Chapter 58: The Death Of Annie & Other Beautiful Lies (Her POV)
I had already laid myself bare once in Luxor's bed. The light hadn't saved me. It had measured me. Watched me. Marked me like a relic for display. Now I carried its verdict like a brand, etched judgment into my skin. Whether Malvor would still touch me…That wasn't my choice anymore.
I walked through Luxor's golden halls, the rune glowing up my arm like liquid sunlight. Beautiful. Elegant. A masterpiece. And meaningless.
I had begged the light to save me. Blind me, I'd thought. Wash me clean. So I gave the only thing I still had control over, my body. If I gave it away, maybe I wouldn't feel the weight anymore. Maybe the ghosts would shut up. Maybe the dream would stop. Maybe I'd feel clean.
But all I felt was exposed. The light hadn't saved me. It had shown me. Shown the hollowness. The cracks. The part of me that still believed pain was penance. I hadn't come for pleasure. I'd come for punishment. Luxor had given it, wrapped in gold, wrapped in kindness, wrapped in gods-damned gentleness that made me want to scream. I would return radiant. Even if I had to set myself on fire to glow.
You wanted control, my mind whispered. So you gave yourself away. Just like always. The worst part? I had left Malvor. Not because I didn't love him. But because I couldn't let him see me like this. Not broken. Not begging. Not powerless again. I would return shining. Perfect. Controlled. Radiant. Because that's who he loved, wasn't it? Not the girl with bruises buried in her soul. Not the dreamer choking on nightmare ash. He loved Annie. Not Anastasia. So that's who I would be. I didn't say goodbye. Not to Luxor. Not to the realm. Not to myself.
The golden halls parted for me like reverence. Or maybe guilt. The statues bowed. The air held its breath. Even the light dimmed as I passed, just slightly. As if the realm itself could feel what had been taken. What had not been given. I stood at the edge of the realm. One foot in gold, the other in grief. Luxor didn't call after me. Didn't try to stop me. That hurt more than it should have. I had wanted someone, anyone, to say: Stay. To say: You don't have to earn your place in the light. But he didn't. He just watched me walk away like morning always does. Soft. Quiet. Final. Maybe… that was what I deserved.
So I lifted my chin, Straightened my spine, and walked through the light as if it couldn't touch me. The portal shimmered. I didn't flinch. I never do. Arbor welcomed me back in silence. No flourish. No fanfare. No judgment. Just the soft click of the front door behind me, and the scent of magic in the walls, warm, familiar. Malvor was still asleep. Even the house didn't ask where I'd gone. Didn't need to. I moved on instinct, past the hall, up the stairs, into the bathroom. I peeled my clothes off slowly. Carefully. Like fabric might tear something inside me if I moved too fast. My reflection didn't blink. Didn't flinch. The golden rune blazed across my skin. My left arm shoulder to wrist. Beautiful. Terrible. I stared at it like it belonged to someone else.
The bath filled itself before I even asked. Arbor was merciful like that. Warm. Ready. Waiting. I sank beneath it. Eyes open. Lungs full of silence. Exhaled underwater. Watched the bubbles rise like words I never said. The rune flickered faintly. Not like light. Like a scar. An echo. A verdict. A brand. A badge. A lie. This time when I sank, I didn't rise. Not in my mind. I let myself drift. Dissolve.
The glow didn't guide me, it mocked me. It was not salvation. It was a mark. Maybe if I stayed here long enough, maybe I'd surface as someone new. Someone clean. Someone he could love without question. Someone who hadn't chosen to be touched just to feel untouchable. But the truth pressed in from all sides. The water didn't numb me. It amplified. Every place his hands had touched still remembered. Not with heat. With hollowness. The silence wasn't kind. It was a mirror. I curled my knees to my chest beneath the surface. Arms tight. Not hiding. Bracing. Like a house in a storm that already knows half its windows are gone. I didn't cry. I'd already wasted those tears on stages no one applauded.
