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A YEAR AGO

“ I ’ve always known I was cursed.” River Waterborn crossed her legs on the leather couch and stared at her manicured nails, picking at the chipped pink polish that should’ve been removed three days prior.

“When I was young, I felt different. Something was just… off. I could never quite put my finger on what was wrong with me. Honestly, for the longest time, I just thought I was socially awkward due to my upbringing.”

She laughed, the dry sound lacking all traces of humor, and scratched absentmindedly at her nail.

A piece broke off, floating down to the beige carpet like a discarded pink snowflake.

Everything in this office was brown and beige, except for the green potted plants on the bookshelf behind her therapist.

“I was right, though,” she mused, staring at the rosy fleck as though it contained the entirety of the world’s secrets. “Something is wrong with me. ”

Magic churned in her veins, a powerful, familiar feeling. This had been River’s reality ever since she came into her magic on her eleventh birthday.

The throbbing sensation never truly left, and it got worse the more she concentrated on it or when her emotions got the best of her… which was often. That was how she found herself in her therapist’s office for the third time that week.

The pull of her magic got stronger, and she paused. Squeezing her eyes shut, she breathed in slowly. Deeply.

In and out.

She focused on the air’s cool temperature, drawing it into her lungs and holding it for three beats before exhaling the slightly warmer air. The meditative breaths rolled through her, steady waves sweeping against the shore. Slowly, her magic shifted from a rolling boil to a simmer.

River’s magic would never go away, nor would it ever be truly calm, but at least now it was manageable. That was all she could hope for these days. Managing her magic. Controlling it. Making sure there was never a repeat of the Incident.

When she was certain she wouldn’t accidentally call a storm upon her therapist’s office, River reopened her eyes.

“Death lives within me,” she murmured, rubbing her thumb over her chipped nail. “It always has, and it always will.”

River had long since resigned herself to this fate. She was broken. Cursed. She must’ve angered the gods in a previous life, and this was her punishment. That was the only explanation for why they would burden her with something so awful, why they would give her such immeasurable power.

For years, she had made offerings to the various fae gods, begging them to release her from the heavy burden of magic she was forced to bear. None had ever heeded her call. At this point, she was convinced no one ever would .

She was doomed to a lifetime of this. Always cursed. Always alone. Always on the brink of releasing another deadly storm on the world.

“Doctor Waterborn, we’ve discussed this at length.

” Eliza Fern’s calm, melodic voice seemed unbothered by her patient’s morose proclamations.

The therapist was always like this—steady in the face of River’s storm—which was why River continued to see her.

“This is an unhealthy mindset. Your magic does not have power over you. It is not sentient. It cannot kill any more than it can give life.”

This wasn’t the first time River had heard this, or even the hundredth, and she slowly nodded.

Arching a brow, Eliza tucked a lock of silver-white hair behind her pointed fae ear. Wrinkles decorated the therapist’s face; if she were mortal, she would’ve been in her fifth or sixth decade of life. River wasn’t sure how old Eliza was, but she must’ve seen at least five centuries come and go.

Eliza placed her stylus on her tablet and met River’s gaze. “What do we always say?”

Taking a deep breath, River dropped her hands to her lap. She repeated the mantra she’d said a dozen times a day over the past nine months, ever since she started seeing Eliza.

“My magic does not control me.” She spoke slowly, letting each word act as an anchor, sinking into the watery depths of her mind and grounding her. “It is a tool I have been given. I control it.”

By the time she reached the end, her magic hummed quietly in her veins. She inhaled, drawing in her first deep breath in days. Her lungs expanded without the pressure of her magic weighing her down, and her shoulders relaxed.

This .

This was good .

Some days, when the memories of dying screams, towering waves, and turbulent winds were all River could hear, the mantra was the only thing keeping her on this side of sane.

“Very good.” Eliza’s pen scrawled across her tablet’s paper-like screen protector, the pleasant scratching sound filling the air. “You’ve been training, correct?”

