Shadow of Doubt

prologue

Before the flames

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In the small village of Windspire, Morvena was both revered and feared. Her name whispered among the villagers with a blend of awe and suspicion, though none dared speak too openly of her gifts. She had learned from the earth, from the whispers of the winds, from the very bones of the world. With a flick of her wrist, she could heal wounds, cause storms, and sometimes, if she so desired, make men fall at her feet. Power had always been hers to command.

But it was never just about power. No, for Morvena, it was about control. And control was something the men of Windspire could not allow her to keep. They didn't care about her knowledge, her skills, or her ability to shape the world around her. They only cared that she was a woman who had mastered something they couldn't explain, something they feared, something they sought to control.

It was on a cold autumn evening that they came for her—crimson robes, firelight flickering in their eyes, and the weight of righteousness heavy on their shoulders. The trial was a farce from the beginning, of course. The witnesses swayed with each accusation. "Witchcraft," they said. "The devil's work," they muttered.

And Morvena? She stood, defiant as always, her eyes cold, watching as they condemned her.

"The power you fear is no different from the air you breathe, or the ground you walk upon. It's simply knowledge you cannot comprehend." She said, her voice like velvet and steel.

They tried to burn her. Tried to burn her alive.

But Morvena was never the type to go quietly into the flames.

The fire didn't touch her as they thought it would. As the flames licked at her skin, something stirred inside her—something ancient, something fierce. She felt the world around her tremble, the very fabric of life itself bend to her will. And with the last breath of her life, Morvena did what any self-respecting woman would do: she made a pact with the most powerful spirit of all—Death itself.

Death came to her, and Morvena whispered the words into the void, weaving the threads of life and death with her last ounce of power. She had no intention of simply fading into dust. No, Morvena was not so easily extinguished.

So, in her final moments, she bound her spirit to the world, and her soul to one who would come after her—a woman like her, someone who would understand the depths of power, the sharp edge of control.

At least, a girl was born, and Morvena's consciousness stirred within her, a presence that watched, waited, and whispered from the shadows of her mind. She knew Exilia was the one—the vessel, the inheritor of her power. For years, she bided her time, patient as ever, as Exilia grew and struggled against the chains of her own existence. The girl had fire, and Morvena had no interest in playing the passive role of a spirit just along for the ride. She was here to guide, to shape, to be the hand that held Exilia's fate in a vice grip.

And so, from the depths of her death, Morvena continued to live. She could not touch the world directly, not without risking the fragile balance she had created, but through Exilia, she could whisper, she could guide. She could bend her will.

The girl thought she was cursed, and in many ways, she was. But the truth was far more complicated than mere curses and fate. Morvena had made herself a part of Exilia, and Exilia would never be rid of her.

Morvena's voice echoed in her head, a constant presence in the silence. It was like a shadow, flickering just behind Exilia's every thought. "You cannot banish what is woven into your very soul, child."

And Exilia would fight back, because that was her nature. She'd scream, she'd rage, she'd try to ignore the whispers, but it was no use. Morvena was as much a part of her as her own heartbeat.

Morvena was never truly gone.

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