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Each day after is exactly the same. The days are long, lonely, and listless. He always returns late in the evening with glazed eyes, immediately throwing his cloak down and positioning himself across from me. Drilling and demanding more until my chest is aching and ravaged.

When I tell Div about the Magi revelation he seems completely unfazed, walking off muttering something about me still being too stupid. It’s after one night of particularly brutal training that he reappears and takes purchase across my belly. He so rarely sought me out I’m fairly surprised to see him. He never seemed particularly interested in speaking with me and something about him was just—too foreign, other in a way that was hard to describe. He was capable of conversation when he wanted to, but he seldom did.

“You know what he wants, don’t you?”

“What?” I ask groggily, the potions already taking me under.

“He wants your magic.”

“What are you talking about?”

“He’s training you so he can take your magic and become more powerful. We need to leave.”

“I’m not leaving, Div…Sitri’s already warned me about you,” I mumble.

After that Div starts hanging around the chambers more, often taking station on my shoulder. When Sitri returns, he inevitably disappears, only to return as soon as he’s gone to bed. I’m so lonely I don’t even tell him to bugger off.

“You can’t let him have it,” he hisses often.

At first, I wave him off, but his whisperings start to take root in me. “Why do you think he did not kill you for what you did? It's because he wants to use you and take my master's powers.”

“Why would he do that? Sitri is already powerful. He doesn’t need my power.”

“Not as strong as he used to be. His dealings with the black tar are catching up with him.”

The black tar? A hazy memory stirs. The black liquid pouring down Sitri’s arm. Heal, heal, heal, fucking heal. I bat the memory away. “You mean the ichor? You think it’s made him weaker…?”

“He is weaker,” he snarls.

“Is that even possible? For him to take my magic?” Would I even care if he did?

“There are ways.”

A fuzzy memory jogs my brain.

You know there did used to be a deal sort of like that between Gods and mortals…That’s what the Great Rite was for…an exchange of powers, but no one’s been successful with it for a very long time.

I scurry into the bedroom and scrawl the Great Rite in the grimoire. A series of crude images appear across the pages, and I immediately snap the book shut. Couples naked and embracing, no, doing a lot more than embracing. No wonder he didn’t wish to go into any more detail that night…I carefully pry the book back open, more prepared for the graphic images this time now that I know what to expect. And, graphic they are, even some more detailed illustrations of men impaling women.

The Great Rite is a ritual symbolizing the union of masculine and feminine energies, traditionally represented by the God and Goddess. This union facilitates the merging of these complementary forces, allowing for an exchange of power. Historically, it was believed that gods would bestow magical abilities upon their mortal lovers through the Great Rite. Additionally, the ritual has been used by Magi to amplify their innate magical powers, as demonstrated by notable figures such as Leda of line Gorgon and Vasek of the Cthonic line.

The last documented successful Great Rite occurred in 1647, performed by Anek of line Morrigan and Linus of line Selene. Since then, it has been widely speculated that Magi have lost the ability to harness the necessary power to complete a successful exchange. Despite many efforts to revive the ritual, no verifiable cases of success have been recorded in modern times, leading to the belief that the magical potency required for the ritual may have been lost.

I only study the images for a moment longer before slamming the book shut. I don’t believe Div...Even if Sitri did want my magic it’s quite obvious that he has no intention of having this type of relationship with me…

But isn’t it possible that he has ulterior motives for me? He’d flipped a switch so soon after…what I did. Furious to forgiving. And he’s different with me now…distant in ways he wasn’t before. Unless we’re talking about the dāemon, we don’t speak. Sometimes, I search his eyes for a trace of what we had before and find only cold detachment.

His training is brutal. He never suggests we stop until I beg we do, and even then, he seems disappointed I won’t give more . Each night I take a little more valeriana until I’m sleeping most of the day away. Two weeks pass like this, and I finally throw up my hands.

“Sitri, this isn’t working. I’m no closer to controlling the dāemon than I was two weeks ago.”

His eyes flash with anger and I immediately realize my mistake. “It’s not a fucking demon! This is part of the problem. You need to change your mindset. You don’t believe you can control it, so you’re not. Self-fulfilling prophecy. You’re not trying , Pandora,” he snaps.

“I have been trying! What do you call this if it’s not trying?”

“Again, pet.”

The dāemon lashes harder with my fury, and the next time it propels out of me, the couch is shoved back several feet instead of its usual inches.

Sitri frowns at me, his gaze shrewd. He doesn’t see me . Never sees me anymore. Only sees this thing inside of me. “You have so much power,” he mutters. “It’s like it’s too big for you.” He waves his hand, and the couch with me on it slides forward. “Let’s try something different.”

I slump back, and his glower thickens. “Attitude, pet. I want you to try and break it.”

“Break it?” I ask incredulously.

“Yes, break it in half. Split it into something smaller, something easier for you to work with.” I cast him an apprehensive look. “Try, Pandora,” he demands.

