I OPEN MY EYES to confused chatter. My vision blurs over and I blink rapidly, trying to refocus. It's only then that I realise I've been crying. I try to lift my right arm to wipe the tears away, but it feels like a boulder has been dropped onto my hand.

I grit my teeth and a low hiss escapes my mouth. The whispers die down and I hear concerned footsteps take their places around my bed. My eyes are still clouded over but I make out Will's face hovering over mine.

"Thea? Can you hear me?" All my past reservations melt away when his voice falls like music to my ears.

I tear up again, despite trying so hard to hold myself back. I choke out a desperate sob and nod my head. Bringing myself to talk is an impossibility; my throat feels like it is harbouring thousands of minute glass shards.

Will reaches out to push the hair out of my face. He runs a hand to wipe the rivulets of tears falling off of my cheeks. "Shh, it's okay, Thea. We are here. All of us," he whispers, reassuringly.

My sight clears and I take in the scared faces of my family and friends. Even Macaria stands off to a corner, her hands folded over her chest. Her expression looks pained — unusually pained — for someone she barely met a week ago.

I shake my addled thoughts out of my head and gather myself. I still cannot find it in myself to sit up so I shuffle upwards. Will places a hand on the small of my back, guiding me gently. I rest my head against the headboard and gulp back another sob.

My bedroom seems small and prison-like, such is the congestion inside. Every inch of space is taken up by someone I love. But no one says a word. They eye me nervously, most of all my parents. My mother is visibly shaken and my dad is trying to hold it together for her.

I can feel his fear all the way over.

Christina hands me a glass of water and Will helps me drink it. Tyler places a hand over my limp one and quietly whispers, "Here."

I smile softly and look up at everyone's grim faces. My heart jolts and I know I will not be hearing good news about the question I'm going to ask. But everyone is here and this is my chance to know what went south.

I inhale, square my shoulders, and look at Charles, knowing he would never lie to me. "What's wrong — wrong with me?"

It is harder to say than I thought. My heart constricts painfully in my chest when Charles tears his eyes away from mine. He moves to stand at the window, his back to me. Tyler grips my hand tighter like it hurts him more than me.

"Tell me," I urge, my voice breaking. No one looks at me anymore, it's too uncomfortable for them. Will pulls me towards him, my hand slipping out of Tyler's hold.

He whispers words of comfort against my hair but I hear none of them. I cannot. I need to know what I am. I need to know why my mother seems so broken when just a week ago she was about to fight the world.

"No, please," I mumble and distance myself from Will. I don't need comfort right now. I need answers. And so I say as much. "This is my life. You cannot hide things from me like that."

I glare accusingly at everyone, but no one says anything. Not Will. Not Tyler. Not even Charles. I feel my frustration build to the point of exploding. The feeling of fear, living in the dark threatens to engulf me whole.

Steeling my jaw, I clench my fists even though every part of my body hurts. It is then that I feel blood and broken skin on the palm of the arm that I previously could not lift. My throat dries up as I rub my palm against itself. Charred skin falls on the coverlet and a low whimper escapes me.

I am not sure what I have been branded as. Didn't the Advisor say I bore the Mark of Love? My chest grows tighter with every breath I do not release. I can't move my eyes away from my closed palm but I know everyone is watching me.

With fire burning in my heart and head, I slowly unfurl my palm, almost afraid to even look at it. I freeze for a few seconds. I register the small curves and the pointed lines before I even realise what I am looking at. It is ugly and bloody and so, so scarred.

A sob of relief washes over me and I smile, still not processing it. "Mom, it's the Mark of Love. Dad, look!" I thrust my palm forward, eager to remove their doubts. "I am fine, see? I am Fortunate, Mom, why are you crying? Can't you see this?"

Desperation seeps into my voice with every syllable I utter. Panic floods my veins and I start trembling. "What is it?!" I scream, tears flowing freely down my reddened cheeks. Will reaches over to wipe them but I push him away.

My choking sobs fill the room and I'm pretty sure I'm going to pass out again. I grip the sheets tightly, my head swimming with pain and adrenaline. Macaria seems to notice because she peels off from the wall and comes closer.

