“People believe they understand how healing is performed: how it is a process of time and of care. That those like us who provide our aid are saints that heal with a soft and gentle touch. Too often they forget what else is necessary and how sometimes we must first set the bone, cauterise the wound, or amputate a limb. So often, people forget that —before any healing truly begins— the patient must endure more suffering first.”
-Hayat al-Kuyūthā, Saintess of herself, first and last of her name
Dahlia’s footing shifted and her ankle twisted, wrenched in a way that forced her to suppress a whimper. Even through the agony though, the girl didn’t utter a sound. She was composed. She was demure. She was under control. After all, letting her actual thoughts slip out would have only made things worse.
At that moment, a pair of eyes like molten gold watched her, taking in even the smallest expression and relishing every hint of discomfort the girl showed. The woman stalked around her. Tall, mature, and beautiful, with platinum-blonde hair cascading and framing her face; Sabrina Liontáriou looked angelic, yet her demeanour tore that image to shreds.
“Look at you acting nice and tough.” Her tone was taunting even as a sadistic glint never left her eyes, “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were actually trying to impress me, but we both know that if you had even a single redeeming quality then you wouldn’t have to suffer like this.”
Dahlia felt her eye twitch and her mother smirked before continuing.
“Really girl, let’s just say it how it is. You were born to be the Barony’s heir and you’ve failed at every turn. You failed the moment you were born and came out as a girl. You were worthless the moment we learned you didn’t inherit the Burning Lion’s bloodline. Even now, seven years later than expected, you’ve finally begun to develop your magical organs and I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be a failure in that regard as well.”
The Baroness’ eyes drifted over her daughter, taking in each and every detail. Dahlia looked like a younger reflection of herself, only with hazel eyes and a plethora of scars separating the two. Of course, what her eyes truly lingered on were the girl’s expressions, so minute and restrained as she tried to hide her reactions and how much she was hurting. The Baroness chuckled, strutting around her daughter like a vulture circling carrion.
“It’s almost charming, you know. You want to make mommy and daddy proud but you’re a fuck up who can’t even grasp the bare fundamentals of dance and etiquette unless I beat it into you. Do you think that deserves praise, girl? Frankly, if it were your father in charge of these lessons then I’m sure a few lashings would have been the least of your worries for being such a disappointment.”
All while she was endlessly mocked, Dahlia could only stand there and take the beratement as best as she could. No sound escaped her, be it complaints, excuses, rebuttals, or tears: she knew well enough by now that providing any additional ammunition to her mother would only make things worse. All she could do was take it, forcing her mind to focus on anything else, all while desperately hoping that today wouldn’t be one of the times her mother got carried away.
Still, even as she tried to compartmentalise and focus on anything else, pieces of the Baroness’ words would always find ways to get under her skin. Sabrina loved to tear into her daughter’s greatest sensitivities and, no matter how often it occurred, the hurt never quite went away. Even if the way her mother toyed with her had largely settled into a dull ache, the woman had seemingly made it her primary hobby to find new ways to twist the knife. She delighted in it, to the extent that the girl couldn’t remember the last time she saw her mother smile when not tormenting her in some form, and yet Dahlia still couldn’t fully ignore it even after all these years.
‘A disappointment,’ she said. It made Dahlia want to scream.
The word was weaponised time and time again, used to bludgeon her into submission ever since her parents first learned she wouldn’t inherit the Liontáriou’s magical bloodline. As if it was her fault their blood’s purity was too weak. As if she had any say whatsoever as to whether she would inherit the legacy of the Burning Lion. It was— She cut the thought short, clamping down and smothering it before it could grow and fester into the loathing and bitterness she knew it would become. It was fine. She refused to let herself fall into the spiral of blaming herself again, not after having overcome that hurdle years ago.
The click of a tongue snapped Dahlia’s thoughts back to the present, her mother clearly disappointed in not getting a bigger rise out of her, and this time Dahlia repressed a smile instead. Oh, she hated every single moment her mother spent berating her, but in moments like this she could only take joy in resisting Sabrina’s taunts and not giving the woman the pleasure. Unfortunately, the girl couldn’t even let herself smile and properly enjoy her small victory. If her smile was noticed, things would only grow worse, escalating into something she couldn’t control.
And so her face remained still. She remained docile. She remained in control.
And then the lesson resumed.
