The Grace family had already been on decline for several generations when Octavius Grace was born, but from an early age he lived his life like he was determined to destroy the family entirely. He indulged in every vice that was available to him as a young aristocrat, and no amount of lectures on nobility seemed to have an effect on him.

Octavius didn’t much care what he did or what his parents said, because he thought that, when father died, he’d inherit all the wealth and power he’d ever dreamed of—and then no one would dare say anything to him ever again.

When his father did finally die, Octavius had been horrified to discover that there was no wealth left for him to inherit. Before he died, his father had used most of the family’s remaining fortune to settle his wayward son’s gambling debts, and then donated everything else to the church.

The late Baron’s letter to his son about the situation ended on the note, “Perhaps, with no other options left to you, you can finally learn to live a more humble life.”

The newly appointed Baron Octavius crumpled up his father’s letter and immediately went out and married Tiffany Everton, the daughter of a wealthy commoner who wanted to elevate his family with a title.

Their marriage was brief and tempestuous. By the time Tiffany sued for divorce and returned to her family, Octavius had spent all her money and ruined the Barony’s reputation so thoroughly that it was less embarrassing to be a divorced commoner than it was to be related to him. Octavius had taken everything he could from her and given her nothing in return except a child she hadn’t wanted, whom she didn’t even bother to take with her when she left.

Someone had told Eva, once, that when her father was in a good mood—when he was winning at the gambling tables, or when he had a few drinks in him and a pretty waitress had paid him a compliment—he could actually be a pleasant person to be around. He was bright, vibrant, almost charming, even.

But Eva had no memories of seeing him in a good mood. By the time she was old enough to form any memories, they were well and truly destitute, and her father was never anything other than angry—usually angry and drunk, when he could browbeat one of his old friends into buying him alcohol, or, if he had had bad luck that day, angry and sober, which tended to be even worse.

They couldn’t afford servants, and Octavius was too proud to do anything around the house, so from a young age Eva had to learn to do everything for the both of them. She cleaned, she cooked for them, she even became her own tutor—secretly teaching herself to read when her father wasn’t paying attention. And she roamed the neighborhood when she could get away with it, talking to anyone who would listen to her, asking questions about the world.

At that point, Eva already knew that her father was never going to teach her anything she needed to know to survive. But she was determined to survive anyway, and if she was going to succeed in that goal, she needed to know as much as possible.

And then…

Eva’s father was hungover, like he frequently was, shouting instructions at her for how to make a drink he always swore would cure him.

The kitchen counter was higher than she could comfortably reach, even with the stool. She had to strain to crack the egg into the glass.

“Oh come on, you got eggshells in there, you dumb bitch!” her father shouted. “Can’t you do anything right?! Get a new glass and start over.”

Eva, her hand covered in egg, carefully got down and moved the stool back over to the other cabinet. With her father still grumbling at her from his seat at the kitchen table, Eva climbed back up again, and she reached up and up, trying to get another drinking glass. Her finger just brushed against the glass when she felt the stool shift out from under her and she fell and—

She landed hard on the floor, several knocked over drinking glasses shattering around her, and she felt something in her shoulder get knocked out of place. It hurt so bad, she couldn’t help but cry out.

Her father was consistently mean, but he wasn’t usually violent, or at least, not that violent. But something was different that day.

As he shouted obscenities at her, berating her for making too much noise when had a headache, and for breaking the glasses, and for being a waste of space, he began kicking her. Over and over again, until she felt like she was going to die. Her malnourished body was never that strong in the first place. She couldn’t take that kind of beating.

But Eva didn’t want to die.

She had heard stories of the Goddess, she had even attended a few church services, out of curiosity, so she tried reaching outside of herself, to the Goddess, for help. For a miracle.

But the blows kept coming, and something in Eva’s mind hardened.

Of course, she thought. No one has ever come to save me before. Why should anyone come now? I’ve only ever had myself to rely on.

And so she reached inside herself.

And something cracked open.

And there was a fire.

The fire burned hot and fast, and for some unexplainable reason, never spread to the buildings around it, even though the buildings were all packed tightly together in this part of town. It was a miracle, people said.

They also said it was a miracle when they found the baron’s daughter, a few blocks away, covered in ash and bruises, shivering in the cold, but otherwise fine.

There was no miracle for the Baron, whose burnt-to-charcoal body was found in the wreckage of the house after it cooled.

So the city guards brought the girl to her mother, who had remarried and was living with her second husband in the next town over.

The former Baroness barely glanced at the ragged child before stating with disinterest, “That’s not mine.”

“Pardon me, madame,” said the guard, nervously. Tiffany’s new husband wasn’t an aristocrat, but he was a rich merchant, and he held plenty of power in the territory. “But if you won’t claim her, what should we do with the child?”

Eva’s mother shrugged. “What do you usually do with unwanted children?”

And that’s how Eva ended up on the doorstep of the church, an orphan at age eight.

Eva had no particular interest in the church. After all, she now knew from personal experience that the Goddess either wasn’t real or didn’t care what happened to anyone. Why bother worshiping her?

But then Eva met Anne.

And Anne smiled at her.

And Anne believed in the Goddess.

And so Eva decided early on, that if the point ever came where Anne was crying out to a higher power in desperation, hoping that the Goddess would come save her…

Eva would be the one to answer that call.

Eva, who had fought so desperately to survive, had finally found her reason to live.