Many artists working at the docks have gone out of their way to paint portraits of the Void Queen. Not to honor her or hang them up on the sides of buildings. In the eyes of our current queen, Millicent Terravale, that is a crime leading to death. A headless, breathless, soulless death.

These paintings bring the dark side of the Void Queen, darker than her appearance. Normally, her face is twisted or her hair, silver-like crystals, spirals into knots of snakes and spiders. To give citizens a visual to her obvious destruction of the void territory and the people within it. An idea Millicent Terravale applauds for everyone should fear the day her sister rises from a black rose throne to kill us all.

Staring at her now, I realize those paintings were wrong. She's nothing like what they created and made me believe. The Void Queen has a mature beauty only achieved by a razor-sharp jawline and profound cheekbones sticking out farther than a pair of deep-set, topaz eyes. Gold sees all. The Void Queen does, too. Soon, gold will shroud and smother all.

Where is the Raven Queen, Millicent Terravale, when we need her? This is her land, but a former queen without a throne will stop at nothing to gain interest.

A soldier slams into my back, nearly knocking me to the ground if not for cold, scaled gloves that wrap around my arms and pull me back to a standing position. Castiel shouts, attempting to fight off the guard dragging him towards the Void Queen, but we're not strong enough. Too young and too weak. The soulless, crafted by Wyetta—the cruel woman grinning wide at our struggling—can't feel pain. They cannot weaken, nor lose. These orders lie in their contracts of a second life.

Others have already fallen under her control. Most of them young and inclined to fight against the dark power invading such a calm and productive dwelling. I want to see the Raven Queen; I want to watch Millicent Terravale in all her power arrive from the night sky bleeding stars to save us all. It's a cruel wish considering she has done nothing for the Farm Territory I've lived in my entire life, but she's the only one able to stop this.

The Void Queen's silver hair, straighter and thinner than my own, blows in the ocean breeze. I smell the salt and a lingering stench of dead fish from the day's work. Unless that belongs to my own hands, I cannot tell. Neither can the Void Queen and she doesn't seem to care. For a woman born for luxury, standing on a wooden dock littered with sand doesn't bother her black scaled armor in the slightest.

No billowing gowns to hide her hourglass figure. Only a cape rimmed with white fur brushes against her back, tangling against the sword at her hip. Her gloved hands fall together, like a proper queen, in front of her abdomen and it takes all my strength not to fight.

Castiel hasn't given up yet. There are others being brought in from many different hiding spots in the village. They, too, fight the soldiers.

"Castiel," I pant, trying to grab his attention. The guard tightens his grip on my arm. He reeks as a soulless soldier should, like he should've rotted in the ground weeks ago instead of walking the same surface I tread. "Castiel, there's no use. Stop fighting."

The guards throw us forward, into the sand in front of the docks, and grains of white and beige sprinkle onto Wyetta's boots. My mother told us to fear her. For she doesn't believe all are equal.

Her armor creaks and squeaks when she kneels down in front of us, resting her elbows over metal thigh plates. "Little elves," she coos. Her blood-red lips curl into a grin. "You look like twins."

I brace my hands in the sand and try to back away, but the soldier presses firm on the back of my neck. His fingers splay and the Void Queen watches as I whimper, bowing my head towards her. I do not wish to obey to her commands; I do not wish to die.

Cold metal tips underneath my chin, a finger of the Void Queen's armor, and she forces my stare back to hers. "What a young, beautiful face you have. I've always favored the young girls appearing of innocence." The fingers of her gloves thread to a sharp tip and she curls one down my cheek, tucking a strand of hair behind my pointed ear.

I wince, crying out when she cuts into my skin. Castiel growls, but the guards restraining him don't allow a second of reprieve from forcing him farther and farther into the sand.

"The innocent girls always possess the most fire. And when I give them...abilities, they show me just how powerful they are," she purrs.

I've never stared into the eyes of someone so beautiful and deadly. Her skin, the dark, rich color of a tree's bark, drains dark against a smile, crescent in white. I fight the urge to gag at the strong metallic scent lingering in the air.

"Don't touch her," Castiel fumes from where the guards have pinned him. His arms twist behind his back, held by one guard, and the other points a blade at his cheek. I can do nothing for him, nor can I protect myself. We can only wait for death.

The Void Queen turns her neck towards him slowly, carelessly. Her long, dark lashes flutter against her cheeks when she blinks. They lock eyes for a moment, like lovers in a dance, and she says, "Let them up."