River flexed her fingers, absentmindedly drawing a strand of water from her hand and twisting it around her pinky like a liquid vine. “Every single day.”

She did so without fail, as she had since the Incident when she was fifteen. Nearly a decade had passed since then, and last year, River had Matured.

A process that varied from one species to another, Maturation brought them into their full power, extended their lifespans, and gave their magic more stability. Even after Maturing, River still expelled her magic each day. She couldn’t afford not to.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that.” Eliza scribbled another note before folding her hands in her lap. “And how about the other thing we discussed?”

River bristled, digging her fingers into her knees. As if that could help her. As if that could change the events of this morning.

“Remain calm, River,” her therapist encouraged. “Breathe.”

She hadn’t even realized she’d stopped doing that.

In and out .

River drew in a series of long breaths before shaking out her shoulders. “I… it’s not going well.”

A few months ago, Eliza proposed that River try talking with her mother, Tertia Waterborn. Eliza postulated that attempting to repair her relationship with her mother would, in turn, lead to River having a greater sense of control over her magic.

The problem was that even though the therapist was well-meaning, she didn’t know how cold Tertia really was. How heartless. No one truly did, except for River’s brother, Ryker. But Ryker hadn’t lived at Waterborn House for several years, leaving River alone with their parents.

That was probably for the best. After all, if River was alone, she couldn’t hurt anyone else. The souls already on her conscience counted in the thousands—she couldn’t afford to add any more.

Eliza sighed heavily, and River squirmed, avoiding making eye contact.

She hated disappointing her therapist almost as much as she hated disappointing her brother.

There weren’t many people in River’s life who cared about her, and even though she paid Eliza a hefty sum to listen to her problems, River considered her a friend of sorts.

“We’ve talked about this.” Eliza picked up her stylus.

“I know, I know.” River chewed on her lower lip, running her tongue over the cool metal of her piercing. The tugging sensation was just painful enough to ground her, and after a moment, she released the ring. “I tried again this morning, but it didn’t go well.”

That was an understatement, actually. Last night’s laser game didn’t go well—River’s favorite team, the Drahanian Dragons, lost by a landslide.

Pablo Richeau, the Dragons’ star player, got injured and was carried off the field in the first few minutes of play.

The team had never recovered after that, and they’d suffered their worst loss in over a decade.

Last night had been bad, but this morning had been awful on an entirely different level.

“Tell me about it,” Eliza encouraged gently. “If you don’t mind.”

River did, in fact, mind. She minded so much that she wanted to bolt from this chair and run out of the building. She didn’t want to think about this morning ever again, let alone talk about it.

The only reason she stayed in her seat, the only reason she dug her fingers into the armrest and forced herself to remain still, was the screams that haunted her nightmares. The memories of the lives she’d cut short.

River didn’t want to hurt anyone else ever again, so she needed to do this. She needed to maintain control over her curse. If that meant opening up about things that caused her pain, flaying her soul open and leaving herself bare in front of Eliza, then she would do it.

Anything was better than calling down another storm upon innocent people.

“I was just getting home from the hospital this morning when I saw her,” River began in a quiet voice.

Last night, she’d worked her fifth overnight shift in a row.

What should’ve been twelve hours at the hospital had become sixteen, which wasn’t abnormal in her line of work.

Too exhausted to drive, she’d taken a rideshare back to her parents’ residence.

Experience told her it would take several days of sleep before she felt semi-normal again.

Just in time for her next set of shifts.

“Tertia was waiting for me at the dining room table,” she murmured.

Eliza leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. “Did she smile?”

Scoffing, River curled her fingers into fists. “Gods, no.”

She searched her memory for the last time the Representative of the Fae had looked upon her with a trace of kindness, let alone an actual smile, but she came up short.

Theirs was not, nor had it ever been, a typical mother-daughter relationship. River had never been able to laugh with her mother, never sought her out for hugs or to share stories about school, friends, or anything that normal daughters talked to their mothers about.

In fact, she avoided the woman who’d given birth to her as much as possible.