Margarett Londy Yapharec sat on the edge of the castle balcony, gazing at the evening sky as darkness slowly consumed the horizon. In the distance, the angry cries of the people echoed like a never-ending chorus of resentment. They weren't just cursing the hero they once worshipped but everyone associated with him—including Margarett.
Unlike the other fiancées, who wielded power strong enough to defy the world, Margarett could do nothing but endure, nearly powerless. Hukmi Lamreta, whose sword blazed with fire. Gesm Bianca, a master of deadly poisons. Laparez, the whisperer of shadows. Gyo Kanokari, the elemental wielder. Belle Simaiac, the celestial archer. Kah Sarena, elegant yet lethal. Gelle Simanuk, as unshakable as stone. And Margarett? She was nothing more than a frail girl with barely any magic to her name.
Insults and mocking laughter filled her days. *"The weakest fiancée!"* they jeered, as if the title were a curse she could never escape. Once full of hope, Margarett's heart had long since drowned in waves of pain and emptiness. Yet within her, something new stirred—a small ember, faint but growing: anger.
Behind her gentle gaze, which had long served as her shield, lay an unspoken vow. A plan so dangerous she had never dared to consider it before. *"If this world sees me as weak,"* she thought, *"then I will show them my final strength. With this forbidden magic, I will destroy him. Not for myself, but for my revenge."*
Margarett slowly rose from her seat. The night breeze carried whispers that almost sounded like cheers. She turned her gaze toward the shadowy depths of the castle, where the hero resided.
*"Be ready,"* she murmured, her voice quiet but resolute. *"I will have my revenge."*
Her footsteps echoed through the dimly lit corridors of her own castle. Each step felt like a shadow pulling her deeper into the abyss of vengeance. Her mind swirled with memories of scornful laughter, cruel whispers, and the piercing gazes of those who once adored her—only to now see her as filth beneath their boots.
In her hands, Margarett clutched an ancient book, filled with secrets no one was meant to uncover. Its cover was worn and covered in dust, yet an ominous energy radiated from its pages. It was a relic of her ancestors, containing forbidden spells passed down with a dire warning:
*"This power will not only destroy your enemies, but it will consume you as well."*
But to Margarett, that no longer mattered. Her destruction had already begun the day she was branded as the weakest fiancée.
She pushed open the doors to the castle's hidden chamber. The candles inside flickered to life on their own, their flames trembling as if afraid of her presence. In the center of the room lay a ritual circle—one she had drawn long ago, crafted from a mixture of blood, black wax, and stardust stolen from the castle's arcane vault.
Stepping into the center, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath.
*"This isn't about being weak,"* she whispered to herself. *"This is about never letting them look down on me again."*
As she began the incantation, the room trembled. A chilling force crept up her spine, like thousands of needles piercing her skin. The ancient book floated into the air, its pages flipping wildly as an eerie laughter echoed around her.
Margarett knew this magic was beyond her control, but she pressed on.
The image of the hero—her fiancé—flashed through her mind. The one she had once admired, even loved, now the very source of the festering hatred consuming her soul.
*"Prepare yourself,"* she whispered between the rising chants. *"This is for every wound you've left on me—directly or not."*
The ritual circle blazed with dark energy. Then, with a final surge, the chamber was swallowed by silence.
Margarett collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. She knew the spell wasn't finished. But she had set something into motion—something no one could stop.
In the distance, the castle bells tolled, their chimes ringing like an omen.
Margarett knew—she was no longer the weak girl they thought she was.