LUCIAN POV
The isolation became its own kind of prison.
Days bled into weeks. Mother visited when she could, bringing news of failed negotiations with the Church, of packs splitting between those who feared me and those who defended me, of Ronan threatening violence every time a priest suggested I be "examined for possession."
But mostly, I was alone.
Alone with crimson-ringed eyes that stared back from mirrors. Alone with power that hummed beneath my skin, constantly seeking outlet. Alone with the knowledge that I'd chosen transcendence but the world still treated me like abomination.
I started writing on the third week.
Not letters anyone living would read. Not messages meant for Mother or Ronan or the warriors who flinched when I passed. These were different. Desperate. Written in the dead of night when even the guards outside my door had dozed off.
Letters to the ancestors I'd never met.
To Kieran Varrow, who'd bargained with void-dwellers and started this corruption.
