Three hundred years ago, the Earth split and the sky trembled. And then the monsters came.
The island of Lowynn is cursed. The Veil between worlds has torn, and now, monsters come with vengeance. They can only be placated by the blood of sorcerers...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The evening began with a ball and ended in bloodshed.
In the beginning, the sticky red of maraan tea was Ciara's only concern. It trickled down her arm, perilously close to the silk of her puckered sleeve.
A stream of curses bubbled from her lips, the kind that would lead to a scolding from her mother and a laugh from Lugh. Ciara patted at her arm furiously, attempting to staunch the flow of her bloodred drink. The scalding liquid left her fingers smarting.
After a minute, she was fortunate enough to have saved the dress— and a miracle, too. Mother would have murdered her had any harm befallen it. Even for the Byrne family, the gown had been expensive: silk from across the sea, emeralds ripped from the depths of the earth. Ciara mourned the tent that had been sacrificed to create the skirt, budding with crystals and wide enough to transform doorways into foes.
She had armored herself in an impractical outfit, the kind that left young ladies faint and spilling tea upon themselves. Or perhaps I am careless.
Regardless, the dress didn't help.
Once the gown was out of danger, Ciara turned to see the tea dripping off of her nearest fern. "Oh, no," she muttered, grabbing her towel again. "Shite. Damn. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry, darling."
The door swung open, and Ciara's mother appeared. Despite her elaborate golden braid and thickly powdered face, she looked weary, painted lips pinched tight. "Ciara, who are you talking to? Who is in here?"
Ciara's cheeks flushed maraan red. "No-one, mother. The... the plant."
Her mother sighed. It was the same long-suffering sound she always made when Ciara talked about the things she enjoyed—plants, poetry, dancing. "Didn't we just get the mud out of your fingernails? My goodness, darling. You can't stay neat for more than a few minutes, can you?"
"I'm sorry."
Her mother accepted the apology easily. She nestled close to her daughter to tuck a wayward curl back into place. Jewels twinkled like stars in the ink of Ciara's hair. "You do look beautiful, Ciara. He will love you."
Ciara nodded, attempting to smile. She was prettier that way. Gods, why was this so difficult? For most women, their coming-of-age balls were the highlight of their lives.
"You'll need this," her mother said, producing a sachet of sage. "For protection."
"Mother, I'm fine," Ciara began, but she was interrupted by her mother shoving the unwanted talisman into the bodice of her dress.
"Mother!"
"We cannot ever be too careful, Ciara—"
"I have one in my hem already," Ciara said. All day, she had watched the maids slip talismans into their gowns to ward off spirits and monsters. Priests had been brought to bless the ballroom, and herbs burned upon every altar. She could hardly breathe without choking on their thick scent— it had crept into every thread of her gowns. Spiced, sickening...
