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𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐌𝐘𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐂 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐒
𝐍𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟎𝟎𝟗
The scratch of my pencil against paper stilled as Orianna barged into my room. I glanced up from my sketchbook, the image of a crown halfway complete, blurring at the edges.
"Aren't you supposed to be at the career fair?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief.
I propped myself up on one elbow, my rebellious streak simmering. "Nope. Not going."
"Why not?" Her brow furrowed in a way that always made me cave, but this time, I held firm.
I sighed, frustration bubbling up. "There's no point," I said, my voice flat. "Our futures are already carved in stone, remember?"
The bed dipped beside me, and I knew I wouldn't escape this lecture easily. Sitting up, I faced her defiant gaze.
"Mom may have mapped out the witch part," Orianna conceded, "but that's just one side of the coin."
"Ori," I pleaded, "when will I ever have time for a career when I'm Queen? Every witch in the coven bows to me. My life will be consumed with duty." I shot her a pointed look. "Yours too, for that matter."
Orianna sighed a tired sound that tugged at my heart. "You won't be Queen forever, Selene."
A bitter laugh escaped my lips. "Unlike you, I wasn't groomed for this since birth. You trained for years, the perfect heir apparent. Then, bam! Curse broken, title revoked."
"The council deemed a hybrid like me unfit to rule," Orianna finished my sentence with a grimace. "And so, the crown landed on your unsuspecting head."
I nodded. "I was the spare."
I slumped back against my pillows, the weight of the crown, both literal and metaphorical, pressing down on me. I was content in the shadows until fate decided to take a cruel turn.
Last year's car accident—my sister's mangled car, the innocent life lost—still haunted her dreams. Even in the face of tragedy, the curse activation was a constant reminder of the darkness we inherited.
Orianna, sensing my turmoil, slid onto the bed beside me. "You were never the spare, Selene," she said softly. "I was the heir, but Mom knew one of us carried Dad's curse."
A flicker of fear ignited within me. "There's still a chance I can break it, right?"
Orianna met my gaze before she looked away. "Yes," she whispered, "but there's also a chance you won't."
With a gentle hand, she took my sketchbook and placed it on the bed. My reflection in her eyes mirrored the turmoil within.
"Go to the fair," she urged, her voice firm. "Your future is still yours to choose. No one can take that away."
