Kingdom of the Wicked

A woman with a little power was terrifying to some.

My twin. My best friend. Gone. We’d never drink or laugh or plan our future. She’d never mock Nonna’s superstitions or jump out from the shadows again. We’d never fight or make up. She’d never push me to be bolder, or tell me to grab my dreams by the throat. I didn’t know who to be without her. How to go on.

s terrifying to some.
I curle

“So. Have you had any special wine or spirits lately?”

Solace was the furthest thing from vengeance and I wanted nothing to do with it.

It upended my idea of how evil was supposed to present itself to the world.

They didn’t have red eyes, or claw-tipped fingers, or horns. The creatures from Hell were elegant, regal, well mannered

Grief carved me in half. And fury honed the pieces into a weapon.

Now it was time to unleash it.

She didn’t understand the hatred I was being consumed with. Didn’t see how I longed for revenge.

Vengeance was now a part of me, as real and necessary as my heart or my lungs.