Currently Re-watching The Depp V. Heard Case And Realizing I Could Easily Write Pages And Pages Of Why

Currently re-watching the Depp v. Heard case and realizing I could easily write pages and pages of why I think what I think, and about male victims of domestic violence and abuse, and how we're not morally prepared to deal with them.

Prologue - A Broken Heart, Like a Clock

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

Part 1 – Shall be Lifted… Nevermore “And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted… Nevermore.” The Raven, Edgar Allan Poe

To make it right, Cinara needed to break two hearts that afternoon and conquer another one by night time.

If she couldn’t, lives would be ruined, all because of a failed-before-it-even-began engagement. At that moment, Cinara would pay to have her own head struck by something heavy, anything to get the hell away from that familiar campsite, full of motorcycles and motorhomes.

Full of freedom.

How the hell, Cinara asked herself, could she have the courage to break her own heart?

Go to Chapter 1

To Decadent Poets - Chapter 4

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

A friend: a being life can’t explain Who only goes when another is born And the mirror my soul multiplies... — Vinícius de Moraes, Friendship Sonnet

Oliver watched Chris attentively, hesitating, his leg shaking with the anxiety that was running through his blood. The boy seemed like a good company to have and he was really funny with a dry sense of humor. They had spent most of the journey talking and Oliver’s accent had kept other people away, not that Chris seemed to care.

He was surely a singular creature, Oliver thought, analyzing the boy: Chris had auburn hair and his brown eyes carried disdain for everything and everyone, making Oliver remember himself before everything happened.

The Oliver from before had been unruly and sarcastic, so much he could exasperate even his parents, who were the epitome of patience. But everything changed after his mother and Hadrian had been taken from them.

It changed because Oliver knew he shouldn’t give his father more grief than the one he was already in and also because no one liked foreigners, let alone a funny one. So, he’d spent a lot of time learning to bite his tongue to stop his dry comments and ironic observations from slipping out, as Much with his dad as with the rest of the world.

In reality, he had to do so a lot of times still: it was hard to give up that part of him, the only one that connected him to his old life, and Oliver didn’t like to do it. But he didn’t feel safe enough to go back to being himself and, if he faked long enough, maybe he wouldn’t be able to separate the mask from who he really was anymore. From what he’d lived through.

“You don’t talk much, do you?” asked Chris suddenly, his eyes still closed from the nap he’d announced he’d take, scaring Oliver, who felt himself flush for being caught staring.

And maybe it was because of his shock, but he snapped in a petulant tone that he hadn’t dared to use in a long time now:

“You’re not the epitome of sociability, mate,” Oliver was surprised at himself and his eyes widened, regretting his words almost immediately although his pride stopped him from apologizing, so he just swallowed, facing Chris, who just stared at him for a moment silently. Oliver was caught by surprise by the slow smile forming on Chris’s pale face.

“Touché,” he said before straightening on the train stool and changing the subject abruptly: “Where are you going to alone?”

“To my father’s boss’ property. He let me stay there during the war,” answered Oliver with a resigned sigh when he saw the daring Shine of Chris’ eyes, making it impossible not to be honest with the boy “What about you?”

“To my godfather’s property,” said Chris, shrugging even though it was noticeable, at least for Oliver, that was complicated “he also let me stay during the war. What’s the name of the place you’re going to?”

“Taigh Hill” Oliver’s pronunciation slipped a bit in the two words but it seemed that Chris had still understood him because for a moment he looked at Oliver as if assessing him, and then he smiled.

“It seems like Destiny got it right today, don’t you think, Oliver?” he softly asked, making him frown, confused with what Chris meant “I’m also going to Taigh Hill. I’m Elijah Wood’s godson, whom I believe is your father’s boss.”

——— ◘ ———

They talked during the rest of the journey, learning more about each other, or at least as much as they allowed each other to know. It was hard sometimes to talk about some things and they respected this, not pressuring the other into talking about what they didn’t want to and Oliver liked that. He liked that silent complicity that seemed to exist between him and Chris. It was encouraging and trustworthy, and as soon as they began to talk, Oliver realized Chris had a certain gift to encourage the worst parts of him, like his sarcasm and his temper.

