I apologize for the lack of chapters. I have been working nonstop and going through a family death. I will try to update more often.
I'm looking to update on the weekends around this time (10 pm EST).
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The first person who entered had short, curly brown hair, and his expression was serious but calm. His clothing consisted of a draped, tunic-like garment, with one side showing a reddish cloth, typical of the village's attire.
Damiana saw in the corner of her eye, her father's face lighten up, a complete contrast to his reaction to seeing her for the first time since she was five. And they say parents never have favorites.
The moment the second person stepped into the room, the world seemed to slow.
Damiana's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight of her, and a strange, electrifying warmth spread through her chest. The girl's beauty was almost otherworldly. Her long, wavy dark hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, framing a face that looked like it had been crafted by the gods themselves. Her skin was a warm olive hue, glowing with a radiance that seemed to defy the dim light of the villa. And her eyes—dark, deep, and filled with a mysterious intensity—held Damiana captive from the first glance.
She wore a simple yet elegant blue garment, the fabric flowing around her with each step, and a delicate gold headpiece rested on her brow, giving her an ethereal, regal air. She seemed to glide rather than walk, her movements smooth and effortless, as if she were a queen surveying her kingdom.
But it wasn't just her appearance that captivated Damiana. No, it was something deeper, something that struck at the very core of her being. As she looked at the other girl, a part of her soul seemed to awaken, a part she hadn't known existed. Her heart hammered in her chest, her pulse racing with a yearning so fierce it took her breath away.
In that moment, Damiana felt as if her entire life had been leading up to this encounter, as if the wilds themselves had prepared her for this moment of recognition. This young woman was more than just beautiful—she was mesmerizing, enchanting in a way that made Damiana's very soul sing. The urge to reach out, to take her hand and pull her close, was almost overwhelming.
I have to hold her, she thought, the words echoing in her mind like a desperate plea. It felt as though her heart recognized something in this girl that her mind hadn't caught up to yet—a pull, an invisible thread that connected them across time and space. Damiana's soul cried out for her, and for a brief, wild moment, she wanted nothing more than to feel Qetsiyah's warmth in her arms, to press her lips to hers and discover the secrets hidden behind those dark, captivating eyes.
But the fantasy shattered as quickly as it came when the girl turned to young man with a warm, affectionate smile and stepped closer to him, slipping her arm through his in a gesture that spoke of familiarity and intimacy.
The sight hit Damiana like a physical blow. Her jaw clenched as jealousy flared hot and fast, coiling in her stomach like a poisonous vine. She watched as the brunette's slender fingers rested lightly on boy's arm, her gaze soft and full of something dangerously close to love.
Why him? The question pulsed in Damiana's mind, sharp and insistent. How could she ever love him? Silas, with his arrogance and self-righteousness, his insufferable sense of superiority, could never appreciate the beauty, the brilliance that Qetsiyah possessed. He didn't deserve her. He could never see her the way Damiana did, couldn't feel this aching, soul-deep longing that stirred within her.
When Qetsiyah's fingers tightened affectionately on his arm, his own face twitched in discomfort. The slight grimace that flickered across his features made Damiana's blood boil.
How dare he. Here was Qetsiyah, gazing up at him with love in her eyes, touching him with the soft reverence of someone who cherished him, and he had the audacity to recoil? Damiana felt a surge of anger so fierce it nearly took her breath away.
It wasn't just jealousy—it was frustration, an overwhelming sense of injustice. How could someone like Silas—a man who barely tolerated anyone else having the upper hand, who wore his superiority like a second skin—have the heart of someone as extraordinary as Qetsiyah? She was too good for him, too precious, too rare. She deserved someone who would worship her, someone who would give anything to be by her side.
And yet, Qetsiyah continued to smile at Silas, her hand resting gently on his arm as if she could soothe whatever darkness lurked within him. The sight made Damiana's heart ache, a longing so raw and fierce that she had to look away, her fists clenched tightly at her sides to keep herself grounded.
