*Angelica

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  ?The shards of glass and rubble crunched under her boots as she stepped into what used to be her childhood home. Childhood? As if she'd ever had one. Her lips pressed into a thin line as memories surfaced, unbidden and unwelcome. The cursed blood she commanded coiled around her fingertips like living rings, responding to her rising anger.

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  ?The earliest memory she could grasp was distant, foggy. A living room, the sharp sting of shame, a shattered vase at her feet. A woman—her mother, though that word felt foreign now—towered over her, face contorted with rage. Then came the slap. Angelica hit the floor, pain blooming across her cheek. She didn’t cry. She had learned not to. Instead, she picked herself up, head bowed.

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  ?Wham! Another slap sent her sprawling.

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  ?A small whimper escaped before she could stop it. Fingers gripped her hair, yanking her head up so she was forced to meet her mother’s eyes—eyes filled with nothing but hatred.

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  ?"You... you're the reason I’m like this, you damn pig... you little bitch!"

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  ?Wham! Another blow, harder this time.

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  ?"You and your cursed father! I should have known better than to trust a man with blood as filthy as his! I should have known you’d be just as disgusting!"

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  ?Another slap. Her vision blurred. A metallic taste filled her mouth. One of her teeth was loose.

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  ?"M-Mama... please—"

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  ?Her mother slammed her head into the wall. The world went dark.

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  ?Now, standing in the ruined remnants of that same house, Angelica curled her fingers into a fist. Blood hardened around her knuckles, forming a jagged shell. She punched the nearest wall, her fist going clean through. Weak. She had been so weak back then.

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  ?She took another step forward, voice low and venomous. "I know you're in here, old man... Come out, and maybe I’ll make it quick."

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  ?A lie. None of them deserved mercy. The bloodless were pigs, parasites. Just like her mother.

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  ?"Freak." "Look at her..." "My mom says she has filthy blood." "Gross... look at her face. It looks like it has worms in it." "She even smells like trash."

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  ?The whispers echoed in her mind, relentless. She had grown up in the South, a land that loathed her very existence. She had once been na?ve enough to hope.

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  ?"H-Hey... c-can... can I share my art with you?" she had asked a girl once, a girl whose face she could no longer recall.

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  ?"O-Oh..." For a moment, there had been hesitation. But then another girl had wrapped an arm around her. "Don’t talk to her, Amelia. My mom says she’s not normal. She’s not stable."

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  ?Isolation. Pain. Nights spent bandaging her own wounds, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. She had begged the world for kindness, only to be met with cruelty.

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  ?BAM! A wall exploded under her fist. Her fury only grew.

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  ?"Eugh! What’s wrong with your face?!"

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  ?She could still see their expressions. The revulsion. The fear. The blank, faceless tormentors from her past. It had hurt. It had hurt so much that she could barely breathe. Every time, she swore it wouldn’t get to her. Every time, the tears still came.

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  ?"GET OUT HERE, YOU WORTHLESS PIG! FACE ME!" Her roar ripped through the empty house. A cabinet splintered as her blood-infused fist tore through it. Mocked. Scorned. Belittled. She felt nothing for the lives she had taken. She would feel nothing for the lives she was about to end.

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  ?"I... I honestly don’t even know her. Trust me. I’ve never seen this girl before."

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  ?Her mother’s voice. The words that had shattered what little remained of Angelica’s soul. The mob had come for her that day, and her mother had abandoned her without hesitation. She had begged. Screamed.

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  ?"Mama! Mama, please! I love you! Help me!"

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  ?No help came. She had woken up in a cell the next morning, still expecting to see those familiar brown eyes. Eyes that never looked at her again.

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  ?"Mama... I made cookies for you..."

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  ?She had tried. She had wanted to make things right. One last attempt at earning love.

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  ?"This?! You think I’d eat something made with cursed hands?! You disgusting pig! How dare you!"

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  ?She remembered the beating. But the physical pain had been nothing compared to what she had felt the next morning when she saw the cookies—thrown in the trash, untouched.

