Rosalia
You ever feel like the universe is playing a cosmic prank, and you’re the punchline? I’m on a rooftop in some neon-drenched city, the ground splitting beneath me, with a witch who’s apparently allergic to staying down glaring at me like I stole her favorite spellbook. Andre’s glowing with journal-fueled power, Moretti and Enzo are teaming up like the world’s worst buddy cop duo, and the silver wolf, my maybe-Dad, is a puppet with empty eyes. Isabella’s dragging me toward a rusty fire escape, Angelo’s barely breathing in my arms, and I’m out of quips. Trust is a myth, betrayal’s my shadow, and I’m one wrong move from losing everyone I’ve got left.
The witch’s new talisman pulses, its light slicing through the night, and her portal yawns behind her, a swirling void that smells like
