“I do. She was part Sicilian,” Amrin murmured. “Spanish too. Curvy. Loud. Emotional. Everything my mother hated.”
My hands curled into fists.
“My grandmother loved me,” she whispered. “Really loved me. She used to tell me magic blooms differently for everyone.”
That explained it.
The grief.
The way her voice softened talking about the woman.
“I’m glad she was kind. But you’re talking in past tense?”
“She died when I was thirteen.”
Something inside me went very still.
Amrin inhaled shakily before continuing.
“The entire Coven came for the funeral. Hundreds of people.” Her expression grew distant. “No one was paying attention to us kids.”
Us kids.
She must have meant her sisters. Cousins too, maybe.
And the implication made my stomach tighten instantly.
“They cornered me in the cemetery,” she whispered.
Rage bloomed sharp and immediate.
“They teased me constantly back then. My weight. My lack of magic. Everything.” Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor now.
“Fuck,” I growled instantly.
Her gaze flicked upward.
“I think… maybe they were embarrassed by me.”
“No, Luna. They were cruel. Embarrassment is no excuse for cruelty, even if they had a right to feel that way—which they didn’t.”
Something fragile moved across her expression then.
Like she didn’t know what to do with someone defending her.
Gods.
Who had taught her she deserved mistreatment?
“They chased me,” she continued quietly. “I ran into one of the old family mausoleums trying to hide.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
“And then?”
Her breathing grew shallow, ever so slightly.
“They blocked the door.”