And when they discovered their common taste in books, the talk flowed through them like a river’s stream, running between the two with a scary naturality that could make Jane Austen even more certain about her assessment of the human relationships in Sense and Sensibility:

It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; —it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.

Oliver really liked to get to know someone who wasn’t his father in all of London and wondered for a moment if that friendship would last. Chris seemed nice enough and didn’t care he was German, which was a more than good start.

And while they discussed how much they wished to read A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, next, both of them realized they had more in common than the rest of the world could guess they had. At that moment, Chris commented thoughtfully:

“I make a habit of thinking people are idiots. Of course, I always need to remind myself that they also have something good inside of them, even if they are idiots, but most of the time, I feel quite alone because of it. I mean, most people would advise me to not get close to you and I think that’s so dumb because look at us! It’s not like our differences mattered more than our similarities.”

Oliver smiled, really smiled, when he heard that. It was like Chris had just read his mind as if he could understand what Oliver thought. It was impressive considering they Only knew each Other for a couple of hours but some friendships were just like that, weren’t they? Spontaneous and simply inexplicable in the strength of their connections.

After his comment, Chris changed the subject, asking him about what he thought Taigh Hill would be like.

“Much bigger than my house, that’s for sure,” Oliver said with a sarcastic smirk blossoming on his face while he leaned down on the rough tissue of the train’s stool “But you’re the one practically related to them, what do you know about the place?”

“I’ve never been to Taigh Hill and never met my godfather or his family, to be honest,” Chris admitted, resting his feet on the stool after glancing out the door of the cabin they were at. He also had this smirk on his face, the kind of smirk just a young man who was arrogant and completely sure of himself could flash around like a trump card for life. “I think they’re old and deaf but really gentle. Elijah and his brother, I mean, Elliott. My mom said Elliott is married and has two daughters, one of them our age. My father and he were at her christening when I was a baby. What do you think about that?”

“I’m not sure there’s much to think about,” Said Oliver, shrugging and looking out the window. “If they’re not annoying and spoiled, I have nothing to say about any of them.”

“Maybe they’re like ghosts, walking through the mansion with pure, virginal white gowns, ready to give us heart attacks like in Gothic books,” Chris joked, making Oliver laugh out Loud and he didn’t even worry about the people passing through their cabin, who looked through the glassdoor as if they’d heard a specially nasty curse word. “Worse, they could be complaining harpies like old housekeepers who value morals and the old times.

“My God, I really hope not,” Oliver shivered, joking, and added: “I hope, by the way, that none of them are like that. It’d be torture.”

“Can you imagine if Elijah or Elliott want us to wear those old vests and hay hats, or worse, those white pants that get dirty with literally anything?” Chris’ eyes widened as if he couldn’t think about anything scarier thing and Oliver laughed. “I think I could have to run away and live the rest of my life in nowhere of Scotland.”

“Well, those clothes are not so bad,” Oliver said, and Chris looked at him incredulously. “They’re worse.”

They both laughed hard, imagining all kinds of scenarios possible for Taigh Hill and mocking them all. The conversation was comfortable and light like most conversations they’d had ‘til then weren’t. To Oliver because his longest conversations were, with the exception of his father, with the butcher; and to Chris because his friends were always talking about matters that didn’t concern him at all.

Soon the day transformed into twilight and both of them got silent to watch the rose and orange sky, the colors mixing up and changing every minute over the emerald-green lawn of the plains and the mountains that surrounded lakes so still they seemed like portals to the skies. It was in comfortable, soft silence they shared deeply; the kind of silence that could make old friends get emotional but not the two of them.

Because, after all, they had just met, and it’d be weird if it happened. But in that silence, their eyes met, hazel against green, and they laughed together with a complicity neither of them could understand because they had never experienced it before.

But it was one they liked a lot.

