Lucius POV:
My little witch wasn't a saint like she looked.
I had known that the first time I saw her—back when she thought fear could hide the darkness in her eyes, when she trembled but still stared back like a cornered predator pretending to be prey. But tonight, when she spoke of what she intended to do, that fragile illusion shattered completely.
I had been right. She wasn't a saint. She was chaos wrapped in honey skin and soft words—a darkness so intoxicating I found myself leaning closer just to hear her whisper it.
The things she said…
She wanted to curse the wolves—to twist their sacred shift into agony so deep it would carve itself into their bones. She wanted the wand-users—witches and wizards alike—to pay with flesh and sanity for every drop of magic they conjured. Each spell would demand a price, she said, each incantation would chew off a part of their body or soul.
It was pure, beautiful wickedness.
And I loved it.
