Every step on the polished stone is a humiliation, every inhale of incense is a stark reminder that I don’t belong.And for once, I’m glad I don’t.
As we make our way through the crowded lanes, whispers turn into taunting melodies;Monster, Shadowborne scum, Marked.
The more their notes waltz through the air, the more I let them stoke the fire within.The straighter my back stands, the higher my chin tilts.The brighter the monster they expect to see, shines.
The stranger doesn’t falter the further into the adorned city we go.His grip on the chains is steady as stone, silver eyes fixed firmly on the gilded palace ahead, like a beacon of light.
We pass through a market that resembles nothing to the Lantern Market from home.Stalls are lined in perfect rows, their pristine canopies of white and gold, float in the wind like sails on a ship.Mouth-wateringly sweet fruit glistens under the midday sun; meaty joints roast over spits, dripping fat onto pale stone; and bread rises golden in ovens, richer than any root-cake I’ve ever smelled.
The rumble starts deep within, a low ache that grows with every passing minute I’m surrounded by the delicacies around me.Such abundance, such decadence that we could only dream of back home.
“Look at her,” someone whispers.
I tear my gaze away from a large joint of meat rolling on a spit, to find an old man watching me from behind his half-obscured mask.His skin is smooth and vibrant—a testament to a life untouched by hardship.Clearly, the years have been gentle with him.
My upper lip curls, and this time I let it.Let him see me for what I truly am.
A monster.
He looks away, cracks forming in his porcelain skin as wrinkles form over his brow at the sight of my defiance.A steady warmth pools deep in my gut, calm and heavy as I relish the sight that my unease has caused him; just a mere fraction of what my people feel on a daily basis.People that were too scared to help me—or anyone else that has been taken.And for that, I don’t blame them.
Another tug, another stumble through the crowded streets where jovial faces turn sour, only stoking the fire within.
The corners of my lips turn upward, and for once in a very long time, I let them.
The polished stone ends abruptly, giving way to a spectacle that wipes the smile off my face, stealing the breath from my lungs.Before me stands the palace gates: a towering expanse of gold that gleams in the unforgiving sunlight.They are less barriers and more a declaration of power, adorned with intricate, winding reliefs of triumphant figures that seem to mock my subdued existence.
The heavy scent of incense and wealth intensifies the closer I get, until the two men standing guard open the gates with a slow, heavy groan.
Chains clink and trail across the floor as I’m dragged forward, crossing the threshold with a boot that screams impure against the pure white stone.
The reverberating clang of the golden gates slamming shut sends a shudder through my bones.I turn, looking back to a place I know I’ll never see again.And just like that, the Hollow—and the old me—are gone.
14
SEREN
The echo of the gates rolls like thunder through the marble walls.I wince—the sound falls like a coffin lid closing.Final.Absolute.
Longing gnaws at me.My life—my home—is gone.In its place sits a bottomless pit of grief for what may never return, and the promise of a future as cold and unforgiving as these walls.
The air thickens like one of Yara’s concoctions, making my breath become shallow, frantic gasps.My vision tunnels, everything around me but the palace disappears from view, like a guiding light illuminating the cold reality of my new prison.
Sweat trails down my spine, pooling into the base of my back as a tremor begins in my hands.My fingernails dig into my palms, the sharp physical pain a necessary distraction from the mental terror bubbling away inside of me.
Fear is a tool, my child.
Yara’s words cut through me—clearing the fog and sharpening my focus instantly.
Monster.I will be the monster they expect to see.
Another pull forward, another jolt that rights my senses, forcing my legs to move.
We enter a long avenue paved with stones so bright they gleam like pearls beneath my boots.The glare is an assault, a blinding heat so foreign I have to squint, narrowing my view into a sliver of white and gold.The manacles seem to relish the brilliance, burning hotter and scalding my skin as I lift my bound hands in a futile attempt to shield my face.
The intensity is too much—a flurry of sharp points needling my exposed skin, as if the very sun itself is a weapon.
Buildings rise on either side, not leaning with instability and painted with dirt and soot, but carved with intricate patterns of vines and suns, gilded so that even their shadows shimmer.Towering lanterns line the street, their feeble light only adding to the sun’s strength.
