Page 218 of Psycho Gods

My neurons resumed firing, and I arched my back with such force it cracked loudly. I screamed silently as blue devoured every edge of my existence. There was no end and no beginning, only pain. Time stretched. Every second lasted an infinity.

Mother crouched next to me with a mocking smile.

I was lower than an animal.

I was less than an object.

I was already dead.

The flames stopped, but I kept convulsing.

“Do you think she learned her lesson?” Mother asked loudly as she looked around the room at the guards.

No one moved.

“What do you think?” Her voice was laced with steel.

A familiar earth fae named Roy stepped forward. He was an older man and one of Mother’s favorite guards. “She has not learned her lesson, Your Excellence.” His dyed green beard quivered as he sneered in my direction.

Of course, because my life was an endless march of suffering, Roy had hated me since birth and used every opportunity to get me in trouble. I’d never done anything to him.

A monster screamed inside my head.

It wanted Roy’s blood.

Since Mother’s back was turned to me, I forced my trembling lips into a condescending smile and mouthed, “You’re a pathetic waste of space.”

His expression turned murderous.

I used to never do anything to him. Now, I taunted him every chance I could.

What was he going to do, tattle and have Mother torture me?

Too late.

“She’s a petulant brat,” Roy spat. “Make her pay until she learns how to be obedient.”

I smiled at him with my teeth and mouthed, “You’re a pathetic bitch.”

He grabbed the hilt of his sword.

Mother nodded, then whirled around, and I lowered my gaze respectfully—hooded eyes, blank expression, subservient posture.

Roy exuded smug satisfaction as Mother snapped her fingers.

I kept my eyes locked on his as the world writhed in shades of hellacious blue. I let him see his death in my gaze as my back arched and palms slapped against the marble.

For hours, there was nothing but the pain.

A door slammed shut.

Consciousness wrenched me violently out of the nightmare. I was in a bunk bed.

The wood above my head was covered in a thin sheet of cobalt.

Sweat poured down my face and froze as it dripped onto my neck. I shivered violently.

Nine, eighteen, twenty-seven, thirty-six, forty-five, fifty-four, sixty-three, seventy-two, eighty-one, ninety, ninety-nine. Counting by my favorite odd number didn’t help.