Without a second of rebuttal, I'm pulled back to my feet. The ground is secure underneath me but the world spins. Possibly because of the line of people being restrained on the docks, behind the Void Queen. Her sister, Millicent, has let us down. The guards meant to protect Rivian and all its people, have left us to our fates. They do not wish to help.

"Marie!" a familiar voice shouts from the fray of victims.

I whirl, searching the crowd for a face, my blood running cold. No, she can't be here. But she is. A quiet gasp leaves my throat at the sight of Chaska, my closest friend, being restrained by two guards. She tugs against their grip, her dark brows drawn inward, but their bodies remain planted in one spot. Anyone but her.

"Please," I croak, unsure about the word leaving my throat. How can someone beg to someone that never bent a knee for another? "You must let her go; she doesn't deserve to die." In the same manner a child points out their bully, I jab a shaking finger towards Chaska.

"Don't worry, young elf." She takes a strand of my hair, twisting it between her gloved fingers, and I flinch. She trails the caramel waterfall down to my waist, where the hair ends. "I am not killing anyone tonight."

"Tell that to the bodies in the streets," Castiel huffs.

Her bright eyes dart to his, a dagger choosing its target. "I said I wasn't killing anyone tonight. My soldiers killed those people, not me."

The true mentality of the insane. A guard kicks Chaska in the back of the knee and she drops, grunting, her thin arms hanging high from where the guards hold on.

  Wyetta jerks her chin at the armored beasts holding us where we stand. "Release." Their grips follow her command, but they remain close behind. The phantom touch of the guard's hand against my shoulder remains, despite my foolish attempt to shake it off. "You will not die today, young elves. That is not your fate, nor is it for the remaining lives standing on these docks." She gestures back towards Chaska specifically, for my sake. The kindness in her eyes doesn't translate.

"My mother told me never to listen to what you offer." I've never seen Castiel simmer so bright, the shade of his skin turns a subtle pink to match the oncoming temper.

"I am offering you nothing. I do not offer things; your mother was wrong."

For a moment, everything is silent. Whines and moans from dying Rivian guards is the only sound at the docks. The victims hold their breath; myself included.

Castiel never thought anything through. Growing up, I reasoned through his decisions and made him see why throwing a rock through the neighbor's window was a mistake or why he shouldn't knock over a trash bin for the raccoons to rifle through during the night. He never understood until I told him—his mind doesn't slow things down. It works too quickly.

Same as now. He slides a dagger out from underneath his sleeve and twists it in his grip, aiming for the queen's neck. I scream out, but Castiel stops. He freezes. My brother, moving fast, cannot blink and his lack of movement coincides with the lift of the queen's hand.

She blinks once, then twice. Bored. "How foolish of you. I didn't think you'd try to kill me, but you've had that glint in your eye since you got here."

Wyetta's face warps from kindness into the twisted snarl I've seen portrayed in paintings. Now she is the Void Queen everyone has memorized through these details we believed to be fake. She takes a step towards my brother and I lunge, screaming out, but a guard grabs onto the back of my shirt and tugs me back.

"Please!" I scream. Castiel's arm remains raised in the air and Wyetta removes the dagger from his fingers, tossing it aside. My father's dagger. "Please don't kill him."

"You keep wishing for that. First with your friend...now with your brother."

He can't flinch when she trails a sharp finger down his freckled face. The only emotion leaking from his body comes from his eyes, a softening that can only mean death is coming. She's dangerously close to his throat; his heart. My brother cannot withstand a beast born to raise hell. No one can.

"I make an example out of the stupid." She wraps her hand around Castiel's throat and someone gasps. The sharp tips of her fingers dig into his cheeks and sink in behind his ears. "These people expect a show; they expect others to die. As do I. I must kill to show my sister, to show the kingdom, that I do not balk. I am not afraid to kill you all."

"I'll give you anything," I plead. "I need my brother."

A suggestive curve shapes her lips and the chuckle erupting from her throat resembles a beast's low growl. She holds a cold and intimidating smile, betraying her warm and friendly tone. My demands are veiled by pleas.

I haven't gone a day in this life without Castiel. Since the day he was born, I held him in my arms and taught him everything I knew. My mother thought it was because I didn't trust him to take care of himself, but I know the truth. I need Castiel so I can take care of myself. If he is not there, what is my purpose?