——— ◘ ———

When they finally got off the train, Chris was insistent that they stay close, so that it would be easier for Miss Turner, the Wood family’s housekeeper, who would come to get them, according to their parents, to find them. Although the thought was quite practical, Oliver could not help but notice that some of the boys their age were glaring at them when they heard his accent and he was thankful when Chris had nothing to say about the matter.

He didn’t need everyone reminding him of what he was all the time.

They walked through the station, then, trying to get rid of the crowd mounting together because of the small size of the place. They were in a small city near Inverness, as they had been instructed to stop; and decided to wait outside, in the street, something Oliver was grateful for, as those people were starting to make him really uncomfortable.

It didn’t take long for a lady with a prudish dress that seemed to belong to the last decade to pass by them with a car that seemed old. She looked at them both with a semblance that varied between doubt and a welcome. There was also a girl with red hair like crackling fire, who looked at them both curiously.

“What are your names, boys?” The Woman asked, and her voice was firm without being harsh, her hands were trembling and her black hair, which had begun to become gray, was the only thing that denounced her older age.

A rosary hung from her neck in a delicate silver chain and the darkness of the metal left it clear she had the habit of rubbing it.

“I’m Oliver Krause, ma’am,” the blond boy introduced himself in a meek tone of voice, very different from how he presented himself with Chris during their journey.

The other boy, with a quick glance at Oliver, also introduced himself with a charming smile, much more open than the first:

“I’m Christian Evans, at your pleasure, ma’am.”

The housekeeper, who frowned slightly at hearing Oliver, smiled a bit at Chris, commenting:

“A good christian name, just like the rest of your family, Mister Evans,” she paused, then added: “Get on, I’m Marjorie Turner, your new housekeeper, and this is Mister Elliott Wood’s youngest daughter, Annie.

They smiled at the red-haired girl and she smiled back at them, still cautious and timid like a little mouse. Oliver and Chris hurried to put their bags in the trunk of the car, which Miss Turner indicated while she seemed nervous, looking to the train station with a bit of anxiety clear on her face.

But as soon as it came, it went away when a boy their age left the station and looked around, seemingly lost. He had dark brown hair and eyes, and his skin was almost as pale as paper. As she saw him, Miss Turner made her way to him and spoke to the boy, bringing him along after a few seconds.

“Boys, this is Noah Kurtz. He’ll also live with us in Taigh Hill,” said the housekeeper while she climbed back into the car, which seemed to be even more filled with people.

Seeing that the only seats available were either at Annie’s side or Oliver’s side, the woman took the place beside Oliver, a very conscious choice the attentive young people noticed but didn’t comment about it. Oliver was tense since he heard the boy’s last name, knowing he was his dad’s boss’ son and worse, Jew.

His own ascendence from Liora made Oliver a Jew for all effects, both culturally and ethnically, although he never thought much about it — it wouldn’t help Oliver because when people looked at him, none of them saw a Jew and that’s what was important to the world.

Noah didn’t say anything more than a murmured and general greeting as he climbed into the vehicle, avoiding everyone’s eyes. This intrigued Chris, who tried, as the car started to make its way, shaking beyond what he thought was possible on the dirt road, making some kind of conversation with Noah, only to receive back monosyllabic answers that discouraged him. Finally, he turned his attention back to Oliver, talking to him in low voices.

The girl, who regarded the three boys with a curious look, soon lost her interest and directed her attention to the window, feeling ignored, which made Oliver feel bad for her — he knew what it was like to be ignored and left out for reasons outside his control. The housekeeper also kept quiet; her eyes lost to something none but her could see as she rubbed her rosary distractedly.

In general, it was a trembling, tedious path filled with silences far from comfortable like the ones Oliver and Chris shared on the train. The newest friends looked at each other, predicting a boring stay from that experience alone, not even dreaming of what they’d soon find in Taigh Hill.

Go to Chapter 5

Do you know what breaks my heart?

Knowing that Odysseus probably still feels so guilty he can barely breathe, he's just suppressing it and filling the void with Penelope.

That's why she's finally showing up more plainly in this second part because Odysseus needs to believe that something will be worth all the guilt and all the suffering and that something is Penelope.

