Alpha of her Heart

IN A DUNGEON, beneath the Black Tower, where the stone walls breathed coldly. Seris sat curled on the damp floor, her arms wrapped over her knees, and a thin linen shift clinging to her skin, soaked with sweat and smudged with dirt. The torchlight flickered through the iron bars of her cage, casting her shadow like a smudge on the far wall. She couldn’t recall how long she had been here. She couldn’t remember anything about her life—her parents, her childhood, her origin… nothing. Just her name—Seris Everwyn—was spoken to her once in a dream that could have been a recollection. There was also a burning that she always felt scorching beneath her skin. A drop of something thick fell out of her nostril. She wiped it absently and saw the black blood, not red. The toxin level of poison in her veins was rising. Somewhere from the dungeon, a door creaked open. Then slow, steady footsteps echoed down the spiraling stone staircase. Seris’s body tensed before her mind caught up, not from fear but resignation. Her anguish had settled into a predictable routine that she always felt when the person she feared was coming. She was approaching. The Poison Witch, Nyxaria. She’s a woman with a silky voice drowning in venom. She never shouted. Her voice was calm—too calm that it was frightening. The witch’s shadow appeared first, slithering across the floor like a serpent. Then came the scent of rosemary, hemlock, and decay. Seris didn’t lift her head. It was better not to meet the witch’s gaze. It’s better to keep still. “You bled again,” the Witch said as she knelt outside the bars. Her voice was syrupy sweet, like a mother humming to a corpse. Seris did not say anything. Through the bars, a chilly hand grabbed Seris’ chin. Her face was pulled higher until their eyes met by fingernails coated in an oil that caused her skin to burn and itch. And the Witch smiled sweetly. “You’re nearly ready,” she cooed. “My beautiful little vessel. My masterpiece.” “I’m not yours,” Seris whispered, her voice broken like dried leaves. The smile deepened. “Of course, you are. Who do you think kept you alive when the poison should have torn your lungs apart?” “I don’t remember anything,” Seris whispered. “That’s the point,” the Witch said, leaning in closer, her eyes shining like water in the pond. Seris flinched. The Witch lowered her fingers and pressed them on Seris’s chest, just above her chest, and said, “You were born for this. You don’t need the burden of a past, pet.” She grinned evilly. “You are born to carry what no one else could. You’ll thank me when the time comes.” The Witch’s robes hissed like snakeskin as she stood. She turned and started to go, the sound of her steps mingling with the ensuing quiet. Left alone again, Seris sank back into herself, into the emptiness, the pain, and the cold. She looked at her trembling hands. Her fingertips were gray-blue, and their veins were tinged violet. Her heart was beating, but it was weak and she could even count her heartbeat. And something ancient twisted in its sleep, deep within it. She looked around her cage. This place was a prison, and she stayed here for ages. Her body became a vessel for venom and magic—experimentation for the Poison Witch, who had told her. The Witch even told her to call her ‘mother’. But Seris didn’t call her that. Seris lay down on the hay and closed her eyes. She looked up at the dark ceiling. For some reason, a memory struck her mind. Sunlight… “I want to see the sunlight…” she whispered before she fell asleep. WHEN SHE WOKE UP, she found herself lying bound on the marble slab with her arms strapped above her head, legs shackled in iron laced with runes that pulsed every time she tried to move. Restraining was unnecessary. The poison already weakened her, coiling like a snake in her gut, waiting to strike her form within. Seris didn’t scream anymore. Not while the experiments were being conducted. She’s already tired. The smell of acidic potions and ancient plants filled the air. Around her, shadows danced against the alchemical tools with iron needles immersed in smoldering green elixirs, glass vials, and syringes carved with runes. The silence was menacing that throbbed through the room. Then a voice came from the other end of the room. “Little pet, didn’t I warn you?” The Poison Witch stepped into view, her flowing robes trailing behind her. “I have developed a new potion and it needs to be tested… on you.” Seris remained silent. Even when she screams and begs, Nyxaria wouldn’t listen to her plea. She would never, ever listen to her. “If your father only agreed to my request before, you won’t suffer from my wrath, Seris.” “My father…” Seris whispered. Who is he? Nyxaria sighed and raised a vial filled with liquid with a color of dying embers. She raised it slowly, admiring how it glowed faintly in the dim light. “This was the potion I have developed. Let’s see what they whisper in yours.” Seris’s eyes widened. “Don’t—” But it was already too late because the needle sank into her arm, and the potion entered her bloodstream. The effect of the potion in her body was immediate. Her body stiffened, and her back arched off the slab as pain ignited in her spine. The venom inside her screamed in defiance, fighting with the prophetic magic now filling her. Her mouth opened, but no sound came. Visions crashed through her head. She saw a forest of silver trees burning, a silver wolf dragging a chain behind it, and a girl standing on a battlefield, her eyes glowing violet, and her mouth spilling poison like fire. But the girl looks like her—her own face, but older and colder, and she’s smiling evilly. “No,” Seris gasped. “That’s not me!” The Witch only laughed. “Seris, my dear. That’s what you’ll become. Your mixed bloodline was feared by all. And they will kill you when they see you. They have already planned to kill you, destroy you, but I saved you. So, you should be grateful to me.” Seris looked away. Her skin glistened with sweat, and her lips were blue. The magic warred inside her, shattering her mind like glass. She couldn’t help it anymore, and she screamed. Tear escaped from Seris’ eyes. She closed her eyes and wished herself death. She doesn’t know how long she could hold on. “Just kill me…” Seris whispered. And she passed out.