It was a void. The ground beneath Cateline was brilliantly white, like a fresh coat of snow, but the area around her was negated of all color. A bottomless, endless world of darkness. If there was anything good left, it was her ability to stand again. Pushing herself to her feet, she let outcries as she twisted around and begged into the nothingness. She begged to see somebody, anybody, and to understand why she was alone. In the distance, far away, she saw a figure. They were in the last stretch of light before disappearing into the darkness altogether. Screaming out, she hoped they could hear. “Hello,” she cried. “Hello! I am here!” Pushing herself forward, she ran as fast as she ever had. Tripping every few strides, she made sure she did not lose track of the distancing figure. The shadows chased her, too, surrounding her in the null void of darkness, whisperings of lost souls surrounding her as she cried some more. She felt useless. Hopeless. Eventually, the light formed into a scene. It was a familiar one, full of meat and laughter. The men stood alongside each other, laughing over their wine and discussing the troubles of women. To the right was her mother, a younger version of herself at least. With long, black hair and those piercing blue eyes, she idly nodded to her correspondent before letting out a bored sigh. She was beautiful. She wore a tiara, a red gown tracing behind her as she moved towards the center of the crowd. This was not the castle Cateline grew up in, but one that felt so homey and familiar it could have been. Following suit, she watched as Emmeline accepted the hand of a man, his hair a chestnut brown, and his ears pointed. He was older, with a wise smile and loving eyes. They looked well accustomed to each other, and although the men all around her mother stared with envy, she paid no mind. She basked in the attention of this suitor. Cateline wondered who it was—her father, even at a young age, was a warrior. He had fought in battles before puberty struck, or so he had always told her brothers. This man did not match the physique of a warrior—his arms were not muscular and his shoulders were hardly broad. He was mediocre, but Emmeline stared at him like he was her only choice. They danced. Twirling around the room with grace, he rested one hand at the small of her back and the other in her own, whispering sweet nothings to each other as the music overwhelmed the room. Cateline took a few steps closer, begging to be a fly on the wall for this conversation. She had hopes of earning a Prince such as this, one who looked at her with care and devotion. Instead, she was gifted greasy, political men who thought a cherry-crazed innuendo was a good enough gift to wow her and her family. “You look lovely,” the man said quietly to his Princess. Cateline’s mother was a depiction of beauty, with her perfect posture and radiant confidence. She was everything Cateline could ever hope to be—however, it seemed her hopes were all but impossible to achieve now. She would never be a ruler, and no Prince would want a witch as his bride. “You surely know how to woo a girl, my Prince…” Emmeline smiled, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth before the image began to disappear. Cateline reached out to touch her mother, her lip trembling when she was met with nothing but air. When she turned around, she was met with another scene. This time, it was her mother weeping in her room. Emmeline sat at the balcony of her window, leaning over between her cries and yelled down at the ground. She screamed so loud it could have shaken the glasses on the table beside her. Cateline moved, standing next to her mother and looked in awe. So young and so strong, she wondered where this energy had gone during Cateline’s growing years. She had never seen her mother scream in such ways, with such disregard of the negative impact it could have surrounding her. As a child, Emmeline was cool and collected. Never once was she outspoken or rash. When Cateline moved her gaze to see what she was in such distress about, though, she began to understand. Below, at the heart of the courtyard that sat by the entrance of the castle, was a group of knights beating a man with their fists and metal toed boots, blood pooling around him as they began to back away. Before she could see much else of the scene, it began to vanish yet again. Cateline groaned, holding either side of her head as everything began to ring. She closed her eyes and screamed, screamed for Seraphine to spare her. She was being blinded, she was being deafened, and she was being tortured. When the ringing stopped, and Cateline was able to regain her composure and awareness, she stood in the middle of a forest. The only sounds around her were the chirping of birds, the crunching of leaves, and whispers of voices. Cateline pushed through the foliage, hoping whatever image shown to her now was less graphic than the prior. Eventually, she came to a clearing. Here, she found her mother leaning over the body of the man from the ball in the first vision, her cries quiet yet depressing. There was another person, a woman, who stood alongside them and rubbed Emmeline’s shoulder. Leolina, again, haunted this vision with her impossibly aged complexion. Leolina couldn’t have involvement with her family. Leolina could not be as involved as these visions suggested. If she was, it would mean she knew way too much about her family to be comfortable. Cateline watched as the two of them sat alongside the man, his head bashed in and eyes bloodied. He was still moving, but each breath was shallow, and his skin was blue. Leolina reached down and closed her eyes, lifting the man so he was supported and sitting upright. Cateline’s breath caught in her throat as she watched Leolina sink her teeth into him, her hands glowing a golden hue as her fingernails ripped into the chest of the man, twisting her hand around until his body fell completely limp. Cateline screamed at the sight, taking a few steps back until she fell to the ground. The blood oozed out of his chest, falling onto the ground and stained Leolina’s dress. As Leolina tore away from him and removed her hand from his chest bone, her mouth was red. Her chin was red. She was red. Coated in the blood of this man, the cries of her mother drowned out her own. With a shaky crawl, Cateline moved towards her mother and tried her best to avoid the sour sight of death. “This better work, you filthy witch,” her mother said between sobs. Although her words were harsh, Cateline could tell it was stemmed in fear. She doubted her mother’s hostility towards Leolina—it was more of a reaction to the idea of death. “He better wake up from this!” Leolina’s crimson lips turned upwards, her golden eyes widening as she cocked her head. “I’m not just a mage, Emmeline. You should know this well.” “I do not care what you are,” she hissed and pulled the man towards her. Cateline looked down at the man, her stomach twisting at the sight of his open chest. She vomited onto the ground, stomach aching with each upheave as she backed away again. It was gruesome, Cateline had never seen something that reeked of death like that. “I think you do,” Leolina said and nodded before standing. “Otherwise, you’d be raising your child without him.” Emmeline’s breaths grew heavy, hands wrapping around him as she fell into the body, her dress now, too, stained with the blood that gushed from his. “I want him back, Leolina. Please tell me you brought him back!” Leolina sighed and placed a hand atop her head, her lips curling into a scowl at the sight. “Fear not, Emmeline. You shall have your Prince yet again. This time, it will not be so easy to lose him.” Emmeline sniffled and nodded, looking up at the woman with sad eyes. “What does this mean? With us?” “You will know what it means when the day comes. Remember what the Elves did for you—remember that your beloved Alleyn will rise from the dead as an immortal Elf, that you did not suffer the torment of murder in cold blood like my people have. Remember that, and you will be able to keep your love. Sir Alleyn will be just fine, and so will your child.”