In the recesses of a disheveled manor within the lands owned by the Imperial bloodline lived and breathed a secret. A girl that had heard the sentiment that her temperament, her appearance and her bloodline were on the long list of reason’s her father would never like her. That the girl that none of them bothered to think of giving her a name was better off keeping her head down and her mouth shut.

  In truth, though it was a terrible thing to say to a child it was a sentiment she’d heard long before she was this particular child. She’d grown used to accustomed to the never-ending apathy that surrounded her. It was far better then out right distain after all.

  And she didn’t need them to give her a name; she’d always had a name that lived in the very essence of her soul. Azale, didn’t need their presence, or affection, she didn’t’ even need them to think of her.

  Still, what was so wrong with her temperament, Azale never bothered anyone, she never complained, she didn’t cause issues and she’d allowed those who wanted her hidden to never even worry about her at all.

  The Nightshade manor wasn’t nearly a large estate, but it was teeming with various interconnecting rooms and was tucked in by what aught to be gardens but were more abandoned overgrowth and wild plants fitting it’s overall horrific ecstatic. And the only person other than Azali who had to step foot on the property, the last two years was Aunt Penolina and even this year she’d not even bother to enter the manor just drop the various threatening letters and allotted balance for Azale to live on.

  Azale scoffed looking down at the papers. Really, Azale was rather lovely she would say for not calling attention to the fact that in their eyes an child had been dealing with her own care and maintenance along with the manor by herself.

  Though the only proof she was still alive only came to them through the assassins and roughens she graciously let escape from her clutches.

  Azale wondered if they chalked all the failures to her imperial blood or if the truth remained unknown but weighted around them.

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  Azale could not even be described as a normal Imperial child. Azale was one of the ancient Seven, Sorceress sisters that were tied to the order of the world tied to a cycle of rebirth to always maintain balance. Azale pushed away the papers at the thought of her sisters waving away the thought before it could dampen her decent mood.

  Seeing a torn remembrance of two fractured emblems she deviated her thoughts from siblings of the soul to the bafflement of blood.

  Really who would have thought that the boy who’d approached her tower with small group of solders in tow who she’d foolishly held back her usual guarded nature because he was around her age, who’d been the one to end her life, would in this rebirth turn out to be one of this life’s siblings.

  It was tragically amusing. Azale smirked and wondered how deeply it shocked them when her body vanished and with it her tower leaving them nothing.

  Azale frowned and really wondered how in the world she ended up born into the Imperial bloodline. How many things had to go just right for Azale’s soul to be pulled here, for one of the Emperors favored consorts to give birth close enough to Azale’s death that her soul didn’t go some place else.

  Azale caught sight of her own reflection in a broken but still functional mirror and wondered what they thought wrong with her appearance?

  She wasn’t gorgeous. In truth Azale was never gorgeous, not like her soul sisters, though they’d always taken to making themselves more beautiful with their various magics something Azale respected despite finding in her own experiences it was a waste of time. Any time Azale found her Mother or Sisters they were always these large imposing forces even when they were children.

  They lived life fully as the ever-looming sisters stretching their influence and capabilities far and wide. While Azale’s desires were always a tower in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by her beloved spirits where she could live a long quiet life in peace brewing spells, her sisters visiting from time to time.

  Her heart ached. Of course that wasn’t possible anymore.

  Though maybe it was never possible.

  Nothing every lasted. No one ever stayed. And there was always someone who wanted to sanction her, to make her a tool for their use, to wield her beloved spirits the only exceptions.

  Azale would never be a tool. Would never let her friends be put at risk like that.

  So, being abandoned. Apathy was the best.

  Azale would need no one but the spirits, Azale thought as a spirit pup nudged against her leg looking up checking on her as they always did. Yes, the spirits was much better company, much better care givers, they were all she would ever need.