Ignatius-Valdis: Book 0# [Heaven's Curse]

Chapter 1

It was her existence, that regularly reminded everyone of her heritage. As a descendant from both the Excelian warring clans and both powerful energetic branches of both Angelus and Deamone. She was a unique sight to behold.

As such, rumours and speculation spun or their eyes lingered over the biased words printed in the reports elected of her. A condensed yet detailed file the Grand Elders barely kept under lock and key with tactful neglect. A file they knew would forever socially exile her and what was left of her small family. As they preferred.

However, that wasn't always the case.

Before all this, there was once a time in her life, Gothalia recalled the warmth of unconditional love, acceptance and security. A time in her life when she wasn't alone. A time in her life when everything was how it should be—peaceful and safe.

Instead it was after that day, everything changed.

Now, those cherished memories seemed so long ago. So readily distant, that not even the remaining members of her family could ever revitalise such quiescent memoirs, without throwing themselves into a pit of solitude and anguish in which they'd eventually wallow in. It was in those moments, she wished they'd never talk about the past for what it'd bring. As she hated seeing them like that.

Often L'Eiron and Anaphora were present, whenever they weren't driven by dangerous orders from the Grand Elders, with Anton and Maximus following.

Regularly they warned her to never go out without them, to be in control and, above all,  that she, herself was what everyone feared more than despised. It presumably it usually followed after. Even if they never outright mentioned the demon within, but the implication was there—it often was.

However, it was those emotions both harmed and protected her. In more ways than one.

Even now, it played its part, stirring beneath her skin in familiar anger, burning her from the inside and chilling her to her core reminding her of a deep tundra. She culled it to cool. For everyone's sake. Including her own.

A radiant glare glimmered within the depths of her heated gaze. When their taunts strewn the air around her, riddled with intrusive and carefree questions.

Questions, Gothalia considered were far too invasive. Yet, they were questions, she knew they deemed themselves entitled to, barred with calculatingly controlled responses, she expected would follow. Regardless, of what she said.

"Are you really from the Ignatius clan?" Garret Barak judged. His words shackled in tempered accusation as his piercing molten gaze strode a contagious confidence that drew himself closer to her. A small grimace marred her lips at his stubborn approach. His hot breath stained in viscous alcohol.

His friend queried from beside him. Just as tall and in her opinion—just as arrogant. "Aren't you supposed to have blond hair?"

Another friend of Garret from the other side, crept closer and seized the tresses of her thin hair that rebelliously fell over her shoulder.

A complaint hardened his face and his hazel eyes with deadly scornfulness, barely visible beneath the mop of his dirty brown hair. His readily familiar gaze propagated a bitter coldness when he asked. "Why's your hair black?"

"It must be demon hair," Garret affirmed. Alcohol clung to each word, when he side-eyed his friend—cruelly. "Her eyes are black too. Black as they come. There's no colour. Even her skin is darker than ours."

Gothalia remained silent, until a sharp yelp escaped her lips. His friends' grip tightening around her hair, pulling her closer to him with antagonism returning. "How dare she wear the insignia of the Ignatius clan and not even look like them? Can you even use fire?" he egged. Pulling her closer to him, suspiciously, he scanned her face. "I bet ya you can't. You mustn't really be an Ignatius. You phoney."