EIGHTY

LAUREL’s POV

My wrist snaps and a cry of excruciating pain escapes my lips. And as if the Sorceress is an advocate for tortures, she twists my arm to an almost breaking point and forces me to my knees. The Sorceress towers over me, still holding onto my arm but surprisingly, her has changed into one of gentleness.

“Does it hurt?” she asks.

I grimace. “Yes.”

She smiles and breaks my arms as well. All at once, a tsunami of pain shoots up my body and I let out a scream. She releases me the next instant and I fall to the ground, cradling my broken arm and wrist. But it does not take long before I begin to heal. The presence of the black mist within me no doubt speeds up the process.

But there is a pain beyond the physical one. A pain that has pierced my heart and soul as I look up into the eyes of the Sorceress. The eyes of the woman who calls me her child.

“Do you still not know who I am?” she asks once more. She reaches out to stroke my head. “You look so much like your father, Lau