Page 8 of A Story of Sinners

I squinted my eyes and peered into the darkness, searching for some miracle that didn’t exist. The silence was maddening, and the rightful indignation, the hope and blind optimism I’d once felt, had vanished completely.

When I was first locked away, I didn’t think it would be for long. Aiden would forgive me. He would see that his anger was unwarranted, that my betrayal had been necessary but forgivable.

As time passed, I realized that wasn’t the case. I cycled through every emotion—optimism, regret, despondency, and a white-hot rage so fierce, it would have melted the dungeon walls, if I only had my magic. Then, I grew desperate, begging and pleading for a savior that never arrived. I screamed and cried, all of it swallowed whole by the empty nothingness surrounding me.

I’d give anything in exchange for my freedom. I would do anything.

Time after time, I attempted to call out for help, but nobody listened.

I had begged for my mate, but the pleading words fell flat. Then, one day, I found myself begging, praying for my last and only chance—Malachi.

It was time to try again, to make my final attempt at survival.

“Malachi,” I shouted. “Malachi, please. Please save me.”

Silence followed my words, and hopelessness rained down on me all over again. Shame filled me for calling out for my former torturer, but the idea of him had grown more appealing with each stomach growl, each layer of thirst, each weakened muscle.

He hadn’t always been wicked. He’d once been my best friend. My brother.

I knew he heard my cries. I knew he did. Malachi had always knowneverything.

I squinted into the darkness, searching, always searching—but once again, only the endless expanse of nothingness answered. A dark laugh tore its way up my throat as I collapsed against the wall, hysterical laughter wracking my body.

I’d lost my mind.

If only I could go back in time. I would have never gotten involved with Aiden. I would have killed the women of the order before they uttered a single chant. I would have left for Faerie with Ryken, no matter how much I despised him.

Faerie was better than here.Anywherewas better than here.

How I longed for simpler times. There were so many things I could have done differently, but it was too late.

I internally screamed at my past self. She thought she was so smart, moving pieces around the board as if playing a game of chess, but never stopping to consider that actions had consequences. That maybe, she wasn’t actuallythatsmart. While her intentions had almost always been pure, the means of going about them were not.

Lying. Cheating. Murdering.

I couldn’t feel any farther away from my own actions than I did now. That old version of me was just a distant fragment of my imagination.

My fingertips trailed through the dirt floor as my regrets flashed before my eyes, and I came to one conclusion: maybe I deserved this.

I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes, letting go, unconcerned with whether the action would call for sleep or death.

Either way, it meant peace.

I would give anything for the barest amount of peace.

* * *

I breathed in the familiar sweet air that filled my dreamscape and sighed. A blindingly bright blue sky crowded with a large, yellow sun hung over my head as I walked through flaxen fields. My fingers traced the tops of the flowers as I searched high and low for that golden tree.

Aha. There it was—a tree made of gold. Golden trunk, butterfly leaves, and the perfect golden hollow to nestle against. I ran to it, collapsing against the hollow, and a slight breeze tickled my skin. I could always think clearly here, though I had no clue where here actually was.

It was an unearthly beautiful world, so unlike the dark nothingness in the dungeon. The air held a sense of comfort, peace, relaxation—a serene paradise, like the one spoken of in the temple of Cambriel, the ultimate destination for worshippers who never went astray. Despite my sins and rash actions, despite my lies, I felt as if I belonged in this land of milk and honey.

It seemed that every time I came close to death’s door, my dreams would transport me here, something that had grown more common lately.

I inhaled, allowing the sweet scent of the air to erase my woes. Then, I examined my hands, finding they were no longer caked with dirt and blood. They were clean. My clothing was clean, my hair no longer matted and tangled.

I was clean.

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