The city streets were deserted, dark and foreboding. Marianne could hear footsteps catching up to her. She quickened her pace. The rain pitter-pattered into puddles on the stone road. The moonless night was not helping either. Buildings casted sinister, monstrous shadows all along the path, as the street lamps flickered hauntingly.
Suddenly, a hand grabbed at Marianne's arm. She spun, wand poised. It was Johnathan, a soldier under her father's command. She lowered her wand. With him here, she would be safe from her aunt's assassins.
But Johnathan did not back away. Knife in hand, he stabbed at Marianne. She barely managed to dodge the blow, stumbling over her own feet, landing in a puddle. The water sloshed, puddle emptying out onto the rest of the street. Marianne felt betrayed. She had trusted Johnathan. She had grown up with him. He was the son of her father's most trusted general. How could he betray them?
"What are you doing?" she asked. "Why would you betray us?"
"I never betrayed anyone," he replied, eyes devoid of guilt. "It is you who does not know your place."
Marianne could barely keep her eyes open. The water pooled on her eyelashes, making it hard for her to concentrate on the advancing figure of Jonathan.
"I am the rightful heir of this family!" she shouted into the night, needing the world's recognition as much as she needed her own. "Nothing you do will change anything."
"Oh, it will. Icarus will become the next duke and lead us to a better future than you could ever have."
"Icarus...? My brother?"
Jonathan glared at Marianne. He was right above her now, sharp knife shining in the moonlight. "And once you're gone, the Duchess will reward me handsomely."
It was then that she realized. The moon had appeared. Her magic stemmed from the phases of the moon. The brighter and fuller the moon was, the more power she could unleash. If only she could harness her magic for just a moment, then she could run for it. She just needed to keep Johnathan distracted until she charged up enough mana for it.
"And how will my stepmother reward you?"
He thought about it for a minute. Then, devious smile creeping onto his face, he replied, "Oh, I don't know. Gold, riches, jewels...you know, the stuff."
"Is there really nothing else that you want?" Marianne asked, her spell was almost fully charged. Her wand hand tingled with the power behind her back, out of Johnathan's sight.
"I would like to be promoted to a noble. Then I could marry your stepsister. Oh, how many times I've dreamed of seeing her sprawled on my bed..."
Marianne gagged. Was "love" the only thing people in this stupid universe thought about? But her wand was fully charged, and her spell was ready to be unleashed. She ripped her hand out from behind her back, releasing all the pent up magic all at once. A blinding flash of lightning shot down from the sky, striking the ground right next to Johnathan, nearly singing his hair. Marianne cursed under her breath.
But the spell was not over yet. Almost immediately after, a giant tidal wave rolled into the street from seemingly out of nowhere. Marianne had gathered each and every drop of water lying around the city to create this natural disaster monstrosity. She scrambled to her feet before the wall of water could wash over her. But Johnathan was not as fortunate. He had been caught off guard, and how the wave had trapped him underneath the ripples. He would be stuck there for a while.
Making the most of the situation, Marianne made a mad dash for the single place she could think of. The only place where she could feel safe. The only place where multiple people with overpowered magic would gather. The Sinclair Mansion.
She ran and she ran. If she stopped, she would be giving Johnathan a chance to catch up to her. She could not die now. Not after everything she had gone through to finally secure her position as the heir to the dukedom. Her breath caught in her throat, and she gasped for air. Air that could not go into her lungs fast enough. She could see the faint outline of the mansion ahead of her. Just one more step...
One...more...step...
But Johnathan was already there. He was drenched with water, hair floppy and dripping down his face. Raising his knife, he stabbed at Marianne with all the force he could muster. She stared at the moon. She thought about her mother. Had she also died such a worthless death? Had she also lived a meaningless life like hers? She closed her eyes, waiting for the sweet relief of death.
But the blade never touched her. When Marianne opened her eyes, she saw Cleo, her red magic swirling about the night. The moon was gone now, but its energy was still there. It was as if the moon had appeared just for her. As if the moon was cheering her on and smiling down at her from wherever it had gone. Marianne smiled.
Johnathan had been completely thrown back. His knife clattered to the ground. He tried to move his arms, but they were glued to the street. A strange power had taken over his body. But where was that magic coming from? All he could hear was a soft melody, creeping into his body through his ears and slowly taking hold of each and every nerve. He suddenly remembered something his father had taught him.
"When you hear the smooth ringing of a flute, and you feel as if your whole body had been paralyzed, then you'll know that it's already too late."
"But how do you stop it?" he had asked his father.
"There is no way to stop it. The music creeps its way into your mind, and you are powerless to stop it. Your body wants to bring it in. You want to trust this mysterious music. And then it takes over your entire being, and you can't do anything about it. That is the magic of the Sinclairs."
Johnathan had not believed it until now.
And just like his father had said, it was already too late.