Succumbed to The Darkness
There was once a perfect daughter. The good one. The one who cared for her family without complaint, who loved her parents and her brother, who loved them with a devotion that seemed unshakable.
But everything fractured the day a vulture tore her father away. Grief hollowed her out, leaving only ruins where her heart used to be. They sent her away to heal, to recover from the trauma, to rebuild herself. Yet instead of finding peace, she lost herself deeper than ever—only to discover the cruelest truth of all: she was never truly their daughter.
There she faced the first betrayal. She made 1 mistake after another, and another, each choice dragging her further into the shadows until guilt consumed her completely. In the end, there was only one way out. She killed the human version of herself, silencing the girl who once cared, once loved, once believed she was good.
Perhaps she called it peace.
Perhaps it was only ignorance.
After all, they say ignorance is bliss.
The day the school fell was the day that good daughter died. What rose in her place was nothing like what she had been. Only one fragile thread remained—the faint voice of conscience, just loud enough to keep her from sleeping all night.
Time passed. I was living with Monroe now, in her house, in her world. I didn’t understand everything that had happened, but I knew this much: I felt relief. Relief in the strength that came with my darkness. Relief in knowing there was no one left I had to be good for.
The more I leaned into that darkness, the more I forgot who I had been. My fears faded, my grief quieted, and all that mattered was Monroe. What she wanted. What she needed. She became the center of my world, and I was becoming obsessed with her.
That was only the beginning. I worked for her, and piece by piece I forgot who I had been, what had once mattered. I forgot how my parents were murdered by the very hands pulling my strings. I forgot how I lost my brother or my friends.
It might never have come to this if I had waited a little longer. Mistwood was being rebuilt by the surviving students, but I didn’t know where. Ryan and Mr. Smith had sworn to break me, to drag me to my knees even if it killed me. I didn’t care. Hatred meant nothing to me anymore.
One afternoon, I rested in the swimming pool, arms draped on the edge, eyes closed. The air shifted—I wasn’t alone. Opening my eyes, I found Dorian standing there, his gaze crawling over me with lecherous intent.
I was washed clean of who I had been. My old self was gone. This was my new life, and Monroe was my master. Yet something about Dorian repulsed me. I climbed out, snatched the towel from the mat, and wrapped it tight around me.
His eyes dragged over me from head to toe. *If he lays one finger on me, I’ll cut it off,* I thought. I’d been stared at before, but his gaze was different—violating, unsettling, a look that made me want to disappear inside the towel.
“What do you want?” I asked sharply
“So you feel nothing for me anymore?” he shrugged. I didn’t know why he said it, but I knew he wasn’t talking about love.
“I’d be damned if I ever felt anything for you.” My glare was full of disgust.
I’d been to his parties, seen the girls swoon over him, desperate for a glance. I never understood why. All I saw was a pair of pretty eyes, golden hair, and a handsome piece of trash with an empty head.
I knew I’d met him before, but the memory was fractured. I couldn’t recall what he had done to me, only that he wanted his hands on me—and I’d rather die first. Every time I tried to remember, pain knifed through my skull.
I left the pool area and stepped into the living room, where Monroe was sunk into her couch, eyes on the television. She glanced up as I entered.
“What’s got you pissed?” she asked.
Drying my hair with the towel, I snapped, “Tell your son to stay miles away from me.”
“Gladly.” She smirked and popped a handful of popcorn into her mouth. “Want some?” She held the bowl out casually.
I grabbed a fistful and shoved it into my mouth. She patted the couch. “Sit. I’ve got a job for you. One of our men says the enemy is planning to strike. I want you to spy on them, find out their plan, and report back.”
I stood, nodded once. That was enough.
But as I turned, I saw him—Dorian—still standing in the doorway, staring. My skin crawled. I pulled the towel tighter around me, left the room without a word, and went straight to my bedroom.
The bedroom was vast and gilded, but I wasn’t greedy. Gold and glitter meant nothing. Sleep never came, no matter how soft the comforter or how welcoming the bed. My memories were gone, but my conscience wasn’t—and it refused to let me rest.
I only needed to survive the hours until sunrise, when I could hunt down every detail of their plan. So I worked out. My body hardened, stronger each night. I could push for hours without feeling tired, as if I were turning into stone.
After a shower, I was drying my hair when I caught strange noises outside. Sounds I couldn’t, or didn’t want to, put into words. I dressed quickly and stepped into the hall—only to find Dorian sprawled on the couch with a girl. His pathetic attempt to make me jealous. I rolled my eyes. “Buakh.”
The girl wrapped herself in a sheet and fled. I was about to do the same when his voice stopped me.
“I just wanted to talk to you!” His tone dripped with desperation.
I turned back, reluctantly sinking into the couch, pulling the bathrobe tighter around me.
“What’s the point of this?” He shrugged, “You’re mine anyway. I have every right to see you.” His eyes narrowed.
“Is that so, Dorian?” I tilted my head, mocking.
“I mean, yeah—I did try to kill you. But that was before you joined our side. And as the fealty says… if you shake hands with us, you’re bound to marry me or my father.” He shrugged, smug and audacious as ever.
I rose and moved toward him with deliberate charm, settling beside him with a smile as my fingers brushed along his jaw.
“You have no idea how unpredictable I can be. Once, I might have chosen you over any man. But now that I can think clearly…” My gaze shifted from the floor back to his face. “I’d rather choose your father over you.” My voice cut like a hiss.
“At least he had the courage to strike from the front—unlike his little coward of a son who stabs in the back like a snake in the sleeve.”
He snarled, fangs flashing, eyes glowing.