Later, I sat by the fire. Wrapped in one of Malvor's robes, too big, too soft, smelling like mischief and mocha. The heat kissed my legs. But it didn't reach my chest. I traced the embroidery on the sleeve, the little stitched chaos symbol he'd added just for me. He thought it was funny. I thought it was sweet. Now? I didn't know what I thought. Only that it didn't make me feel anything. Not yet. Arbor dimmed the lights, sensing me. The fire crackled low, shadows dancing without joy. Rain tapped the windows, soft, steady. Someone else's storm.
I stared into the flames. Not thinking. Just… holding myself together. Thread by thread. I don't know how long I sat like that. Long enough for the bond to stir. For that faint tug in the back of my mind to flutter open like a wound. He knew. He knew I was home. Worse, he knew I had left. But he didn't come rushing. Didn't panic through the bond. Didn't demand my story. He just… let me be.
That, more than anything, nearly broke me. Not the silence. Not the storm. Not the firelight bleeding across gold and ash. But the grace. The way he gave me space when I no longer knew how to fill it. A sound broke the quiet. Barely more than a creak. I turned.
Malvor. He stood in the hallway, barefoot, shirtless, still sleep-warm and blinking at me like a dream he hadn't meant to wake from. His eyes landed on me. Then on the rune. Then back to my face. He opened his mouth. Closed it. In that silence, my whole body went still. He didn't ask. Didn't accuse. Didn't demand to understand.
He just crossed the room, lowered himself to his knees in front of me, and pressed his forehead gently to my knee. Not like a god. Not like a man who wanted anything from me. But like someone who knew he'd missed something important. He knelt. Not in worship. Not in want. Not the way men had knelt before. This was different. This was real. "I'm sorry," he whispered voice so small. "I should have seen you weren't okay."
My throat tightened. I hadn't expected that. Hadn't expected him to say anything. Not when I'd come back glowing. Controlled. Perfect. Not when I'd smiled like nothing cracked inside me. I stared down at him. This impossible god at my feet, barefoot and bleary-eyed, looking at me like I mattered. Like Anastasia mattered.
My hand moved. Rested lightly in his hair. Not pulling. Not pushing. Just there. Connection. Question. Chance. He closed his eyes. Let out a slow breath against my knee. I didn't smile. Didn't perform. Didn't run. I just stayed. Still. Shaking. But not alone.
When he looked up at me, he saw it, the war behind my eyes. The battle I hadn't invited him to. The pain he hadn't caused, but had unknowingly let happen. He didn't ask for details. Didn't try to fix it. Didn't reach for pieces I hadn't offered. He just said, softly, "You don't have to be perfect with me."
I didn't collapse into his arms like some scene I'd rehearsed a thousand times. I just existed. Raw. Unraveling. Real. But I didn't pull away either. We stayed like that. Knees touching. Rune glowing. Fire flickering. For the first time in weeks, I didn't feel like a ghost wearing skin. I felt like a woman. Held. Seen. Not saved. Not yet. But maybe…Maybe worth saving.
Annie was the armor. Annie was the performance. Annie was the version he fell in love with. The one who could keep pace with his chaos, roll her eyes at his antics, hand him coffee like nothing had ever hurt her. But Annie was a lie. Not malicious. Not even conscious. Just survival. A beautiful role I'd played so well that even I started to believe it.
Now, after Luxor, after the dream, after the silence that wouldn't leave me, after everything. I couldn't go back. So I let Annie go.
Annie. His Annie. She was his grace. He loved her. Still does. But he loved Annie because she made it easy. Because Annie never screamed. Never asked him to look too closely. Because Annie let him pretend his love was enough. That being the one who made me laugh could undo what others had carved. I had given it. All of it. Because he was the god who didn't force. Just like the priests who coaxed. Just like the altar that praised while it consumed. Annie was a beautiful lie. Built from love. But still... a lie.
The thought rose in me like a tide: I'm not her. Not Annie. Not Anastasia. Annie was soft. Palatable. A balm for other people's wounds.
Asha was not soft. Asha did not smile to be safe. Asha burned.
"I'm not… Annie," I whispered, hesitating because the name still held teeth. "Not anymore." I took a deep breath. "My name is Asha."
He didn't argue. Didn't try to correct me. But his face fell, because in that moment, he realized. His Annie was gone. This woman in front of him might love him…But she would never need him the same way again.
