Dionne’s POV
They don’t let me die.
That’s the worst part.
Cold stone.
Dripping water.
Chains on my wrists, my ankles, my throat.
Silver. Witch-made. They burn straight to the bone and never stop.
I’ve lost count of the days.
Weeks.
Months.
A year, maybe.
Time doesn’t move in here. It rots.
“*Again.*”
Her voice. The High Witch.
The whip comes down.
It doesn’t cut skin.
It cuts memory.
And I see it.
Every single time.
The one thing I can’t forget no matter how hard I try.
The ballroom.
Chandeliers.
Music.
Drayk.
Prince Drayk.
Wine on his boots.
Laughing.
He turned to me and said my name like it was a prayer.
And then my magic.
Out of control.
Wild.
I didn’t mean to.
I swear I didn’t mean to.
It hit him and
