The attack in her room left Anna battered and broken. She lay on the floor for what felt like hours after the God of Life and Caius's wolves had gone, her breath shallow and labored. Blood pooled around her, a dark reminder of the punishment she'd endured. Her body screamed in pain, every movement sending fresh waves of agony through her limbs.
Her throat was raw from the strangling, her skin marred by deep claw marks, and the unseen flesh wounds from healing the animals reopened as if in cruel mockery. She coughed weakly, tasting blood on her tongue, but there was no one to hear her or offer aid.
The next morning, the household continued as if nothing had happened. Servants bustled through the corridors; their chatter filled with excitement about the gods' arrival. Isabella's laughter echoed through the halls, a sweet melody that everyone but Anna seemed to adore.
Anna forced herself to rise from the floor, her body protesting every movement. She barely had the strength to stumble to the small basin of water in her room, using a torn piece of fabric to clean the blood from her neck and arms. The water turned crimson, and Anna bit her lip to keep from crying out as she scrubbed at the wounds.
Her clothes, torn and bloodstained, clung to her body. There were no fresh garments for her to change into; she would have to make do with what she had. As she tried to smooth the fabric over her skin, she caught her reflection in the cracked mirror on the wall.
The girl staring back at her looked nothing like the Anna she once remembered. Her face was gaunt, her eyes hollow, and her body covered in scars that told a story no one cared to hear.
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By midmorning, the air around the estate grew heavier. Anna felt it before she saw them—the gods arriving one by one, their presence suffocating in its grandeur. She peeked out from her window, careful to stay out of sight.
The first to arrive was the God of Light, his luminous form glowing so brightly that Anna had to shield her eyes. He was followed by the Goddess of Harvest, her footsteps leaving trails of fragrant blossoms in their wake. Then came the God of Wisdom, his long silver hair falling loosely over his shoulders, and the Goddess of Harmony, who hummed softly, her melody making the very air shimmer.
Each of them gravitated towards Isabella, their greetings warm and effusive.
"Oh, Isabella! Look at you!" the Goddess of Harvest exclaimed, pulling Isabella into an affectionate embrace. "You've grown even more radiant since the last time I saw you. What are they feeding you? Pure sunlight?"
Isabella giggled. "Just normal food," she said modestly, though her cheeks flushed with pleasure.
The God of Wisdom chuckled as he ruffled Isabella's hair. "Don't be so humble, little one. It's clear you're something special. I'd bet my library that you're eating ambrosia when no one's looking."
Isabella laughed again, the sound light and melodic, making everyone smile.
The God of Light shook his head, pretending to scold the others. "Don't spoil her too much before the ceremony. She's already perfect—don't go inflating her ego." He winked at Isabella, his glowing form dimming slightly to a more approachable light.
"Like you're one to talk," the Goddess of Harmony teased, nudging the God of Light. "You were the one who insisted we bring her that starlight crown last time we visited."
Anna, watching from her window, felt her chest tighten. Their casual, playful conversation stung more than their formal praises. They treated Isabella like family—like someone they truly adored. It was a warmth Anna had never known.
The God of Life arrived last, his presence as commanding as ever. Unlike the others, he did not laugh or joke. His golden eyes scanned the courtyard, locking onto Isabella.
"Our Chosen One," he said, his voice deep and reverent as he placed a hand on her head. "You honor us all with your existence."
Isabella smiled up at him, her eyes wide with wonder.
Anna flinched at his words, her hands gripping the windowsill tightly. She didn't need to hear more. She turned away from the window, her heart heavy as she slipped into the shadows of her room, unnoticed as always.
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The days following the attack in her room became a blur of agony and dread for Anna. She awoke each morning stiff and aching, her neck crudely bandaged with scraps of fabric she scavenged from the kitchen, still crusted with dried blood. Breathing was a conscious effort; every gulp of air was a painful battle, searing her throat and chest. Each step through the corridors of the estate felt like walking on shards of glass, her weak frame trembling from the exertion.
