You envy the lake’s stillness. The water knows no worry, her glassy surface unblemished by any creases as she leisurely laps the shore. You stand just within her reach, feeling the cool kiss of a gentle tide grounding you in this moment. You’ve been in Novus for just under a week, but you’ve struggled to shake the memory of Viore. You think of the explosions that rocked the capital, of your father’s begging and your mother’s iron-jaw clamped shut as she burned for her sins, and of the cold black fear that you’d often wielded but only ever felt when you fled for your life. You even think of all the lives you’d turned over to the government. You think of their screams as they succumbed to the terror you imposed upon them and later of the unbridled hatred in the eyes of your accusers as they hissed and spat insults. Demon Witch. Monster.

Mostly, you dwell on the empty ache in your chest. It’s where you know the guilt should reside, constricting your insides with nauseating dread. Should…and yet, there’s a profound lack of anything resembling remorse. All you feel is the exhaustion in your bones. You haven’t slept much in the past few months and you’ve adopted an inconvenient habit of always looking over your shoulder. You curl into yourself, feeling the weight of the world press against every last delicate detail of your body. If you had a single shred of energy left, perhaps you’d conjure a raspy laugh at the humor of it all.

There really was no rest for the wicked, after all.

You lean down, lips poised just above the lake’s stoic face. Your own reflection gazes back, a wry and mirthless grin creeping across your features. You’re so far from Viore that you may as well be on a different planet entirely. Your sins shouldn't find you in the deep night of this place, wedged between the ruthless sea and inhospitable mountains. You doubt any of your accusers would travel so far. Old Viore had fallen, the lowers tiers and Resistance had won. Surely they were smart enough not to risk success for the head of one witch who slithered through their grasp.

The slightest noise rips your head up and away from the water’s edge. Perhaps you were too quick to assume that your days of jumping from shadows were over. You’d never classify yourself an optimist but maybe it was just a bit naïve to expect distance alone would bury your crimes. You snake around, turquoise eyes bright and narrow against the inky night. You find your mammoth wings unfurling without your permission, whether to prepare an escape or to increase your size you’re unsure. “Well you might as well introduce yourself.” You put as much command into your tone as you can muster but the treeline is as impassive as ever; there's no Viorian poised and ready to tear out your throat. Still, you don't relax just yet.

Maybe you're losing your edge to paranoia, but that doesn't stop the void in your chest from filling with ice.