That's why she sings that she "will take the suffering" from him, because that's his hope, that's what he needs to believe because otherwise, it was all in vain.

And you know what's even worse?

Even if he does reach Ithaca, and even if he does have his "happy ending" (which I have no idea if it'll happen because I never read The Odyssey but I know enough about Greek Mythology and tragedies that I don't think so), it'll not be happy.

It'll be so bittersweet it makes my heart ache in ways I can't even bear.

I imagine Odysseus will never be able to swim with Telemachus and Penelope again, even if it's just a river, because he'd not know to differentiate between siren Penelope and real Penelope then.

I imagine he will never be able to look at his sister the same knowing that he caused her husband's death and so will she.

I imagine he will have to face his other men, who will know (or so Odysseus will think) that he sacrificed several of them to be there again.

I imagine he will have to discover all over again how to be a father to teenager Telemachus who doesn't even remember what is like to have a father, let alone see Odysseus as one.

I imagine if he will ever sleep in peace again, fearing that the gods will find him there once and for all.

I'm not crying, you are!

Freedom Girl - Summary

Hey, guys! That's my book here, I decided to post a few chapters (or maybe more) after translating it from Brazilian Portuguese to English. I really wanted to share this work and hope you enjoy it.

Here's a quick summary of the book:

Title: Freedom Girl

Series: The Freak Show Series

Tags: contemporary romance, hurt and comfort, BAFM women, a horror circus, charming love interest;

If you liked... you're gonna like this: It Happened One Summer, The Roommate, Book Lovers, etc.

Trigger Warning: the story deals with themes of abusive relationships with family, emotional and psychological abuse, as well as a few gory depictions of wounds.

Add: The book didn't have a Sensitive Editor, so any problems with how people of color, disabilities, or queer people are portrayed can be discussed directly with the author.

Synopsis: Lana is tired of playing her grandfather's good girl. She wants more, she wishes for a fulfilling and intense life, she wishes to be free. The arrival of her grandfather's new wife, Cinara, might be exactly what she needs, Lana rapidly realizes when her family knocks on the door. Cinara's family are nothing short of itinerant workers who own a circus of horrors, something she'd never seen before, and yet, it seemed to call for Lana with their world of mystery and fantasy.

Cam, on the other hand, is not a fan of the world his godmother, Cinara, is entering. And he'll do anything he can to understand better the venomous pit that is Henrique Vidal's life, even if he needs to use his granddaughter for that. To protect his family, Cam would do anything, even the unthinkable. But what to do when Lana becomes a part of his family?

Summary (with links):

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 - Coming soon...

All Angels From Heaven Above - Chapter 2

Summary - find more chapters, read the synopsis, and trigger warnings here!

Buy the whole book through this link!

The address Damian Kolasi gave her was public and known enough so no one would find it strange seeing them together. On the other hand, it was also dangerously close to her coven’s headquarters, where witches gathered every time they could, which could mean that, if she decided to go, she’d have to explain herself to some curious wizards and witches. 

All those thoughts swirled in Adra’s mind while she closed the store and walked through the cobblestone street without a hurry, positioning her keys between her fingers. She wasn’t especially worried that someone could try to attack her — she had her powers to defend herself — but it was always good to be alert.

As if in mockery of Adra’s lack of fear, a thick fog filled Agraés, making her steps a mystery that should reveal itself in each corner while the old and imposing buildings loomed before her like ancient giants. She liked the city, despite the constant gloomy weather and the silent streets, full of danger waiting for her in every block.

Damian Kolasi’s deal, vastly different from the path she was taking because of the posteriors letter she had received, was intriguing and mysterious enough to make her suspicious. Adra didn’t like to be in that position, mainly because the demon knew her curiosity would be louder than her caution. He knew Adra would meet him even before she made her decision and that was utterly annoying.

Even so, that was a unique opportunity. Lethe Academy for Demonic Arts — a name she’d rather change — was quite literally the best school in all Nikaés, teaching demons from all over the world for dozens, if not hundreds, of generations. 

