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by
Sarah Hawley
Read between
September 8 - October 2, 2025
There were few things as appealing as a woman who was comfortable in her power.
“I know you don’t believe me,” Cynthia said, “but I’ve only ever wanted the best for you.” The worst part was, Calladia knew her mother was being, for once, entirely sincere. There was just one problem. “Your idea of what’s best and mine don’t match, Mom.” Calladia’s voice sounded as tired as her mother looked. “I just wish you could understand that.”
He gasped. “Your hostility wounds me.” Calladia bit her lip, fighting the urge to laugh. “Good. You could use some wounding.” “Is brain damage not enough for you?” “You’re still speaking, so clearly not.”
Calladia wasn’t a prize to be won—she was an equal competitor in this battle of wills and wants, and the only way to woo a woman like that was to leave her wanting until she got impatient and seized the prize herself.
Being in nature made her feel small, but in a good way. Maybe that was part of being human. In the long stretch of time, she was just a blip. And when you were a blip, you didn’t have to worry about the weight of eons. You could live as loudly as you wanted in the space allotted to you.
She smiled despite herself. “A gentleman wouldn’t pry.” His long lashes swept his cheekbones as he smiled at her. “Good thing I’m a villain, then.”
“Being strong doesn’t mean winning every battle. Sometimes it means surviving to fight again.” Her vision blurred with fresh tears. “Wow,” she said with a watery laugh. “That’s deep. Have you thought about writing advice columns?”
Moloch’s influence relies on fear and oppression. This?” He held her hand to his chest. “This is hope.”