His magic cradles the dāemon in my chest. My muscles tense as I try to hold onto it and force it apart at the same time. I tear at it. Rip at it. Direct all of my fury into it. Pain sears, yet I continue until it feels like my chest is being torn right down the middle. I grunt with the effort as it rips and shreds and tears.

Tears prick the backs of my eyes and then the dāemon is surging out of me in two bolts. Sitri raises his hand to block the first in its path, but the second one catches him by surprise. It nails him in the left shoulder, and he flips backward off the coffee table.

I jump to my feet with a startled cry.

“Fuck,” Sitri mutters as he drags himself off the floor, rubbing at his shoulder. He holds up a hand when he sees the horror playing across my face. “It’s alright. That was…good. Let’s try that again.”

“No!” Tears well and spill out down my cheeks. My chest throbs, and the dāemon, not one but two of them, lash inside of me in two separate pulses.

“Really, I’m fine, pet,” he sighs.

“Well, I’m not fine. It hurts. I’m done. ”

He lets out a disgruntled noise. “Alright, we can stop there for the night.”

“No, I mean, I’m done . I’m not doing this anymore. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. I’m done.”

“You’re not quitting,” he says, with a roll of his eyes. “Relax. Just sit down for a moment. Here.” He grabs the vials off the table and offers them out to me.

“This is all you fucking care about anymore,” I say, voice shaking with two weeks of pent-up rage.

No, twelve years of pent-up rage.

He drags his hand through his hair. “Look, I know I’m pushing you pretty hard, but it’s really important you get this under control.”

All of Div’s musings hammer in my head. He wants your magic. He’s using you. “Why do you care?”

His brows crumple affronted. “I want to help you.”

“Is that really it?”

He cocks his head. “Of course. I don’t want that to happen to you agai—“

“If you’re that worried I’ll kill someone else then you should’ve thought about that before.”

“I’m not worried you’ll kill someone,” he snips back.

“Then what do you want from me?” I snarl.

“I don’t want anything from you.” His face falls as he chews at his lip. “Look, there are stories…about Magi that tried to go without using their magic, back when we had to hide.” He grimaces, his eyes grave as he drops his voice. “It could kill you, Pandora.”

Anger simmers inside of me and the dāemon surges. My safety . He’s going to use my safety against me, again . “It—doesn’t—matter.”

His eyes widen in surprise before his shoulders slump. “It matters,” he says quietly.

“To who!? Look around, Sitri.” I gesture to the empty room around us, the walls I’ve been trapped behind. My outstretched hand ends at him. “To you ?” I sneer.

His throat bobs with a swallow. “Yes, it matters to me.”

I scoff. It’s meant to sound angry. It mostly comes out broken.

He takes a step forward, brows pinching and eyes thick with concern. “It matters to me. It matters to Vera. It matters to Syra.”

Syra . The pang is a sharp blade in my chest. “Syra will never know what’s become of me! She likely already thinks I’m long dead.” I take one step forward, chest heaving. “Why do you think I came here? To this fucking place? Why do you think I switched with Syra? I’ve been living like this for so fucking long—“ I break off with a jerk of my head, nails digging into my palms. The room is hazing with my brewing storm. I don’t know if I’m breaking or if I already broke right along with the split dāemon still crashing over me in two separate pulses. I cross an arm over my aching chest, trying to hold it all together.

“Pan, please just take these,” he says offering the vials out once more. “You’ll feel better once you do.”

“Do you want to subdue me, Sitri? Make me behave?” I drop my voice yet it still shakes my hands trembling with it as I take the vials from him. “What else will you do to get this thing under control? You wonder why I didn’t tell you—“ I choke out. “Because last time…turns out you’re just fucking like them.” He flinches as I lodge the vial at the wall and it shatters. “Maybe next you could try smoking it out or starving it out or beating it out or—fucking—drowning it.” I smash the second vial against the wall. He doesn’t flinch this time, staring at me with anguish reflecting back in his eyes as light fissures shake the walls.

I don’t feel any better for it. I just feel foolish and embarrassed by the admission.

I flee to the bedroom, slamming and locking the door behind me, hoping he has the decency to leave me be for once. I collapse in a heap on the bed, trying and failing to hold onto the dāemon. I dig my nails into my ribs as it wreaks destruction against the furniture and walls.

The door clicks open. “Go…away…before I hurt…you,” I sob, muffled into the mattress.

“You don’t scare me.”

The bed shifts with his weight, and he tugs my hands out from my ribs. I shove at his chest, hard, and he clamps his hands around my wrists. “Let me—“

“Stop,” he demands, voice booming with authority. I yank at my arms and he grips them more firmly, shaking them as he commands, “Stop it. Don’t push me away. It’s not going to work.”

“I…already…did,” I sob. He falls still. “You don’t even…want to be around me anymore.”