It didn’t even have a foundation date because no one knew how old was the school. It had five different libraries for each main subject of teaching, plus one for recreation, more than fifty classrooms, and a faculty with the best of the best teachers: the Academy was the most wonderful and intriguing place Adra had ever seen in her life.

And there she was, on the edge of getting in, if only she could dare to be the first witch to do so. Even if it hurt, even if it was going to be difficult as hell, even if she had to crawl her way onwards, that would be her only chance to get in.

Deciding she’d think about it, Adra sighed and hurried, in haste to get to the Coven. 

She heard footsteps behind her and tensed, unable to avoid them, even knowing that whoever it was would probably go away once they noticed she was a witch. And indeed it didn’t take long for that to happen, letting her relax again.

The city where Adra had grown up, Agraés, was in the south of Níkaes and it boiled down to a set of old-structured buildings, almost all of them beige or grayish, narrow streets and silent alleys between buildings, with a central river called Thanatos, which divided the city in two. Quite often, that was the description of tourists and uninterested visitors whose final destination was the capital, Mávros.

But to the residents and the Academy’s students who were brave enough, Agraés had its own magic inside its ancient structure and its alleys that would only wake up at dawn. At the main avenues, like the one where Kia and Adra’s apartment and store were located, the nights were monotonous and quiet, like no living soul lived there, but one just had to walk a couple of blocks to see the first evidence that Agraés wasn’t like any other city.

Adra turned at the familiar alley three blocks up from her apartment and smiled when she saw the awnings of the little underground pubs with their golden round lights spread through their metallic structures. 

As she crossed the alley, Adra saw young demons — probably local children, as the Academy didn’t allow its younger students to go out of its walls — walking through the place, amazed as a young human man did magic tricks that in reality had no magic at all, but were impressive enough so that they could cheat and delight others.

It took some minutes more and several other alleys for Adra to finally reach the Coven. Unlike other passages, the place where wizards and witches gathered didn’t look especially cozy or inviting. With a simple used wooden door, the only sign that there was some kind of life inside the cold gray building was the soft light pouring through the crescent moon-shaped hole in the door, which led to the underground saloon of peeled-off walls and hard capable of conserving a corpse — something Adra had already witnessed happening there.

The letter she’d received — sent through the Shadows — had been adamant that her presence at the Coven that night was required, something that intrigued Adra. Therefore, she entered the underground building, climbing down quickly the few steps that led to the door.

As soon as Adra entered, every other witch — and the few wizards that existed in the city — looked at her, none of them happy to see her. Adra just smirked, sarcastic: she wasn’t exactly happy to be summoned to attend the meeting tonight. But the Coven did what its matron witch determined and, as a witch, Adra owed obedience to her. 

Not that she respected Eupraxia Skourleti, the matron witch of her coven, very often. Adra just knew which fights to choose. Most of the time, at least.

Some witches smiled at Adra, not for affection, but purely for politeness. They never tried to make any conversation, however. 

To most, their coven was a refuge from a world that wasn’t made for them and didn’t make any effort to understand them. A world that was dominated by demons that believed themselves to be superior to any other species and whose oppressed — the humans — were too bitter and suspicious of any demonic thing to embrace them, considering that witches were the offspring of demons with humans. So, to the witches, their coven was the family most of them didn’t have and a refuge from the cruelty all of them endured.

But Adra was different and all of them knew that. Some few people didn’t resent what she had, but most hated her for having something they could only dream of: parents who were in love with each other. Most witches were born because of a meaningless seduction of human women by demons who would abandon them without hesitation with a bastard child in their arms.

Or worse.

Adra’s parents’ union wasn’t usual — in fact, she could easily affirm she was the only legitimate daughter of a demon and a human in all Nikaés.

That should include the Nephilim, children of angels and humans, and the ouralasi, children of angels and demons: they were too few, considering the country didn’t allow the entry of angels into its territory.

Like the witches, however, they had a lot of power: while the witches could control the Darkness, the Nephilim had a powerful affinity with at least one of the natural elements, and the ouralasi had ways to transform the matter if needed.

