anais watterson

“Once again, that half-pint bastard is a thorn in my side. Years spent tiptoeing around him, trying to keep my plans hidden. Soon, we’ll deal with him. As for Veres, I have plans for him. He’s going to pay for what his bitch daughter did. Her little tantrum against marrying Galvin was an annoying setback, but she and that little brothel will pay. To think that the monster that killed Leonard was a whore from the Knight’s Sheath! Saved me all the trouble of doing it myself and framing the Profane! Fate smiles upon me! Cyrilo and Noah ruined my life, and I swear, I’ll get my vengeance on them if it’s the last thing I do! It’s only a matter of proper timing.”

He pushed against the seal, using his mana to separate from his clone, but it was like he was buried in concrete. He couldn’t project his mana even a centimeter beyond his skin. It was even more difficult than performing his workout, but this was precisely what he wanted. Saimallah said that he and his fellow monks used these headbands to train their projection abilities, and there was no better way than this. As he struggled and strained, the seal began to give, ever so slightly, feeling less like concrete and more like rubber.

“She was crying, begging me to stop, saying that I was hurting her. I just laughed, telling her she should be grateful to receive my affection, and that nothing in her life would compare to the glory of bearing my child. Galvin always told me that it didn’t matter what happened to the weak; it was our birthright to take what we wanted because we were superior in blood and magic. I wanted to believe him, because with him, I wasn’t alone. We had fun, we laughed, and we dismissed everyone and everything that got in our way. I wanted to believe that there was nothing wrong with us, even if, deep down, I knew the truth.