In her mind, a thousand thoughts battled for dominance. She wanted to reach out, to tell Qetsiyah that she deserved better, that Silas would never understand the depth of her, the beauty of her soul. She wanted to be the one by Qetsiyah's side, the one who would hold her close and protect her, cherish her. But instead, she stood there, forced to watch as her brother claimed the attention, the affection that she yearned for.
The bitter taste of resentment burned in her mouth as she turned back to them, struggling to keep her expression neutral. She would play along for now, would bide her time. But one thing was certain—she would not let Silas take Qetsiyah's heart without a fight.
The tense silence in the hall was broken by her father, who cleared his throat, drawing the attention of everyone in the room. "Silas," he said, his voice brimming with an odd mixture of relief and authority. "There is someone you need to see."
Silas turned, his expression curious yet wary, and his gaze settled on Damiana. For a moment, his face registered nothing but surprise, as though he was looking at a ghost from his past, a memory resurrected after years of lying dormant. He quickly masked his reaction, but Damiana caught the brief flicker of discomfort in his eyes.
"Damiana," he said, his tone controlled, though there was a subtle edge of disbelief. "I heard you'd returned, but I thought it was only a rumor."
Damiana cocked her head, meeting his gaze with a calm defiance. "I'm very much here, Silas."
Silas's lips twisted into a faint smirk, though his eyes held a hint of irritation. "I see." His gaze swept over her, as if assessing the changes time and distance had wrought in his twin. "It's... been a long time."
Qetsiyah's attention shifted from Silas to Damiana, her expression curious and welcoming. Damiana's breath caught as their eyes met, and she felt the strange, familiar pull she'd experienced the moment Qetsiyah entered the room. It was as though something deep within her was reaching out, recognizing something in Qetsiyah that defied words.
"Qetsiyah, this is my sister, Damiana," Silas introduced, though there was an odd hesitation in his voice, as if he disliked having to acknowledge her.
Qetsiyah smiled warmly, extending her hand toward Damiana. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Damiana. Silas has told me... quite a bit about you."
Damiana's pulse quickened as she took Qetsiyah's hand. The touch was electric, a faint warmth passing between them that sent a shiver down her spine. Qetsiyah's skin was soft, her grip gentle yet firm, and for a moment, Damiana felt as though the world had narrowed to the two of them alone.
"It's wonderful to meet you as well," Damiana replied, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions brewing inside her.
As they held hands, Qetsiyah's smile faltered slightly, her eyes narrowing as if she were trying to solve a puzzle. There was a flicker of confusion in her gaze, something almost hesitant. She tilted her head, her dark eyes studying Damiana with an intensity that sent another shiver through her.
Spirit magic, Damiana realized, her heartbeat quickening. Qetsiyah was attuned to the energy of the soul, able to sense connections that lay beyond the physical realm. Damiana could feel it too, a faint but undeniable bond stretching between them, like the distant echo of a song she had always known.
Qetsiyah's fingers lingered in Damiana's for a moment longer than necessary, and the warmth of her touch sent a bolt of something fierce and primal through Damiana's chest. The world seemed to narrow, the quiet murmur of the room fading into the background as her focus sharpened, zeroing in on the feeling of Qetsiyah's hand in hers. It was soft, delicate, yet there was a subtle strength in her grip, as if Qetsiyah's spirit resonated beneath the skin.
But it was more than a touch—it was a spark, a connection that ignited every one of Damiana's senses. Her Huntress instincts flared, as if her very soul recognized something in Qetsiyah, something that demanded her attention. A low thrum pulsed through her veins, the familiar call of the hunt, the feeling that came right before she locked eyes with her prey. But this was different, twisted with something deeper, something far more intense.
She isn't prey. The thought snapped through her mind, but the instinct refused to quiet. Her heart pounded, her pulse a wild beat that echoed in her ears. Her grip tightened involuntarily around Qetsiyah's fingers, a part of her wanting to pull her closer, to claim the warmth and strength radiating from her.
