Shadow of Doubt

chapter one

After the flames

-

I never thought I'd be planning my funeral at seventeen. Infact, I was surprised that I even made it this far. I don't think a single day has passed since I was born where my life hasn't been threatened. They've been kind to let me live this long, but I won't lie and say that made the news any easier to hear. They couldn't even tell me to my face.

I roll my eyes at the letter pinched between my fingers.

Execution date: October 31st.

My eighteenth birthday.

A scoff threatens to leave my lips, because how ironic that a monster like me was born on Halloween. How ironic that a monster like me dies on Halloween. It isn't fair. I want to see the leaves drop from thin twigs connected to hollow trees, I want to watch the snow settle on the mountains before those hills are tainted with my blood. I pass the blame, every year I hyperfixate on words of those who came before me. "Those who fail to reap what they sow sleep thick in mud that covers their graves." they had said. I used to not be able to find reasons for why they'd want me dead. Now I understand. They look to their ancestors like they're God, worshiping their every word, every move.

They stood by and watched as women screamed and pleaded for their lives as they burnt in pits, as they sank until they drowned.

My ancestors took more lives than I ever did. More than Morvena ever did.

"Which, in my opinion, isn't nearly as much as I'd like."

A voice I recognise all too well cuts through my blaring thoughts like a knife. Sitting somewhere in the back of my head and right between my ear drums, somewhere distant but somehow always right in my face.

I move towards the creaky chair in the corner of my room, sweeping the delicate necklace chain off the bedside table as I go.

"You have it your way and I'm dead before morning."

You see, death has a funny way of presenting itself. Those wrongfully executed aren't usually presented with an opportunity to get their revenge. This voice that floats around in my head however, was given that chance.

I fasten the necklace around my neck, the cold metal brushing against my skin as the gloom of the conversations outside draws nearer. The words are muffled, but the weight of their tone tells me enough: they're about me. They're always about me.

The voice inside my head, Morvena, hums low, her tone like coiling smoke.

"They're deciding your fate, girl. And here you are, playing dress-up."

I grit my teeth, ignoring her. The chain snaps into place, and I let my fingers linger on the pendant, its sharp edges pressing into my palm. It's one of the few things left that still feels real to me.

"You won't survive this, you know. You always have a choice, Exilia. Show them what we're capable of."

Her words echo louder as the sound of footsteps and hushed whispers grows sharper. They're closer now, voices tumbling over one another like waves crashing against a shore.

The door creaks open, and the dim light from the hallway spills into my room, outlining the figure of a guard. His gaze flickers over me with a mix of unease and pity—a look I've come to loathe.

"Your presence is required," he says, his voice flat but firm.

I rise slowly, the chair groaning beneath me as I push it back. The pendant hangs heavy around my neck, and for a brief moment, I let my fingers curl around it, as if its weight can anchor me to something solid.