Page 4 of Shadebound
The only one who ever truly saw me was dead. But I was far too old, far too sharp-edged, to sit there whispering for a ghost to hold me.
Instead, I tightened my grip on the leather case and turned. My boots struck the floor—thick-soled, scuffed leather echoing softly through the lounge. I walked away instead of speaking. Instead of offering comfort or niceties—those flimsy, ornamental words people used to soothe the fragile.
I walked away without another word to the man who’d raised me for twenty-three years because it was easier than asking the truth.
Do you think I’m evil, Daddy?
Field Journal, Entry #006 — Classified
It didn’t feel like being taken. There was no struggle. No choice. Just a small shift, like blinking and waking up somewhere wrong. The kind of wrong that hums under your skin and makes your bones itch.
My bones won’t stop itching.
Chapter Two, Twin Flames Snuffed Out
As snow flurried, I stepped into the garden beyond my living room. The hinges gave a soft creak before thetall iron-framed doorsclicked shut behind me. Taking away the last bit of warmth from my home.
Silver moonlight cast dark shadows across the flagstones, illuminating my family’s woodland estate. Bleeding hearts and nightshade lined the paths, their petals trembling slightly in the breeze. Multi-coloured raspberry bushes ripe with fruit climbed up the wall to my left. All of it magicked with my mother’s care, to ensure they never died. Overgrown hedgerows, trimmed with precision, framed the garden path that wound ahead.
With a firm jaw, I snatched a handful of blue raspberries; ones designed to kill with a single bite. Just in case. Then I followed the path into the dark forest.I did not look back. At mystone castle home. My uncertain father, missing mother, or my brother, who I couldn’t even think about saying goodbye to.
I simply moved towards the only thing I cared about tonight, my hand rubbing my necklace and wondering what horrid colour it would turn next. Yellow was my least favourite. It meant love.
And love was a treacherous thing.
As I ventured deeper, gnarled roots broke through the earth, forcing my steps to slow. The trees above were bare, their thin limbs clicking softly in the storm. An owl hooted once, its call swallowed quickly by the thickening quiet. Unnatural fog crept across the ground, gathering in shallow dips and skimming over frozen leaves.
It was all delightfully macabre for the start of my escape. Not that it was much of an escape.
The Draconis family graveyard lay just beyond the final hedge, hidden in the quiet fold of the estate. The trees there thinned more, pale and stripped of bark. Moonlight cast them in silver and blue. One of the few times I found colour almost appealing.
If I were truly running, I wouldn’t have stopped—not to admire colours or take in the night. But I also knew without question that I could never have left without saying goodbye.
Not toher.
To the reason I became the monster that all shadebound were supposedly born to become.
The mausoleums were crumbling; their white stones streaked with time. They’d stood flawlessly in Mortavia for centuries. But started breaking down when my mother had magicked them here.
The wrought-iron gates were hung askew, surrendered to rust. I liked it here—the stillness, the slow unravelling of what once was. There was a quiet dignity in the decay, a kind of truththat didn’t need polishing. No one lied here. Nothing pretended to be whole. Everything was exactly as it was—fading, forgotten, and at peace.
Most people feared places like this. Flinched at the idea of death. But I had always found comfort in it. The air was colder, yes, but alsoclearer. It let me breathe.
Sometimes, when I stopped pretending to be dead myself, I enjoyed breathing.
I knew the grave I needed—tucked in the furthest corner, half-swallowed by ivy and sorrow. Its headstone slouched beneath its own weight, a jagged crack splitting it down the centre from a lightning storm that had hit it. The inscription had faded, but I didn’t need to read it to know what it said.
Here lies one who bloomed in spring’s embrace.
A wildflower kissed by sun and storm.
Twin flames severed, yet never broken.
Forever bound beyond this mortal form.
My knees met the snow-laced earth. The bitter sting was a welcome feeling as I reached out, fingertips brushing the stone, and the mountain of pink flowers spelled never to wither. And the pile of black roses with the heads cut off, that made me smile in the worst sorts of ways. But even the warm presence of the gift left for me by a stranger could not stop the chill that seeped into my bones. I just held fast.
Relying on my enjoyment of the cold instead, my breath caught. My magic stirred. And for a moment, I let the grief wash over me.