She crouches at the foot of my bed, her hands spread out in front of her. She grabs mine and pulls me forward. "It's going to be okay, Thea. We've appealed to the Council for you — "

I shake my head, cutting her off. I didn't need to hear that. I just want to know. But before I can reach out and plead, Macaria turns away from me. She looks at everyone in turn and finally says, "Give me a few moments with her. Please."

My friends and family hesitate, not wishing to leave me even when they're reluctant to utter a single word. Macaria's voice fills with force when she repeats herself, "Please. You know I can handle this. It's my job."

I am sure working for the Avernus Relief Force, she has come across countless hysterical family members. The same thought must occur to the others because they nod and trudge out slowly, my parents first. Will lingers behind with Tyler but Macaria shoves them out of my room.

She slams the door shut behind them, making the tiny firefly lights on my study table tremble. Macaria sighs loudly before she sits down beside me again. She bites her lip and I look at her expectantly.

"Look Cynthia, I'm going to be honest with you," she says, looking straight into my eyes. I appreciate the sense of calmness she brings to me. She gets me, she isn't trying to hide anything from me. "You're going to be tried by the Council."

I nearly fall of my bed with shock. Of all the things I expected her to say, being held accountable as a criminal was not on my top five. "W-What?" I stutter, uncertainly.

Macaria nods, clicking her tongue. "When you were on the stage with the Flame Amulet, the full moon was immediately covered by mist and wispy clouds. People raised objections, calling you an abnormality, and demanded that you be tried."

"But I've done nothing wrong!" I protest, panic flooding my chest all over again. I cannot breathe anymore. "This shouldn't be possible. I shouldn't be held accountable for a few unpredictable clouds!"

Macaria purses her lips, probably trying to figure out how to explain the entire mess. "It was not just a few clouds, Cynthia. If I am correct, this -- this is not just an abnormality. It has to be --" Her voice shakes like she is trying to prove herself wrong.

"It has to be what?" I ask, my heart feeling weightless with fear and trepidation.

"A sign," she says, shutting her eyes tightly. "I did not think it would be this way but I -- he -- he suspected it all along. It should be a coincidence, for your sake."

"He? Who is he? What should be a coincidence?" I am more confused than I was before. Who was this he Macaria kept talking about? Was someone keeping an eye on me? What in the Underworld was going on?

"Your aura, you essence. It's too powerful for a mortal." She bows her head, her lips trembling. "But I haven't seen the most important thing on you. Maybe he was wrong and you were just a bit different."

"Macaria, what didn't you see? Can you please give me straight answers now?" I plead, not being able to take it anymore. I just want transparency, is that really so hard to ask of people?

As if on cue, my back starts tingling. I had felt the same way when I had held the Flame Amulet but now, it is self induced. It grows up on my spine, making its way all over my back. I cannot move, I feel stuck to the bed.

I thrash against the headboard and Macaria looks up at me, alarmed. "What? What's wrong?"

I feel the words being shoved back into my throat as my back sets itself on fire, blinding me completely. My yells are all muted, no sound escapes me, but Macaria pulls me up in a flash. I gasp and breathe heavily, tears streaming down my cheeks.

Macaria's hand flies to cover her mouth as her eyes fall on my back. "You — you are real."

Even through all the pain, I catch her words. They infuriate me beyond control. What was she going on about? "Of course, I am real! What is wrong with you?" I scream.

She seems to realise her mistake and bends to help me up. My protests fall on deaf ears as she guides me forward, towards the mirror. She turns me around and I nearly fall over in shock.

There, on my back, is a blazing, blood lined circle, with an inverted bident etched gruesomely. Nausea overwhelms me and my head swims with images of the horrifying mark on my back.

"Cynthia," Macaria whispers, shock and fascination mixing in her voice.

"Wha- What is that?" I whimper, weakly, grabbing hold of my bedpost for support.

Without skipping a beat she mumbles, like the name itself could incinerate her, "The deadliest of them all, the Mark of Murder."

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•