I give another futile yank of my arms and he pins them above my head as he stares down at me. Unable to hold his gaze, I turn my tear-streaked face away. His mouth finds my ear. “Why would you want to be around me, Pandora? I said I wouldn’t hurt you and then I did. And then you were almost gone because of it.”

“Because…I…killed her.” My words are barely coherent around the heaves of my sobs. “I…killed…her.” He smashes his face against the side of my head, pressing me down into the bed. “Do you think I wouldn’t have done it myself?” he hisses. I stiffen, hiccuping as I turn my head and search his face and find only the cold, brutal truth in his eyes.

All of the sharpness in his face and eyes soften and his grip around my arms suddenly loosens as he sets me free. “I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I’m sorry. I—I don’t want to hurt you. I want to fix you ,” he growls.

I pull my hands down to hide my face behind them. “Not…fixable.”

“You are,” he says adamantly. “I’m just not going about it right.” There’s an unhidden anger in his voice again as he says, “What did they do to you?”

The words crack through whatever semblance of composure I was grasping onto. This time I don’t fight him as he pulls me to his chest. He palms at my face, cups my neck, and tangles his hand into my hair. “What did they do to you?” He asks, quieter this time.

I empty out there against him, the words speaking to a younger, smaller version of myself buried deep inside of me. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he murmurs into my hair. His hand travels down my spine, molding me tighter against him, and then trails back and forth over the small of my back where I know the scars align under my dress. “ You matter to me .” He taps his finger there to the rhythm of the words.

When my tears finally abate, I feel like I’ve shredded through the thick, defensive layer that protects me. It leaves my soft, vulnerable middle exposed. That’s what Sitri brushes against with every stroke of his fingers, tracing unmethodical patterns over my cheek and jaw.

I don’t know what the rules are, my heart still slightly bruised. The last time we’d been this close he fled. I’m so scared of doing the wrong thing I remain completely still, sucking in deep lung-fulls of his scent as if it could make me whole if I could just get enough.

He sweeps my hair away to access my neck, cradling it before painting a feather light touch across the crown of my ear. I’m not used to being touched, my skin as tender and breakable as an overly ripened fruit. Each caress feels like it’s brushing right up against my swollen, tender, throbbing heart.

He trails his fingers down my arm, springing goosebumps in his wake. Taking my hand, he traces the lines in my palm. I meet him there timidly, propping my hand on my elbow as we trail our thumbs over the pulse in our wrists, lacing and unlacing our fingers.

I turn my head to watch our hands dance, entranced by the dichotomy of them, his large, long straight fingers, mine small and crooked. Somehow this feels even more intimate than the things we’ve done before and my blood steams.

A sharp whizzing noise whirs through the air. It grows louder and then quieter. I ignore it at first until it’s happening over and over again in quick succession. “What is that?” I whisper.

“It’s Div,” Sitri sighs.

“What’s he doing?” I heave. The question is rhetorical. I know Div is displaying his agitation at finding me in such an intimate position with the enemy —the person intending to steal away my magic.

"He gets like this sometimes,” Sitri says, sounding faintly disappointed. “He doesn’t always do well with human emotions.”

“Wait,” I say peeking up a face I know must be puffy and tear spattered to send him a questioning look. “You think he’s doing this because I was crying?”

Sitri looks reluctant to admit it, but he nods.

“Why would you say that?” I whisper.

“From experience,” he grumbles.

Sitri’s face morphs from concerned to surprised when my lip quavers and a hoarse laugh erupts out of me. Once it’s started, I’m powerless to stop it. It cracks through the bitter despair of my being and shakes it all loose as my shoulders shake, too. Sitri gives in and laughs too. Div doesn’t let up for a second, his agitated whizzing sending bursts of air wafting over us. “Sorry,” I gasp out. “I promise I’m not laughing…because you were crying…it’s jus’ really absurd to imagine,” I say between laughs.

“I know.” He flashes me a grin as Div whizzes in again. “I should probably let him out.”

I realize I’m holding him hostage there with one hand still fisted into his shirt. “Sorry,” I say as I unravel it, hastily wiping his shirt clean. He’s slow to remove himself from me almost as if…he doesn’t really want to. I banish that thought. He’s only comforting me because I was throwing a huge fit. He presses the hair back from my forehead one last time before he rises.

“Come on, Div, out with you, you insufferable creature,” he says as he makes his way to the living room and lets Div out the balcony door. Doesn’t sound like he has to tell him twice. I press my face into the pillow, not ready to get up, a little embarrassed by my tantrum, even more embarrassed to admit that I’m disappointed the moment between us has ended so soon. It’s not like this had been my aim. In retrospect, it almost feels like it was what I was after. My mood turns dim again.

Sitri appears back in the doorway and I right myself in the bed, rubbing my face clean. I don’t want any more pity comfort. It felt good in the moment. Now I just feel ashamed. “I’m fine now,” I say, a little sharply. “Th—my magic is whole again.”

“Good.” He leans into the door frame. “Would you want to get out of here for a little bit?”