Damiana's Huntress instincts battled with her own thoughts, the primal need urging her to seize, to take, to protect. She was a predator, and the bond she felt was sharp, possessive, a sensation unlike anything she had experienced in the wilds. It was as if her very nature, her training as a Huntress, demanded that she hold on, that she shield this woman from any threat, from anyone—including Silas.
Her mind raced, struggling to control the raw surge of desire and possessiveness that overwhelmed her. She wanted to keep Qetsiyah close, to make her hers, to stand between her and the world, to ward off any danger that could come her way. The urge was fierce, burning, her Huntress instincts telling her that this bond, this pull, was something she couldn't ignore.
Qetsiyah's expression was unreadable, her gaze flicking between Damiana and Silas with a hint of uncertainty. It was clear she, too, felt the strange connection, though her confusion was laced with caution, as if she were grappling with something unfamiliar. Her spirit magic was likely sensing it too, the faint but undeniable bond that had sprung between them, a thread that had been waiting for this moment to reveal itself.
Forcing herself to breathe, Damiana released Qetsiyah's hand, feeling the sudden cold absence of her touch like a sharp ache. Her instincts continued to rage within her, the primal part of her still coiled, unsatisfied, frustrated by the abrupt separation.
But Qetsiyah's eyes lingered on her, a glint of confusion flickering there. She hesitated, her brows furrowing as she looked between Damiana and Silas. "Forgive me, Damiana, if this sounds strange," she said slowly, her voice soft but steady, "but... have we met before?"
Damiana managed a small, composed smile, though her heart still pounded fiercely in her chest. "I don't believe so," she replied, keeping her tone even, though every instinct inside her screamed otherwise. She could feel the connection as surely as she could feel her heartbeat, the pull toward Qetsiyah as strong and steady as the wilds themselves.
Her gaze still thoughtful, unsure, continued, "It's just... there's something familiar about you," she murmured, her voice barely audible. She glanced quickly at Silas, her gaze flickering with doubt before it softened with something like resignation.
Damiana's anger turned to bitter frustration as she saw Silas's reaction. His face twitched with discomfort, his forced smile tightening as Qetsiyah leaned into him. He shifted slightly, as if her touch was something he tolerated rather than cherished.
"Perhaps you met when we were all children. Before the time she left with our aunt," he said, his tone laced with a faint bitterness.
But Qetsiyah's gaze remained uncertain, her brows furrowing ever so slightly, as though she were grappling with something that defied explanation. "Perhaps," she murmured, her voice barely audible.
As if to reassure herself, Qetsiyah wrapped her arm around Silas's, her fingers resting on his forearm. She looked up at him with a soft, adoring expression, and Damiana's jealousy surged hot and fast, twisting through her chest with a possessiveness she could barely contain.
Damiana forced a calm smile, though her insides churned with jealousy and frustration. "It must be nice," she said, her voice cool, "to have someone as... devoted as Qetsiyah by your side."
Silas's jaw clenched at her words, and he shot her a sharp look. Qetsiyah, oblivious to the tension between the siblings, simply smiled, her hand still resting on Silas's arm.
"Yes," Silas replied, though his tone was guarded. "It is... quite the privilege."
But his words rang hollow to Damiana. She could see the disdain in his eyes, the way he bristled at the affection Qetsiyah offered him so freely.
He sees only his Amara. Could you not have been truthful with your affections brother? Was immortality so significant that you had to play with this precious girl's heart?
The thought burned through her, igniting the flames of her Huntress instincts once more. Silas didn't deserve Qetsiyah's affection, her devotion. He could never appreciate the depth, the beauty that lay within her. He saw Qetsiyah as an asset, a powerful witch who can grant him eternity with another woman. A woman who Qetsiyah cares deeply for.
Her instincts raged within her, her every sense tuned to Qetsiyah, the pull between them still thrumming, aching.
I will save her. Those two will not destroy this happy, warm girl I see before me.