“Adra,” the known voice called her from one of the corners of the room. The shadows of that dreary place, however full, carried the call for her alone to hear. 

The voice had the shy tone that Adra knew very well and she turned to Thalassa Stathi at the other side of the room, sustaining the relieved look of her friend and ex-girlfriend. 

Well, Adra thought while walking towards her, maybe she was a friend. The things between them were complicated since Thassie had broken up with her months ago, but the relief was undeniable, and the gratitude both of them to see a familiar face in the crowd.

Adra looked at Thalassa’s black skin, which shone under the soft, golden light of the saloon, making her a queen of gold and shadows while she leaned in the gray stone wall.

“I’m surprised you came,” said Thassie before Adra could think of something to start a small talk. “You hate all of this.”

Adra tried not to sigh when she heard the slight accusation underlying the casualty of her tone. It wasn’t her fault that the Coven wasn’t exactly welcoming.

“Oh, you know, I have to make an appearance from time to time so that they remember I exist,” she said trying to sound excited despite the insistent looks from those who couldn’t tolerate her cutting her back without remorse. Thalassa snorted. “Actually, Eupraxia called me here today. Do you have any idea of what’s going to happen?”

“Well, she called all of us, but she doesn’t seem happy to see you,” said Thalassa, pointing her head in the direction of the Coven’s matron witch. “I guess she thought you’d disobey her again.”

Fearless, Adra turned to stare at Eupraxia Skourleti. The witch, who had curly voluminous hair and emerald green eyes, was one of the oldest witches of the coven and she simply hated Adra with all her might. The feeling was surely mutual. Their motives, however, were always unknown by all, including the two of them.

But behind that obvious rivalry, Eupraxia was a talented witch, powerful and full of ambition, something that made her dangerous and admirable in the same measure. If she had said that something big would happen, it was probably true.

When their eyes met, the witch showed her teeth, deeply displeased with Adra’s presence at the Coven that night, which was ironic, considering that it was Eupraxia who had sent the letter that called her, to begin with.

The dim golden lights of the saloon flickered when Adra smiled at her, the shadows fighting to fill the place like they did when Adra was mad at Damian Kolasi just a couple of hours ago. This time, however, the anger came from Eupraxia to Adra, who became immediately alert to any possible attack. 

But Eupraxia could control herself with as much ease as it escaped her and the witch went back to her always sober expression to murmur what was probably an excuse to the older witches that stood around her and walked towards Adra and Thassie, who straightened up in her place, locking her hands behind her back in a sign of respect for the matron witch.

Adra didn’t bother to do the same.

“Hello, Mrs. Skourleti,” greeted Thassie with a nervous half smile, receiving a polite and professorial nod in exchange.

“Miss Stathi,” said Eupraxia in a murmur before turning to Adra, the emerald green in her irises shining with hatred when the girl raised her chin. “Miss Anoixi, it’s a surprise to see you here.”

Adra smiled with the displeasure she found in the matron’s voice, perfectly delighted with that.

“Well, it’s your letter's fault, ma’am,” said Adra, just to see her squirm with anger. “It sounded important to be here tonight.”

“Yes, well...” Eupraxia looked like she sucked the sourest lemon, but didn’t have the chance to answer, because one of her apprentices, a girl with an innocent complexion and reverent eyes at her tutor, whispered in her ear. “I hope you enjoy the night, ladies. It’s about to begin.”

With that mysterious declaration, Eupraxia slipped to the other side of the saloon, leaving Thassie and Adra alone again. Adra frowned, resisting the curious desire to follow the woman and discover what the hell was happening under all of that secrecy.

“You shouldn’t treat her like this, Adra,” said Thalassa when they were sure they couldn’t be overheard by the matron, frowning in frustration when her blue-ice eyes went back to Adra. “It’ll come a day when you’ll need her and, with this kind of behavior, she’ll deny you.”

“She’s the adult here,” Adra retorted, looking at the place where Eupraxia had gone. “I’m eighteen, and she’s the one who should overlook my bad behavior.”

