TWDS 1: Deadly Wicked

2 | the family

When Mavyn's senses worked again, she stood in the heart of the most opulent place she has been in all her life. An eerie shade of teal and gray overlaid the sparkling floor carved out of marble, the surface polished to the point of reflecting her skirt. The ceiling stretched to the heavens, decorated by festooned arches attached to pillars formed with the most intricate details. In each capital and pedestal, glittering diamonds the size of her outstretched hand sat unbothered. Flowers with pretty bells of purple and blue flowers climbed around the shafts, millions of tiny, fairy lights dancing over their petals and vines.

Without her permission, Mavyn's jaw hung open.

Valen dropped them in an atrium of sorts—a feature of a manor she only saw in the estates Abnegem brought her to. They belonged to his upper-side friends, pampered loaches who never knew a day of need during their puny years. But this...

An enormous skylight hung overhead, casting an ethereal beam all over the empty space. Its grails were wrought iron, boasting more artistry than all the cathedrals of Krauss combined. The stairs curving from the atrium split in the middle, leading to opposite directions. From there, more steps diverged and connected elsewhere in an endless maze. The floors went on, but the manor only seemed to stretch wider. The more she looked, the more inconsequential she felt.

If this was a dream, it was the most ridiculous one she ever had.

A hand wrapped around her wrist, pulling her away from the stairs. Her eyes landed on Valen's broad back, heading deeper into the immediate wing from the atrium. His silver locks accentuated the rush of frigid air blowing them back and the green-gray film over her eyes. They passed a tall window, giving her a complete view of what lay beyond.

It was...nothing. A barren expanse of obsidian rocks, jutting from the ground, cracking in serrated edges, and looming in imposing mesas and plunging crags. The light-powered lamps attached to the gaps between windows shed enough illumination on the thin sheet of fog rolling over the hills, attempting to hide something she wasn't privy to. And the expanse bled on. Just like the manor, it went on forever. It was nothing; it was everything—all at once.

Mavyn of Krauss, a countryside witch in the middle of nowhere, made it to the Land of the Dead.

Before an amused and triumphant chuckle flitted off her lips, a tug reminded her of her current predicament. She squirmed out of Valen's grip, but her arm wouldn't budge. Wouldn't it bruise later on? What would his family say about that? Her muddy boots tramped across the pristine floor, trailing dirt all over. What was the use of disappearing into a decrepit corridor when their trail was before them as such?

She ought to tell Valen that, but he shoved her into a brand new room and closed the door behind him. "What in Mordelle's name—" she started demanding.

"Best not be seen out in the open while we continue your...uh, transformation," Valen said, scratching the side of his face. If not for his blood-red eyes and silver hair, she might have mistaken him for a human. "Bringing a Living is enough risk."