A Russian fugitive with power like no other. Though strong, powerful, and wickedly smart, secrets lie deep within her heart, mind, and soul, haunting her to this day. Those very secrets will chase her until they catch up to her. She may have thought...
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𝕶𝖗𝖎𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖆'𝖘 𝖕𝖔𝖛
Flipping through the pages of the stolen book, I examine the pictures, hoping that they will give me a clue about what the pages say.
The images in the book are dark, to say the least. Images of decapitated bodies. Creatures ripping out the organs of children. Vermin feasting on the bodies of the dead. Though I can't read the pages, the images are enough to answer why this book was kept hidden. If this is a book of rituals and these images correspond to the spells, I don't even want to know what these spells can do.
I've done similar spells ever since I was young. My soul has been scarred for years and is beyond repair because of the dark spells and rituals I have cast. The books from which I recited those spells look just like this one.
But the Grand Magus was planning to sacrifice me, so what we need right now is a book that makes my skin crawls. What we need right now is a book filled with spells dark enough to scar the souls of those who dare to perform them. The only way Rhysand and I are going to make it out of this alive is if we use dark magic to win. Though I would love to believe small spells like the disarming charm would work, they won't. Only a fool believes they can win a dark war with white magic.
Flipping to the next page, a word written in Latin draws my attention. "Horcrux," I breathe, running my finger over the word. Every word in this book is written in a language I cannot understand, except this word. This singular word is written in Latin.
I know about horcruxes. We were taught about them in Kholmance. About how the magic surrounding them was so dark, it would not only scar the soul but split it, causing irrevocable damage. The more you make, the more your body deteriorates until you become nothing. It's one of the darkest forms of magic there is. I may have done darker spells and rituals but making a horcrux scars the soul differently—it is so horrifying that even I would not dare to make one.
"What do you know of horcruxes?" a male voice asks, startling me enough to cause me to drop the book in my lap to the floor. I look up and see a tall prefect looking down at me, his hands clasped promptly behind his back. "Excuse me?" I ask, grabbing the book from the floor. Thankfully, I cast an illusion on the book days ago, which causes everyone looking at the book or the contents inside of it to see lessons on potions. The spell cannot be broken by anyone of lesser power than me. Tom Riddle is included in that.
"You said something about horcruxes," he says, leaning forward. He grabs the book from my hands before I can even speak and begins looking through it, his veiny hands flipping through the pages at an alarmingly fast pace. Thankfully, all he sees is a bunch of potion ingredients and recipes. "This is a book of potions. Why are you speaking about horcruxes when this book has nothing to do with them?" he asks, looking up from the book. He looks down at me, his cold eyes narrowed in suspicion.