They were going over beryozka dance lessons, much to the girl’s growing hatred, all to prepare her for her upcoming social debut. It turned out that, despite the fact that Dahlia’s debut was well over seven years later than hoped for, apparently her skills in the dance were still so inadequate that her mother had taken to training her relentlessly. She would be dancing and performing alongside others who were debuting, from the earliest potential of twelve to likely the oldest of sixteen, and yet she —a twenty one year old— was still anticipated to shame her family by comparison.
She wasn’t bitter.
The dance was mind numbing too. Oh it took skill, certainly, but time and time again she found her mind slipping away, hiding from it all as her feet made the same horrifically minute motions for hours on end. It was tedious and she would much rather focus on more compelling topics anyway. Case and point: she was debuting soon and that had other implications that actually had the girl excited.
Her mana organs were finally developing.
It normally happened so much sooner, hence her mother’s badgering on the topic and yet, even though she had to wait, it was finally happening. Oh, there was still so much to be afraid of —so many things that could go wrong— but at least she could hold onto hope for something. After all, she may not have carried her family’s magical bloodline, and she might have been a late bloomer, and maybe she was horrendous at dancing, but in magical theory? In that she excelled.
It was something that her parents had given up on tutoring her ages ago; discovering her apparent so-called muddy blood had left the two forsaking her magical pursuits almost instantly. However, where her parents had seemingly lost all hope in using the girl as an heir, Dahlia had never stopped studying and refining her craft. She had always devoured knowledge, reading every single book that she could get her hands on and retaining every ounce of information like a steel trap, and yet her proficiency in magical theory exceeded all else.
It was almost obsessive how her mind constantly returned to it, gravitating to the concept like it was a fundamental part of her being. Engineering spellcraft was like a puzzle and her mind thrived when it came to taking things apart, piece by piece, and making them her own.
Even just recalling how her parents had thought to focus only on social tutoring in order to turn her into a ‘good wife’ made the girl sick, but she knew she still had a chance to impress them. They had given up long ago, but Dahlia was merely biding her time. All it would take was fully awakening her magic and then — well, she could only hope that it would work out from there.
The crack of a cane hitting skin had the girl jump, thoughts rushing back again to the present although no pain followed. She glanced at her mother only to be met with a taunting grin as she saw the thin cane in her hand.
“Is there a problem, girl? Why so jumpy? Surely you wouldn’t be letting yourself get distracted… we both know that nothing good would come from that.” Despite Sabrina’s voice oozing derision, Dahlia could see through her: the woman was happier now than she had been all day. Just from an idle threat and watching Dahlia’s entire body tense in response, the Baroness’s eyes practically shone in delight.
“Really now, I make you dance for hours each day and yet you still can’t get a single thing right.” She chuckled, gently prodding at Dahlia’s swollen ankle that’d been twisted earlier and drawing a grimace out of the girl. “Oh, don’t you look at me like that. I’m just drawing attention to your countless faults; can you even blame me? You think you’re so good at hiding it but I know you, no matter how much you wish I didn’t. You just can’t resist letting your mind wander, no matter how many times we’ve tried to stamp that habit out. This ankle of yours wasn’t even my fault this time…”
She trailed off, though the prodding with the cane didn’t stop, instead growing firmer over time as the Baroness watched her daughter’s expression like a hawk.
“If I’m being honest however, while not drilling away your desire to think may have been my greatest failing, I’ll admit I don’t regret it. Any fun I had left would have been wicked away had you just obediently given up.” The prodding stopped then, though her golden eyes never looked away. The small twitch of a smirk threatened her lips as she watched Dahlia’s frustration burning beneath her placid expression. “Clearly you’re not responding because you know I’m correct, isn’t that right girl? Well, either way, that’s more than enough stalling. How about you focus this time? Dance properly and perhaps I won’t even need to educate you once we’re done; wouldn’t that be nice?”
The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
She directed Dahlia to stand straight with an impatient wave of her hand and the girl couldn’t hold back the wince this time as she placed weight back onto her ankle. Even as she tried to adjust her posture to relieve it though, the crack of the cane once again echoed from her mother’s hand
“Proper posture girl! I won’t settle for excuses, do you hear me? Stumble or slouch again and next time you’ll feel the lash, understood?” The Baroness was hardly restraining her own expression now, a gleeful look that bordered on manic took over as she made her daughter dance through her agony. Unlike before though, Sabrina didn’t stay silent, instead prodding along conversation while her daughter struggled “Good. This is better; keep it up and you might not even be a total lost cause. Now let’s see if you can maintain it while distracted. You seemed so eager to think of something else earlier, so out with it.”
