Alina Nightshade doesn't think much about James Potter. Only that he seems rather keen on being annoying.
James Potter thinks Alina Nightshade is a mystery all wrapped up in a very pretty girl. And he is keen on trying to be her friend.
James Potte...
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THIS IS the last chapter of book one, once you're done reading go to my profile and read book two!!! I promise you chapters are published RIGHT NOW!!!
Alina Nightshade POV.
TW! Death, abuse, fire, blood.
Alina stares at the ceiling. Christmas has come and gone.
Not that it matters. She hasn't done anything. Hasn't received anything. Hasn't given anything. She doesn't care.
It's midday, and she's done little besides homework, determined to waste away the rest of the break in her room.
She lifts her hand, palm up, inspecting the burn stretched across her skin. It's deep. Self-inflicted. She knows it isn't healthy, but she can't bring herself to care.
Her gaze drifts to the bruises blooming along her wrist—darker now than before.
With a sigh, her hand drops to her side, and her mind wanders.
She feels weak. And she hates it.
That pathetic, mortal feeling creeps over her, whispering that she should have fought harder against Émeric. But realistically, what could she have done?
Yelling, screaming, hexing him—it all leads to punishment. To being locked in the basement. No matter what, it's always her fault in the end.
She knows it isn't right. She shouldn't blame herself. Émeric is a cruel man who has never been told no. It's his fault. It has always been his fault.
Hatred simmers in her stomach at the thought of him. His name. His face.
Sunlight spills through the window, illuminating the objects in her room, casting golden light over her bed.
Alina turns onto her side with another sigh. She hasn't slept well in a long time—not since she was at school.
Her eyes flutter shut, the pull of exhaustion finally dragging her under.
~~~
Alina is no longer in her room.
She isn't even fully tethered to reality.
A vision.
Fuck.
Dead bodies surround her.
She stands in the middle of a town street, the air thick with the scent of blood and burning. Sobbing echoes from somewhere close, a raw, broken sound that makes her stomach twist. Slowly, she turns in place, testing what she can control.
She recognizes these people.
Many of them are in the Order.
Now... they're dead. Likely killed in a fight against Death Eaters.
