Islinda woke with a startled gasp, her heart pounding as though she had just escaped a nightmare. The room around her looked oddly familiar, bathed in the soft light of dawn. She pushed herself into a sitting position, only for a jolt of pain to lance through her chest.
She groaned, her hand instinctively pressing against the source of the pain. Her fingers found the spot where the injury had been, where she had felt the cold bite of steel. The memory of the blade sinking into her flesh was vivid in her mind, and the blood drained from her face as the events that had led her here came rushing back.
Azula. Oh no.
She could see it all so clearly now. The death duel in the arena, the roars of the crowd, the way Andre had grabbed her arm and tried to lead her away from the chaotic scene. And then, in the blink of an eye, someone had attacked her.
She had been stabbed before, but this... this had been different. It was almost as if the dagger had disrupted something inside of her — dulled her connection with her soul or something.
Islinda remembered the darkness that had followed, the sensation of being pulled under into a void, as if she were drowning in deep, dark waters. And then, the world had gone black as Azula took over.
What happened after that, Islinda had no idea. Azula had always liked keeping her in the dark, enjoying the power she held over their shared existence. But Islinda knew one thing for sure: nothing good could come from Azula’s plans.
In that brief moments Azula allowed her to surface, Islinda had seen Andre’s face, it had been etched with something close to horror. She could only hope that he hadn’t fallen for whatever twisted game Azula had set in motion.
But hope felt like a fragile thing now, slipping through her fingers like sand. There was a heavy, ominous feeling in the pit of her stomach, a sense that something was terribly wrong.
They said twins shared a psychic connection, and though she and Azula were not true twins, they shared something a body, a mind. Even though Azula was nothing more than a malevolent spirit inhabiting her body, Islinda could feel the wrongness inside of her.
Azula was too quiet, too still, as if she had willingly retreated back into the void, leaving Islinda in control. It wasn’t like her at all. Azula had always fought for her freedom, so why had she given it up so easily? It was too good to be true.
Islinda tried to push herself off the bed, ignoring the protest of her aching body. She had to find Andre. She had to know what Azula had done. But as she moved, the pain flared up again, sharp and unrelenting, forcing her back down.
The gods help her, what was going on? She should have healed by now. Her accelerated healing had always been one of the few things she could rely on, but now it was failing her. A part of her was grateful—it meant no one would discover her true nature—but the other part of her was terrified. If her healing wasn’t working, what else was wrong?
Her frantic thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door opening. A familiar face appeared—a young Fae woman with wide eyes that grew even wider when she saw Islinda struggling to stand.
"No, my lady, you shouldn’t be standing," Ailee said, hurrying over to her side. She gently nudged Islinda back down onto the bed, her touch firm but careful.
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