Page 1 of Fated for Flames

1

Evelyn

How long had I been trapped here?

Time had blurred into a continuous loop of darkness and despair in this cold cell beneath the coven’s luxurious estate. It might have been three months or even more since I’d been betrayed and incarcerated by those I’d once called family.

The air felt cold and tasted metallic. I could no longer perceive what was the scent of my blood coating the damp stone walls or the smell of urine and sweat. I could only hug my bruised and battered body on the thin cot, attempting to keep myself from freezing.

Theo, whom I’d once laughed with, had turned into the harbinger of my torment. His eyes, once warm and friendly, now gleamed with cruelty that chilled me to the bone as he demanded, every time he came, that I surrender my magic to the coven.

But he was nothing compared to Miss Clarissa Vane, one of my teachers at Arcanum Academy, whose sadistic talents turned the fabric of nightmares into reality. With her twisted magic, she could weave dreams so vivid, so terrifying, that even the strongest were reduced to tears, and she inflicted them on me daily, trying to terrorize me into relinquishing my magic. Her cruel delight in my torment was a clear testament to the darkness that had seeped into our coven.

But I resisted.

Every single time.

The agony of the beatings and the sting of betrayal were unbearable, yet the thought of relinquishing my magic to them was an even greater torment. It belonged to me, and only me.

The single meal they provided each day was just enough to keep me clinging to life, yet deliberately insufficient to leave me weak and powerless. A cruel reminder of how far I had fallen. While hunger slowly ceased to gnaw at me, thirst became an unrelenting tormentor. Dehydration left me dizzy and frail, often too weak to stand. The headaches and dry mouth were constant, painful companions in my captivity. The pain from the beatings, the icy floor, and the tight cuffs around my wrists and ankles, which prevented me from using my magic in retaliation, seeped deep into my being, reminding me of my utter helplessness.

Everyone had turned their back on me, leaving me abandoned and forgotten. The only break in the silence came from my ragged breathing and the distant sounds of the coven’s life going on without me.

How could they treat me like this?

Yet, amid all forms of brutality, none cut as deeply as that of Lia, my best friend, my almost sister. Her visits were the sharpest form of torture. She’d stand just out of reach, her facetwisted into a cruel sneer, taunting me with words that pierced deeper than any whip.

“You’re nothing,” she’d hiss, her malice clear. “A pathetic witch. I can’t wait to see your powers stripped from you.”

The sound of her laughter, once my greatest comfort, now haunted me.

The night of the autumnal equinox, my eighteenth birthday, and the night of my intended sacrifice, I was dragged from my cell, naked, and presented before the coven like some twisted offering. The crisp autumn air mocked me with its purity as fear gripped my heart, and I was finally ready to welcome death.

Bound and utterly powerless, I watched as the matriarch, a figure of reverence turned executioner, began the ritual. Flames sprang to life at my feet, offering a false promise of warmth. I looked out at the sea of faces, some twisted with shame, others morbidly fascinated. As the fire consumed me, my magic began to fade.

In that inferno, a bitter realization took hold: I was completely helpless, a triumph for them undoubtedly. But my magic, the very essence of my being, wouldn’t be surrendered without a fight. Even in the face of total despair, I clung to that defiance. Alone amid a crowd that had once meant family, the betrayal cut deeper than the flames could ever reach. The physical pain was excruciating, yet I held fast to my magic, welcoming the end with pride that I had never given in.

As flames engulfed me to the point I couldn’t feel any more pain, my final thoughts were of revenge. If I were to die, it wouldn’t be in vain. They would remember this moment as the dawn of their undoing. Within me, a flame of vengeance ignited, a fire no earthly power could extinguish, a burning desire for retribution that would outlast even death itself.

Then darkness claimed me, swallowing me whole into its silent embrace.

2

Evelyn

Iwoke up with a scream, my heart racing as a searing flash of pain lingered in my memory. I frantically patted down my body, finding no flames—only the smooth fabric of my pajamas.

Moonlight poured through the thin curtains, casting a soft glow over the overwhelmingly familiar space. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, it brought back memories of happier times in my childhood room within the coven’s estate. The desk was cluttered with photographs and books while the forest-patterned wallpaper, that I had once found so enchanting, still decorated the walls.

This estate had been where I had grown up, laughed, cried, and where my life, as I knew it, had ended. Or so I had thought.

Tentatively, I ran my fingers over the soft fabric of the bedsheets, marveling at the sensation. Gone were the rough, unyielding cuffs that had cut into my wrists, the icy bite of the stone floor, and the ever-present ache of my battered body. Ifelt slightly weak but nothing compared to the hell I had been through.

For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to sink back into the comfort of my bed, a stark contrast to the hard, unforgiving cot of my prison cell.

How was this even possible?

I slowly sat up, my mind reeling as I tried to make sense of everything that had happened. Turning on the light, I moved my hands over my arms and legs, finding them unscarred and whole. No bruises, no cuts, no burns. It was as if the torture had never happened.

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