Dahlia hesitated for a moment but one meaningful look was enough for her to push the words out before her mother became even more liberal with her punishment.
“Awakening! I was— I was thinking about the awakening ceremony and my magic. Thinking about what my aspect could be and how…” She cut herself off, trying not to scowl as she adjusted the phrasing to something more servile, “Thinking how I could use it to better serve as the family heir.”
The Baroness scoffed but, when no pain followed, Dahlia considered that a win for the time being. Nevertheless, her mother still derided her.
“It’s almost endearing how desperate you still are. That you think a good aspect could ever make up for all your other failings. But do continue: who am I to crush your hopes, hmm? You seem more than good enough at doing that to yourself.”
The girl grit her teeth but didn’t rise to the bait. Entertaining her mother with conversation was one thing but there came a point where it would only do more harm than good. Besides, despite the woman’s mockery, Dahlia was convinced that it was worth holding on to hope. With her mana organs finally developing and an awakening ceremony just around the corner, she could practically taste a turn for the better. It would be then, at that ceremony, where her own magical capabilities would be uncovered and she’d finally know if it had ever been worth remaining hopeful all this time.
Her aspect.
Just the thought of it had her jittering with both excitement and nerves; it was the final thing entirely out of her control that would determine her magical worth. Oh, she would always remain brilliant at magical theory —she wouldn’t even shy away from calling herself a genius in that regard— but it would all be for nothing if her aspect failed to meet her needs.
Aspects were, in simple terms, the basis for what someone could cast. Other than magical bloodlines, aspects were what defined a caster’s magic reduced down to their basest concept and, for her to earn her place as an heir of the Liontáriou family, that meant she needed light. Her grandfather’s aspect had been ‘summer sunlight’ while her father possessed the aspect of ‘shining copper’. To have an attribute of light associated with their aspect was tradition, tightly connected to the Burning Lion bloodline, but one wasn’t necessary for the other and Dahlia could only pray for her aspect to succeed where her bloodline had failed.
Personally, no matter how childish it seemed, she always dreamed of something like ‘glittering diamonds’. It sounded rare, and light based, and wealthy, just the way her father liked. Unfortunately, she had no say in it. Although she wouldn’t discover her aspect until her awakening ceremony, there was little different between aspects and bloodlines in that both were genetic. It was predetermined since her conception what her aspect would be and no wishes, hopes, or dreams would change it: the die had long since been cast. But still, she could hope.
“I thought I told you to pay attention!”
Dahlia winced, expecting a hit that never came and her mother’s smirk only grew.
“Really, for all your pride in your studies, your ability to focus is honestly atrocious. Regarding your aspect though, I doubt it can make much of a difference. You are expendable, girl: a resource. Considering how you can’t even represent the family without the bloodline, we’ll just be selling you off to some noble for a profit. And I’ll be honest, the only reason you haven’t been married off yet, despite being old enough to have had multiple children, is just because you’re still considered a child until you’ve had your debutante.”
The woman paused, looking over her daughter as her expression soured. “All of this false hope business is a fool's errand, girl. Your ceremony is approaching and soon after will be the debutante. You’re running out of time and should be feeling like a cornered rat, do you understand? You don’t have any other value to the Barony; your father won’t even wait a day to sell you off to the highest paying lecher,” she practically spat the word before catching herself and lowering her voice. “But no, you’re right, surely refusing to temper your expectations can only go well for you.”
Behind the Baroness was a cold intensity that practically egged Dahlia on to try and refute her, but the girl refused to fall into her mother’s rhythm. It didn’t matter if she had a point. It didn’t matter if her hopes were hanging on by a thread. She needed something to anchor her, no matter how desperate or small, because without it? She knew herself far too well to believe she wouldn’t fall apart in an instant. Worse though, her mother knew it too and it made her goading all the more difficult to ignore.
“Mother, weren’t you wanting me to focus on my dancing? I feel like this is somewhat counter productive.”
The woman chuckled, “Oh, I’m sure you want to stop talking purely for the lesson’s sake. Don’t worry girl, after seeing how distractible you were today, I just felt like doing you a favour. Don’t you think training to dance while splitting your focus is a good idea?”
Dahlia didn’t respond, simply biting her tongue in hopes of her mother moving on. Unfortunately, after a click of her tongue, she did exactly that.
“I think it would have suited you if you had never developed magically.”