I sat beside him. Not touching. Not retreating. Just breathing. For once. "I never got to mourn," I said.
His heart cracked in his eyes. I saw it. He hadn't even thought about mourning. He'd been so damn relieved I came back at all. My voice was low. Controlled. That terrifying calm that comes after the storm but before the flood. "You thought I was okay," I continued. "Because I was strong. Because I made jokes. Because I drank your coffee and wore your robe and didn't scream every time someone said my name."
"I gave you what you needed," I said. "Someone steady. Someone funny. Someone who could survive anything." My fingers curled into my palm, nails carving crescents into my skin.
"They kidnapped me, Malvor."
I didn't say their names. I didn't have to.
My voice broke, not like glass, but like stone, crumbling slow and inevitable. "They took my body. My mind. My choice. Ravina smiled while she left me there. With them." I didn't cry. I said it like facts. Like weather. Like it happened to someone else. "I wasn't even supposed to survive. They had a note ready for you."
His head dropped. His fists twisted in his pants. "I know," he said hoarsely. "I read it."
You always liked broken things. So I broke your favorite toy.-Aerion
I stared into the fire. "It wasn't the pain. It wasn't the assault, or the humiliation, or the way they laughed while they hurt me."
I turned to him. Eyes sharp. Unforgiving. "It was coming back… and pretending I was fine. Because you needed me to be."
He flinched like I'd struck him. Good.
"You brought me home. You gave me peace. I loved you for that. But you also gave me silence. I didn't know how to break it."
"I didn't know," he said, quiet.
"No." My voice cut. "You didn't want to know."
The breath left me like it cost me blood. "I was your dream girl. Broken in all the right places. Strong where it looked impressive. Quiet where it kept things easy."
He reached for my hand. I let him take it. "But I'm not a dream anymore. I'm Asha. And I'm angry. And I hurt. And I will never be what I was again."
Silence. Rain tapped harder on the windows. Then Malvor said, "I know that now."
I looked at him.
"I want to be the strong one this time," he added, voice breaking. "If you'll let me."
By all the gods, he meant it. I saw it in his face, in the guilt, in the grief, in the way he looked at me like I wasn't his salvation, but his equal. I nodded once. Then leaned into him. Not like surrender. Like a choice.
"I didn't want Luxor," I choked out. "Not really. I wanted punishment. I wanted to feel something that wasn't rot. I wanted the light to hurt me the way the dark did, so at least I wouldn't feel confused. I declared my divine favor." Malvor winced in understanding.
"He was kind. So gentle. I hated him for it. Because I faked it so well. I made it beautiful, Malvor. Just like I always do. I'm so tired of making it beautiful even subconsciously."
Something inside him cracked. Not grief for Annie. Grief for never seeing that I'd been fighting to be Asha all along. He squeezed my hands, slow, cautious, like I might shatter. His fingers brushed my left wrist, where Luxor's rune burned gold into my skin. The place he hadn't dared to touch. Until now. He lifted my hand. Brushed his thumb over the lines. So light it could've been imagined. Then he kissed the center of my palm. Held his mouth there like a vow. I closed my eyes. I didn't pull away. He moved higher. Kissed the inside of my wrist, the crook of my elbow, the blaze on my shoulder. He kissed all of it. Not claiming. Not healing. Just seeing.
He reached for Yara's mark winding up my thigh, but he hesitated. Looked at me. Asked permission without asking. I nodded. Barely breathing. He kissed those too. Soft. Slow. Shattering. He didn't worship me. He mourned me. He kissed every scar like a prayer left unanswered, and tried to believe anyway.
When he finished, he pressed his forehead to my knee again. Not begging forgiveness. Not offering salvation. Just saying: I see you. And I'm still here.
"I can be strong now," he whispered. "You don't have to be."
"I don't know who I am without the strength," I admitted.
"Then we'll figure it out. Together."
A laugh broke out of me. Softer this time. "God of Mischief giving pep talks now?"
He smiled, just a little. "Don't get used to it."
I leaned forward, pressed my forehead to his. "I won't."
We stayed like that. Foreheads touching. Hands clasped. Fire flickering like a heartbeat between us.