My father knew from the start. As soon as Castiel laughed at me when he cried at others, my father knew we wouldn't be divided as long as the sun rose in the morning and the waves crashed against the shore. We spent most of our time there, wiggling our toes in the sand and climbing the sharp, slick rocks that our father promised were more dangerous than they looked. I need Castiel so I can hold on to those memories without guilt.

"Do you know what happens when I give abilities to those like you?" Wyetta asks, yanking me from my thoughts.

"Those like me?" I snap. My anger doesn't wish to hide anymore.

"The innocent-looking. The young, with hearts bigger than the largest beasts in Rivian. The beautiful and the protective and the gentle. Do you know what happens when I change them?"

I'm so baffled by the question that not a single word leaves my mouth. I cannot think of the right thing other than an insult earning me a slap in the face, so I clamp my mouth shut. Castiel remains frozen at my side and with every passing second, the soulless continue to tug us apart. The distance remains the same until I look in the sand and spot my thrashing in the shape of a drag-line faulting the sand's once flat terrain. 

"They turn into wildfires. Cleaving apart lands and ripping hearts from chests. The young women especially, when they have something to fight for, they don't stop until they get what they wish. So you see, Castiel must die. It is his fate."

Fate. There is no such thing.

"How...how do you know his name?" I swallow the dryness in my throat to no avail. It remains like a sticky, dry wad attempting to suffocate the air from my lungs.

Sadness resides in her eyes when she gazes at me. "Young elf, I know everything."

Her fist unclenches from where she held my brother, and he takes a gulp of breath, not before the Void Queen's stretched and wide palm grips onto his lower spine. The scream that ruptures from him is like nothing I've ever heard leave his lips, not even when he slipped on a patch of ice and broke his wrist. Then, he cried. There appears to be no room for that now.

The army of the soulless grips onto my arms, holding me there while my brother loses his fight against their leader's power. Her face remains unchanged, a true killer aware of the consequence of hurting others and death, how one can never return. As an older sister, I promised Castiel I'd take care of him until I could do so no longer.

Hands gripping onto my body, my brother falling to his knees, the snapping of bone. It all happens so fast. "Castiel!" I scream, pleading to hear his voice again.

His body slumps to the sand, arms bent over his head. In the distance, Chaska sobs. Someone else, a random citizen of the villages, possibly a friend of Castiel's, ducks their head in silent prayer. Then my brother opens his eyes. And groans.

I've never seen a more beautiful sight.

The Void Queen stands over him. "That normally works," she mutters. Like my brother surviving her wicked game mounts to a knot holding a hog for slaughter. "Very well, your life is yours." She waves him off and steps over his body, and I realize her attention doesn't belong to my crawling brother anymore.

Crawling. The severing of bone rings in my ear and it didn't belong to me. Nor the Void Queen. She continues to walk with her head held high, her muscles tense, and her movements coldly calculated. Castiel's legs drag behind him and his arms, wrapped in a layer of grainy sand, do all the work. He cannot walk.

Hot tears take away my visibility but there's no mistaking the Void Queen stepping in front of me, blocking the sight of a paralyzed boy. Too young and too innocent. Wyetta believes I am the innocent one, I will change into the monster she so desperately needs. But she does not know the fire brewing underneath Castiel's skin and what he'll do to avenge those he cares for most. 

To slice into her throat meant protecting me, Chaska, and everyone else awaiting their fate. No leader comfortable with the cold metal of a throne allows second chances, and no one wearing a crown comes in the name of peace.

"Little elf, you are my magia. You are...a Luminary."

The term is not foreign to me. I know what a Luminary is, why they're considered dangerous and hunted throughout Rivian. The Raven Queen doesn't trust them. She, herself, is one of them. As is her sister.

Wyetta's hand presses flat against my heart and clenches it tight. A sharp needle shoots loose from her scaled glove and bites through my skin without effort, earning a gasp from my lips. My body hangs limp in the arms of the soulless and Castiel can do nothing other than cry out.

A foreign warmth bleeds into my body as the Void Queen holds onto my face and whispers that everything will be all right. It'll fall into place. Just breathe.

Breathe.

My fingers tingle, my knees wobble, and by the time the soulless are ordered to drop me, I can't feel a single bone in my body. I slump to the sand and Castiel grabs onto my hand, but I'm too cold to touch. He pleads for someone to do something; I'm dying. That is far from the case.

The last thing I see is the clump of caramel hair that has fallen over my face, withering to a moon shade of white.