“And this was one of the reasons why I broke up with you.”

Thalassa took a deep breath, annoyed, and Adra felt a pang of guilt. She knew that she was a hard person to deal with, but that didn’t take away the merit of her point.

“It doesn’t matter,” Adra decided quickly, brushing off the subject by pressing Thalassa’s arm to catch the girl’s attention. “I need to tell you something.”

And just like that, with a preoccupied nod from Thassie, she told her about what had happened at the store that afternoon: Damian Kolasi, his proposal, and the meeting next week. At Adra’s every word, the girl looked even more preoccupied.

“You aren’t really thinking of going, are you?” she asked immediately when Adra finished and widened her eyes when she saw her hesitating. “Adra!”

“Shh,” Adra hissed, recoiling while the looks turned to them again. Both of them got silent for a couple of seconds. “And yes, I’m thinking of going. It’s a unique chance, Thassie. I could be the first witch to study at Lethe’s. The chances I could have...”

“Of getting yourself killed?” Thassie filled in sharply. “Adra, of all the crazy, dangerous things you did in your life, to think of believing that demon...”

But she never got to finish what she had to say, because powerful knocks sounded throughout the saloon, making all of them turn to the frail wooden door which looked ready to give in. Eupraxia appeared to shine while bouncing towards the door and opening it, allowing a big group of demons dressed in graffiti black to enter the saloon, as disciplined as an army.

The first reaction was a complete stupor of shock and incredulity, which spread through all of them like storm clouds. The Royal Guard of Agraés was there, in a weekly meeting of witches at the saloon of a decrepit building that was falling apart.

“My brothers and sisters,” Eupraxia’s voice sounded louder. Adra perceived she was using the darkness to spread her voice to all corners of the room. “Don’t be disturbed by our current company. The Royal Guard is here because we have something to do.”

Tempers flared — as was to be expected — while the witches looked around with suspicion. None of them trusted the Royal Guard at all. Authorities were full of self-importance and thought they could do anything and not be held accountable, especially when it came to witches.

The worst thing about, it was that they were right: they could easily escape from any harm done to any of them.

Adra frowned when the Guard’s lead detective entered at last, his black hair shining in the soft lighting and his lips pressed tight together in dissatisfaction. She looked away, however, when his eyes scanned the room, analyzing it with his violet irises.

Whatever it was the motive of the Royal Guard’s officers at the Coven at that moment, Adra knew that it was going to end badly: a lot of demons, with their sense of superiority, against the witches and wizard, who were feeling defensive, ready to strike like trapped animals and feeling like their safe harbor was being invaded. It was the perfect combination for chaos.

“Explain why you brought the Royal Guard, Eupraxia,” ordered Spiridon Louganis, one of the few wizards who were part of the coven for more years than Adra had spent on Earth, his guttural voice impossible to ignore. 

Eupraxia didn’t seem bothered by the veiled reprimand in Spiridon’s words and smiled at her brother.

“The Royal Guard of Agraés asked for our help in the mystery of Aglie Kalliergei’s death, the girl who died at Lethe Academy a couple of weeks ago.”

Eupraxia didn’t seem sorrowful for the death of a young woman while smiling to the group in front of her, all those wizards and witches surrounded by officers that would kill them all without thinking twice over it for the slightest sign — made up or real, it didn’t matter — of a threat in their part. None of them dared to breathe too heavily and Adra felt Thalassa squeezing her hand tightly enough to hurt.

“And what can we do?” asked Spiridon, hesitant, but directed his questions to the leading detective instead of Eupraxia. Adra and the others were even more careful and the climate around them was so tense that even that cold underground room was starting to feel stuffy.

“We want to know if the young woman was really murdered like our centers of investigation and criminalistics seem to indicate, or if it was an accident,” said the detective with an unaltered voice, looking the wizard in the eyes without any expression, be it disgust or respect. Damian Kolasi’s words echoed in Adra’s memories. A stab wound in the middle of her ribs. It couldn't be an accident, not if Damian was telling the truth. And, judging by the underlying tension on the detective’s shoulders, he was.

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