Page 63 of Crowned In Venom

It bursts out of me, bitter and sharp, curling at the edges like something feral.

Because of course he does.

Of course he wants to see me.

To see what he has done to me.

To see if I have shattered.

But I am not shattered.

Not yet.

I press my fingers to my temples, forcing the remnants of nausea back, forcing my mask to slide back into place.

The strong girl. The survivor.

I inhale, slow.

"Tell him I will come."

The girl hesitates.

Then bows, scurrying away like a frightened rabbit.

I do not move right away.

I let the silence settle over me, let the implication what I have done sink deep into my marrow.

And then, I rise.

I smooth down my dress.

I wipe the remnants of bile from my lips.

And I stare at my own reflection in the polished silver mirror across the room.

A girl looks back at me.

She does not look weak.

She does not look afraid.

She does not look like someone who has just tortured someone to save herself.

She looks like someone else entirely.

And I do not know which version of me is real anymore.

21

VARKOS

The summons comes at twilight.

Not an hour earlier. Not an hour later.

Precise. Calculated.

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