❝ Pain was my fuel, until the fire began bleeding from my veins. ❞
The girl without a name.
The black-haired fiend devoid of fear.
The sharp-tongued scoundrel always ready with a trick up her sleeve.
Thief and street rat Azura knows how to hustle a...
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◢✥◣ PREVIOUSLY... ◥✥◤
Azura's training progressed, and with it, her struggle to hide her strange abilities became more difficult. To sell her act, she allowed herself to be beaten by a fellow student and received a glaring bruise to her face because of it. She also learnt she's un-gifted with magic.
༛༛ ༛ ༛༺༻༛ ༛ ༛༛
Exhaustion weighs on my chest like a boulder, pressing me further into the soft embrace of my blankets. Usually I'd be awake at the arse-crack of dawn, but the bed is warm and the linen is gentle against the curl of my toes.
I could get used to this.
My eyes spring open with that thought. My fingers grip the blankets, still gloved and hidden from prying eyes. It's a sharp reminder of why I can't get used to this. Magic or not, I'm still different and forgetting that fact will lead me to ruin.
I roll over onto my side, facing the wall and glare at the wood panelling, my mood souring as usual.
I wanted to have magic. I wanted it so badly and I don't even know why.
I press my hands to my face, frustrated with myself for continuing to wish for such fanciful things. Warroll stripped me bare, showed me that magic means nothing.
I was put on my back in Warroll, my soul torn to pieces, and all the magic in the world meant nothing when I was faced with Jile's leer and his rough fingers. All the magic in the world meant nothing when he cut my throat and left me to die in a corner of the warehouse.
My fingers trail to the scar at my throat and brush the jagged flesh. I healed, but it still happened. Being different didn't stop it from happening. Being different is only going to garner more notice from the Order that I don't need.
My fingers pause on the scar and another thought pushes through the jumbled mess in my head. I touch my jaw, pressing against the smooth skin where there was once a knot and a bruise.
A curse leaves my lips as I toss off my blankets and rush to the bathroom, locking the door behind me, the other girls still asleep in their beds. But if they'd seen...
I glare at myself in the mirror where just that night colourful bruises had bloomed on the side of my face. Now the skin is as white as ever, completely healed.
In the streets it was a useful advantage. I didn't have the risk of infection, I wasn't slowed down for too long by wounds if I gave my body the chance to heal itself. But in this school surrounded by eyes that are eager to peel me apart and turn me into their assassin, it's not much of an advantage anymore.
My fingers curl around the edge of the bench, breathing quickening as my heart hammers at my ribs.
I know what I have to do. Pain is a familiar companion, one that's always walked by my side, one that my brother taught me to endure.
