took felt heavy. Why me? That question had haunted me since I was a boy.
I sat at the edge of the bed, pulling my gloves tighter. My chest was so filled with frustration and the memories I had tried to bury came rushing back, slamming into me with the weight of guilt.
I was twelve the day it happened, in fact the curse I carried had happened a week before I had caused another accident. My parents had warned me never to leave my chamber.