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  ?A table flew across the room as she sent a blast of blood at a sealed door. The wood cracked, then shattered. The scent hit her then.

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  ?Fear.

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  ?She was close.

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  ?She remembered the knife. The way they had held her down, carving their insults into her skin. The agony. The helplessness. The way the mask she now wore covered the scars, but never the memories.

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  ?Finally, she kicked aside another chair and saw the quivering form in the corner. A frail, aging woman. Brown eyes wide, mouth agape. Her mother.

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  ?Guilt and recognition hit the woman like a hammer. Her gray hair was tangled, her frame thin and weak. Trembling, she reached out with a shaking hand, her voice barely above a whisper.

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  ?"Angelica... my baby..."

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  ?Internally, Angelica wanted to unleash every ounce of rage she’d held onto for years. To make her suffer. To make her understand. But instead, she held back, her face eerily calm.

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  ?The old woman trembled, cautiously cupping Angelica’s cheek. A pathetic attempt at comfort. A lie. For a moment she let her giving her a false sense of security.

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  ?Then her eyes narrowed. In a single, fluid motion, she gripped the woman’s arm and ripped it from her shoulder effortlessly.

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  ?A strangled scream tore from her mother’s throat as she collapsed, writhing in agony. Dark red blood pooled beneath her, staining the already ruined floor. Her wide, tear-filled eyes flickered between pain, terror… and something else. Guilt.

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  ?“A-Angie… p-please…” The woman sobbed, clutching the empty space where her arm had been. “I—I’m sorry, I—”

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  ?Sorry? Angelica almost laughed. Meaningless. Worthless.

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  ?She crouched down, meeting the woman’s desperate gaze. The blood swirling around her hands twisted, molded, reshaping into something familiar. Small, round shapes.

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  ?Cookies.

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  ?“I made you cookies,” Angelica whispered, her voice laced with mock sweetness.

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  ?Her mother’s breath hitched. Realization dawned in her eyes, followed swiftly by terror.

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  ?“N-no, please—”

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  ?With a flick of Angelica’s wrist, the blood-forged shapes shot into the woman’s mouth, forcing their way down her throat. She gagged, clawing at her own neck, but it was futile.

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  ?Angelica let the moment stretch, let her feel it—then, with a thought, she set the mock cookies ablaze.

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  ?The fire ignited from within, spreading through flesh and bone. Her mother convulsed, her shrieks rising into a broken, gurgling sound before dissolving into silence.

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  ?But it wasn’t enough.

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  ?Clenching her jaw, Angelica raised her hand and fired a thin slash of blood at the charred corpse, splitting it open. Then another. And another.

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  ?Again. Again. Again.

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  ?Yet still, the rage burned.

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  ?Drenched in blood, her breathing heavy, Angelica exited the abandoned house, leaving nothing but a bloody mess behind her. One by one, piece by piece, she'd eliminate every last one of those meaningless scum that roamed this earth. Not out of revenge, not out of vengeance, but for them. For the only two people she could still bring herself to care about, even slightly.

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  ?“Micheal... Lily...” The names slipped from her lips, soft and bitter, as she pulled a ragged old picture from her pocket. They were young, foolish, sitting on a park bench. Micheal stuck his tongue out at the camera, and Lily rolled her eyes in the middle of it. Angelica’s expression softened briefly as she stared at the photo.

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  ?She had to protect them. She had to ensure they lived in a world that was better. Fair. And what better way to do that than to eliminate the source of all discord—the non-cursed. Every last one of those heathens. Even if it meant hurting the two of them along the way.

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  ?“Forgive me for what I’ll do.” She mumbled the words to herself, her mind made up. She would clear the obstacles from her path—Axel, the royal family—whatever it took to ensure complete domination. She would sit on a throne carved for just the three of them, and maybe, just maybe, she’d smile for the first time in years.

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  ?She took a deep breath, her expression hardening, narrowing in resolve. But for now, she had one last task to handle. Micheal needed a visit.

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