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“I must get my soul back from you; I am killing my flesh without it.” —Sylvia Plath
“Our greatest glory is not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall.” —Oliver Goldsmith
I was their Ignis, and I was failing them. We were damned men.
“Good does not balance evil in the realms; devil kings do.”
Women crumpled in violent situations. They needed constant attention and pampering or they’d refuse to function. They were useless for anything but child-rearing, which happened infrequently for devils. Most of the time they just lazed about.
😒😒😒
Bond sickness occurred if a Revered was exposed to unimaginable pain. When an Ignis and Protectors failed their mate, the bond became corrupted to ensure this wrong never happened again. We’d learned you didn’t need a full soul bond to experience sickness.
How dare he take what was ours? The three of us got to our feet as the screams in the hall increased. He threatens Arabella. Must protect her. Must get her back. Must keep her close. She’s ours, nobody else’s.
My shoulders ached from carrying the weight of being the coolest person at the academy.
Great, I was being chased by a specter of the man I’d murdered. Normal girly things.
How dare she want to remove the tattoo? She should be honored to be bound to us.
“The only thing I’m doing right now is trying to find a scrap of will to live.” Her dark-blue eyes stared at the wall. “And I’m not finding it.”
“Stop fondling me like a freak. And if you think I’ll act like your slave, then you need to be lobotomized. Actually—” She paused like she was thinking. “I recommend just preemptively euthanizing yourself. Your personality is messy, and I don’t see it improving.”
Arabella was ice, while I burned alive.
“It will happen again if you try to hurt me.” The words lingered like smoke. “We will all die,” she whispered. “I promise.”
She’ll beg me on her knees while she sobs. I was going to ruin Arabella. Until she felt how I felt. Broken. Uncontrolled. Every. Single. Day.
All my walls had fallen. There was nothing left but rage.
“I hope,” I said quietly, “that you die painfully and get shanked up the ass.”
I’d also established a little routine. I stared at the stain on the floor, wallowed in silence, stared at the ceiling, dragged my nails across the wall like a rabid animal trying to escape a cage, pretended to be in a coma, stared at the clean sheets on Horace’s bed (RIP), hyperventilated, then danced to the music. Repeat. Structure was good.
I broke my neck and died. The end. Story over. I wish.
Except, maybe judgment because she’d lit me on fire every night for years? At least she’d been consistent. It was hard to find people with discipline these days.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and prayed for a different life, new friends, and a scrap of mental health.
“I’m your best friend,” he said, as his dark eyes glinted with an intense emotion. “You’re still the person I’ve trained and fought beside for months. Still the person I sat next to at meals. Still the weirdo who refuses to eat meat and chokes people in their sleep.” He stared at my mouth. “Never doubt that we’re best friends.”
It was like bashing my head against a brick wall. You couldn’t reason with narcissistic, Machiavellian psychopaths.
If I had any self-esteem, it would have been crushed. Good thing I had none.
Sometimes a girl was just too tired to murder. My creative killing juices weren’t flowing.
“You know it’s your turn to choose if we kill someone. You can’t just expect me to always decide. That’s rude.”
Men thought they were so big and scary, but a gossiping woman was evil incarnate. They knew how to eviscerate a person with a few words. I aspired to be like them.
the only man I’d ever call Daddy was my fictional lover who’d raze the realms for me—stared
“You don’t get to choose not to compete,” Lothaire said with finality. “The gods personally handpicked the legions, and you were named a part of this one. You’re already a member. There’s no choice to be made. Your fate has been decided.”
Some relationships require a lot of patience and forgiveness. Sadly, I’m not a good person and I don’t care.
The last sliver of a child’s hope that her father would shield her from harm turned to ashes. Died. And there was nothing left.
“The games douse legions in kerosene, And set their relationships on fire; The loyal few emerge stronger, Most die on the pyre.” —Lyla the Witch
“War is coming.” Ice washed down my spine.
Respectfully, we were hilarious.
Pissing off Malum was quickly becoming a hobby. There was something about upsetting a bully with control issues that made me infinitely happy.
Unattractive men were kind of hot. I’d fuck them.
Smiling men always creeped me out.
If I wasn’t a raging heterosexual, we’d totally make love.
I wasn’t born to be a trailblazer. I was born to kill men and suffer.
“We bleed for the gods!” Everyone chanted back, “And we will kill for the glory!”
I only had to survive four competitions. Then an intergalactic war. Wonderful.
“How does it feel to have chosen a misogynistic, ugly fucktard without a single functioning brain cell to be your captain?”
Mentally, I was a slut. Physically, I was terrified of intimacy. Spiritually, I didn’t like men.
I might act stupid, but I wasn’t dumb.
You couldn’t be a bystander and still play the sweet hero. It didn’t work that way.
It was time to stop being self-aware, whatever I did was none of my business.
“She’s a business woman. I respect the hustle.” “No. It’s extortion.” Sadie rubbed at her forehead. “Exactly. She’s going to do great things.”
“Tell them I’m single,” Sadie’s sister, Lucinda, yelled in the background. Jax growled. “You’re not allowed to date until you’re three hundred and fifty years old.” Cobra scoffed. “You’re not allowed to date until you’re dead. You can date in the afterlife.”
Drugs made everything better. All was well. Yes, I was delusional. Next question.
“You’re doing amazing, Princess, just about five hundred more little stabby stabs.”
