Page 138 of Rage

"What the hell is going on in here?"

"I told you, mother. I've tried telling you millions of times, yet you didn't listen!” Reverie's face is red with anger, hot tingly tears streaming down her face. "The last time he did it to me, I nearly cut his throat. He then turned to Seraphine. When I found out he was beating my little sister and came to you, you did nothing to stop it then, either! So I swore the next time he did it, I'd kill him where he stands."

“He knows not what he does! He’s sick with madness!” The queen defends him.

“Ah!” Reverie screams, her voice firm, defiant, as she runs towards her mother with the sword.

The king raises his hands, muttering an incantation, and in an instant, all three women are enveloped in swirling magick.

"You vile creature," he spits at Reverie, holding his bony hands up, magick sizzling between his fingertips like a neon web. "You’ll live as a beast!" the king roars. "A monster, unlovable and forgotten by all!"

Seraphine screams, running for her sister, but as she stumbles into the vortex of magick, her face goes blank, as does the face of the queen.

Reverie's body morphs into the being she is today, her skin coalescing into fur, her teeth into fangs, and the long black talons growing out from her fingers and toes.

Seraphine's body shrinks and morphs into a black raven with silver-tipped wings. The raven caws loudly before fleeing the room.

The queen's face falls as she forgets everyone in the room before her.

A puff of smoke blots out the light, and with it, the king evaporates.

At the edge of the village, Hecate Manor erects itself out of the anger and rage wrung from the royals’ wrongs, Reverie’s emotions and despair painting everything in black and decay.

The vision shifts to the queen in her chambers, staring at a locket containing a miniature portrait of two young girls—Reverie and Seraphine. Tears stream down her face as she clutches the locket, muttering, "I had daughters, didn't I?" She falls deeper into despair with each passing day, unable to reconcile her fleeting memories. Her sadness weeps out into the village and forest, siphoning all the good, happiness, and health and plunging it into starvation and sadness.

The mirror fades, leaving Steele and Reverie in silence. Her beastly shoulders slump as though the weight of the memory is shattering her.

Silence reigns long enough to become uncomfortable, yet the weight of the realization crushes the awkward silence.

"That's why," Reverie says hoarsely, finally meeting his eyes. "That's why I wanted to forget. That's why I forgot."

The look on her face is a mixture of raw pain and echoing rage, fresh new agony seeping into her features.

Steele steps closer, his instinct to comfort warring with his disbelief. "But you remember. You're still here."

"I don't know if I'd call this living," she snaps bitterly, gesturing to herself. "I've been trapped in this form, this forest, for years. No one can save me. Not even you, Steele."

"Maybe," Steele says quietly, his jaw tight. "But maybe I can remind you of what it means to fight for your own story again."

Chapter Eleven

Reverie

Ilet the power of his words seep into me, soothing the anger in my bones and accepting that I am and always have been part beast.

Maybe it’s because of the trauma from my past, but it doesn’t define me. It will forever be a part of me, but it’s how I choose to wear the scars that matters. Yes, I am broken and shattered, but who’s to say that trauma should map out the rest of my life?

I can live in harmony with the beast within me, for within the beast, there is beauty.

There’s a resplendence within the broken.

An exquisite gold molding within the cracks of my past.

The manor shudders violently as the truth of my existence settles within my bones.

A low growl escapes my throat, sensing something ancient and familiar.

“He’s here,” I mutter, my claws extending. I pick my dress up from the floor and swoop it on, the seams magickally mending.

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