Ashes of the Old Self

Elvira 

The moonlight poured through the window, silvering the room in melancholy. I sat cross-legged on the cold stone floor, my hands spread over my thighs, fingers trembling with restrained fury.

The visions hadn’t stopped. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw them, my fallen ancestors or so I thought.

But beneath the visions… there was rage.

Rage that cracked my veins, hot and biting, coiling tighter every time someone called me “Elvira” like they knew who I was.

They didn’t. They never had.

Felen’s face hovered behind my eyes. Her beauty, her cunning smiles, the way her voice dripped honey even while commanding...