I gripped his jaw tight. “Oh, how I once mistook those glowing eyes for a spark between us. Mistaking your puppy tricks for a love that was never real.”
He jerked free, growling, “Screw you!”
“You already did, Dorian. Or have you forgotten how that turned out? Or do I have to recall the tale of a frozen sleeping beauty? A modern fairytale.” I leaned back, stretching my legs across the table.
“Ugh! Just forget it!” He shot up and stormed out into the corridor.
That’s when Monroe entered, her eyes flicking to Dorian’s half-naked body before rolling in disdain.
“Coffee.”
She was already brewing it, and I savored every cup she made—it dulled the storm inside me. I zipped up my boots, pulled on my cap, and drained the last sip.
“Try to stay out of sight,” she called as I stepped out.
Her house stood on the top floor of the sanctuary. Outside, ruins stretched as far as I could see—trees stripped bare, hills of black sand, not a single blade of grass. It had been this way ever since I opened the portal.
I took long, deliberate steps and melted behind a tree. Ahead, a massive bridge stretched where I’d never been. Guards patrolled with jeeps and guns. I needed a distraction. I twirled my finger in the air, summoning a ripple across the water beneath the bridge. All eyes turned to the waves, guns raised, waiting for me to surface—while I slipped silently behind them.
*So this is where they’re rebuilding the school,* I thought as I crept through the arch. Refugee camps sprawled before me, a flicker of recognition tugging at my mind. I had been here before.
I strained to focus, then caught voices. Pressing to the corner of a camp, I peeked through the lining. Hector sat with Mr. Smith, plotting a strike for midnight. My fists clenched. How could he shake hands with the ones who had taken his daughter? My memories were a fractured puzzle, twisted and unreliable.
To me, the school had sided with the enemy. I only wanted to save the friends trapped in the portal. Confusion clawed at my mind, yet a voice always reminded me: *This is what Monroe told you—so it must be true.*
I was about to pull back when a voice cracked through the night. “Please… just let me talk to her, just once! She’ll listen!” My eyes widened. It was Shawn.
A girl’s hand brushed into view, the bracelet.
Robin.
I tried to see more, desperate for any sign of my brother, but the shadows hid him. Still, my presence had stirred them, and I knew I had been noticed.
Hector’s head snapped toward the lining where I was peeking. My chest tightened, but I slipped away, diving into the water and swimming until the sanctuary’s shadow rose ahead.
*If they’re my enemies, why did they save Shawn and Cris?* The question gnawed at me.
Back at Monroe’s, I dropped onto the couch across from her.
“What happened?” Her eyes narrowed, reading the unease in me.
“What did they do to me again?” I asked before I realized I’d asked her this before.
She sighed, pouting. “We’ve talked about this, darling. You need to move on.” But my face told her I wouldn’t. She relented. “You lost your friends in the portal. You begged me to help reopen it. But when you tried, they attacked you with every element. Not only did it stop you, it triggered a reaction that twisted our realm and scrambled your memory.”
Her words hung heavy, but doubt slipped in. “But…”
Her voice cut sharply. “Are you calling me a liar?”
“No—never!” I rushed to her, sinking to the floor with my head on her knees. “I would never. It’s just… I saw Shawn and Robin today.” My whisper trembled.
Her gasp was sharp. “Where? Here—in this realm?”
“Is there another realm?” I squinted, searching her face.
“Forget it! Hector must have given them up to side with Isaac.” Her fingers stroked my scalp gently. “I’m so sorry they betrayed you.”
I pressed my face into her lap, wiped a tear from my cheek, then stood. “He’s planning to attack us tonight. From the back.” Without another word, I returned to my room.
Monroe threw a party by the pool that evening. She invited me, though I couldn’t understand why. I had no intention of going until she walked into my room.
“They’ll think we’re celebrating,” she said, lips curling into a vicious smirk. “But we’ll be waiting. We’re ready for battle, Zinnia.”
I changed into a maroon halter, high heels, and heavy earrings, then passed through Dorian’s watchful eyes on my way to the kitchen. Monroe stood at the counter, pouring wine into glasses.
“Enjoy yourself,” she urged, and as the techno beats pulsed through the walls, I felt my body surrender to the rhythm.
I like to get drunk and dance!
I swung my hips, took the glass, and drifted toward the pool where everyone was already moving to the music. For the first time in too long, I felt like I wanted to enjoy it too.
But mid-sip, something caught my eye—a shadow behind the wooden fence. I scanned the crowd, keeping calm, then slipped toward the small wooden door at the corner. Sliding out unnoticed, I pulled the gun from under my skirt and pressed against the wall.
I whipped around the corner, weapon raised—only to freeze.
“Tristan!” Relief shot through me. “I almost killed you!” I grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the sanctuary, knowing exactly what Monroe would do if she saw him.
“What are you doing here?” I hissed.
He planted his hands on his hips. “I could ask you the same, Zinnia. What are *you* doing?”
“It’s a long story.” I shoved the gun back under my skirt, mouth tightening. “My people betrayed me.”
“No, they didn’t!” He stepped in front of me, locking his eyes with mine. “Zinnia… have I ever tried to hurt you?”
“Of course not—you freed me from…” My words faltered. My head ached, my ears rang.
“You freed me from a tank!” I mumbled.
“A tank which Monroe created to keep you in!” He grabbed me by my shoulders.
Memories fluctuated, her vicious smile, every time she drowned me.
I turned toward the sanctuary, remembering why I had come there, how I had begged for her help—and how she had given it. Slowly, I looked back at him. “How could I forget that?”
“It’s not you! It’s Monroe. She’s twisting your memory. I know—I was her toy. She would never be loyal to her enemy… least of all to a phoenix.” His eyes pleaded with me.