The servants' gazes pierced through her like icy needles. No one spoke to her unless it was to bark orders or scold her for existing in the wrong place at the wrong time. When they passed her in the hallways, they clutched their trays or tools tighter, their expressions twisting in disdain.
But the most horrifying part of Anna's life wasn't the servants or even her family. It was the gods.
The gods were everywhere now. Their divine presence filled the estate with an unnatural brightness, their radiant forms making even the grand halls feel stifling. Anna could never escape them. If she lingered in the wrong place for too long, their laughter would echo behind her, growing louder until it felt as though the walls themselves were mocking her.
They adored Isabella.
The God of Wisdom, who carried an air of serene authority, spent his mornings with her in the library. Anna once glimpsed them through the cracked door as he guided her hand over ancient texts, teaching her spells and prayers. His deep, patient voice resonated like a father instructing his beloved daughter. When Isabella smiled up at him, his normally stoic expression softened, and he patted her head like a doting uncle.
In the afternoons, the Goddess of Harmony took Isabella to the rose garden. They laughed together like lifelong friends, their voices carrying through the air like a melody. The goddess hummed a lullaby as she conjured ribbons of golden light, weaving them through Isabella's hair. She whispered something in Isabella's ear, and they both burst into giggles, their bond so casual and natural that it felt like they had known each other forever.
Even the God of Strength, a towering figure whose very presence made the ground tremble, took delight in Isabella's company. Anna saw them from the shadows one afternoon, standing near the fountain. The god playfully lifted Isabella onto his shoulders as if she weighed nothing, his booming laughter ringing through the garden as she clung to his helm for balance.
Caius, of course, never left Isabella's side. Whether he was in his human form or shifted into his sleek wolf form, his attention was fixed solely on her. Isabella stroked his fur as though he were a treasured pet, and Caius responded with gentle growls of approval. Sometimes, he would shift back and whisper something into her ear, making her laugh and swat at him playfully.
Anna couldn't help but compare the lively, glowing Isabella to her own hollow, battered self. Isabella's days were filled with joy, surrounded by gods who lavished her with gifts, affection, and praise. She wore flowing gowns of silk, the soft fabric embroidered with intricate patterns that shimmered in the sunlight. Her hair was adorned daily with pearls and flowers by the goddess herself, and her radiant smile lit up every corner of the estate.
In contrast, Anna wore threadbare dresses that clung to her frail body. The fabric was rough and itchy, torn in several places from her years of wear. Her hair hung limp and unkempt, no one bothering to help her braid it or even offer a comb. Her body was a map of pain, from the bruises on her neck to the fresh scratches that reopened nightly, leaving stains of blood on her bedding.
The worst moments were the mealtimes. Anna wasn't permitted to sit at the main table, but she could still see it from the kitchen doorway, where she was tasked with scrubbing dishes. Isabella sat at the head, surrounded by gods and family members who laughed and shared stories with her. Plates piled high with rich, fragrant foods were placed before her, and the gods vied to serve her themselves, taking delight in her every bite.
Anna's stomach growled loudly as she scrubbed the endless mountain of plates, her own meal consisting of stale bread and a few bruised apples she had scavenged from the garden. She forced herself to ignore the pangs of hunger, knowing that asking for more food would only earn her scorn—or worse.
At night, Anna's isolation deepened. The walls of her tiny room seemed to close in on her, the darkness pressing against her like a suffocating weight. Each evening, fresh flesh wounds appeared on her body, the pain searing and relentless. She bit down on her pillow to stifle her cries, her body shaking from the agony.
Her fear of Isabella—and the gods—consumed her. Every sound made her heart race. The creak of a floorboard, the murmur of distant voices, the soft patter of footsteps outside her door—all sent shivers down her spine. She feared that Isabella might come again, or that the gods might decide she was no longer worth keeping alive.
And yet, the gods continued to laugh and celebrate with Isabella, their joy only growing as the day of the ceremony approached.
Anna didn't understand how she could feel so invisible and yet so hated at the same time.
Would they even notice if she disappeared?