The girl nearly twisted her ankle again at that and looked at her mother like she was mad.
“You what?”
The Baroness smiled wide at her daughter's reaction but continued. “Don’t look at me like that girl; you may act like a fool, but you’re not stupid. I said it'd be better if you’d been manaless. Oh, your father would have been irate; even just from past conversations where he suspected you’d never awaken, I believe he said… what was it now? ‘I refuse to have my child be a disabled, magicless, freak’, something like that. You should have seen him when I mentioned it in passing: he was livid at the mere thought. But personally? I think it would have suited you.”
Dahlia was stunned in a way her mother had rarely achieved before. Sabrina had essentially said she wished she was crippled in one of the most shameful ways imaginable for a noble family and she said it with almost a… wistfulness to it that the girl had no idea what to do with. She was good at reading people, excellent at it even. People were like puzzles and, just like magic, they could be taken apart and clicked into place in a way that just made sense to her. But now? She had no idea where to even start when it came to understanding the Baroness. Even now, unlike her expectations, the woman didn’t push the subject or harass her more; she just looked… tired, more than anything.
“We’ll be continuing our lessons until the debutante but, even still, we’re almost at the end now.” Her eyes flickered to the girl’s ankle, swollen and starting to turn colour, and sighed. “Don’t expect leniency from me in the coming fortnight, but your ankle is ruining your performance even worse than I initially expected. We’ll stop for today but continue tomorrow regardless of how well it heals, understood?”
Dahlia nodded and the Baroness prepared to leave as she kept talking, though the words now almost felt rehearsed. “Good, now, you’ve already been made aware of this but Vincent insisted I bring it up again after some servants reported you getting in the way in the library. Your father and I truly don’t care about your academic acumen anymore; that should be more than obvious by now. Regardless of whatever hopes you have, our priority is preparing you for a political marriage and, academically, you’ve already more than surpassed what’s necessary there.
“Remember girl, men might deride you if you know nothing at all, but they loathe a woman smarter than themselves. Your studying was always something we’ve overlooked but recently… well, your father has started taking issue with it.” The Baroness let her eyes flick back to Dahlia and, much to the girl’s annoyance, some of the fatigue in the woman’s eyes was replaced by amusement as she watched her daughter squirm. “So long as you understand. Being smart doesn’t matter; if anything, be stupid. All you need to do is focus on your social classes and learn to be a pretty little doll like I said earlier. Do you think you can do that?”
The words stung Dahlia as always but, if anything, this was relatively gentle compared to how her mother could often be. Still restraining herself though, the girl just made a faint smile as her mother wrapped things up.
“I’m sure that I’ll learn as fast as possible so as to not disappoint you mother.”
It was a rehearsed response, but one she knew would get her out of the room as fast as possible — something she was happy to see proven right as the Baroness nodded and left, leaving Dahlia to her own devices. Even then though, after her mother had left and Dahlia found her own feet subconsciously taking her far away from the room, her thoughts just couldn’t be silenced. The mere thought of being married off to some nobleman both disgusted and terrified her, and she could feel the anxiety clawing at the back of her mind, screaming at her to just give up and succumb, but she couldn’t.
She couldn’t let the anxiety show. She couldn’t let the fear and doubt take hold. She would be composed. She would be strong. And no matter what, she would remain in control.
Dahlia’s footsteps sped up, pulling her faster through halls, past leering guards, whispering maids, and away from prying eyes. She ignored how her chest grew tight and how her breath came short and fast. She knew —of course she fucking knew— just how bad things were and just how desperate she was, but what could she do? Despite all her hopes, Dahlia knew that she was nothing more than an ember: pathetic, flickering, and on the verge of being smothered. But in the same way she held on: desperate and hungry. Because she just needed something —anything— to give her the chance she needed, and Dahlia knew from there she could turn that faltering ember into a blaze. All she needed was a chance, and she would burn.
And so the girl repressed her anxiety, compartmentalising it away where she wouldn’t have to think about it. She was in control, and wouldn’t let herself think otherwise. And so Dahlia smiled, because soon? Soon she would finally take her fate by the reins and make her life worth something again, no matter what it would take.
very excited to finally start sharing this with people and I'm looking forward to future chapters even more. With that in mind, you can expect daily uploads for the first four chapters in order to give you all something to sink your teeth into. After that, I'll be shifting to a one weekly upload schedule with one new chapter released every Tuesday.
here.
here.
