In all the chaos of magic becoming public, all the pressure from the Network after Macassar she had hope. Hope that her parents would relent, would break with tradition.

  She stood in the entrance of the Study, when she understood that they would never break with tradition. The smell of old leather and parchment lingering. Books line the walls, witness to the history of the deLuca name. The fire in the fireplace should give the room a warm glow, but seeing her mother put the death essence in the wooden box on her desk, she only feels cold dread.

  She stood there still in her uniform, her backpack slung over her shoulder, her eyes red from unshed tears but her gaze firm. She should be silent... she should walk away. But she did not. could not walk away. Not after the images of Macassar, after seeing the victims of the monster wave being reanimated and used as weapons and test subjects.

  Her mother, correcting the laced sleeves of her dress, doesn't look up as her finger caresses the black wooden box “One more essence and we are ready for your ritual” she says without looking at her daughter. “Mother please. I... I don't want those essences” Melissa finally gets out. “You are 17. you don't want anything. You obey” she feels the aura of her Mother hone in on her. A subtle pressure that slowly fills her with dread “Why can't I choose? The other families let their children choose. Fire, wind, adept or might. Why can't” just as she finds a tiny spark inside her she is interrupted “because you are a deLuca!”

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  The force of the category 3 aura presses down on her as her mother steps closer “your great grandfather commanded the Undeath confluence. Your grandfather subjugated the dead with it. I rule their souls!” her mother doesn't get loud, never raises her voice. Instead she becomes quiet like the wind over a graveyard. “Our family is feared. My children are made to be strong... not to follow childish dreams”

  “But I don't want death...” despite the cold dread that presses against Melissas being, she hold that spark, that tiny piece of anger that gives her a voice “I don't want shackles, this legacy or whatever you are” Her mothers gaze grows cold like ice, her lips a thin line “You have nothing of your own... Daughter. Everything you are comes from us. Your blood, your future. Even your voice exists only because I allow it”

  Melissa chokes down a sob as anger flares inside her “I'd rather be nothing than this... I'm not your legacy! I'm not your Doll!” The smile, her mother gives her, is like venom. A promise of pain “You are so weak, you think choice is freedom... But real freedom is Power Melissa and I will teach you power. Even if I need to break every bone of yours with it” she feels like drowning, like her entire being is ground to dust under her mothers pressure.

  “Let me be clear Daughter.

  You will not choose.

  You will inherit.”

  Gathering her anger, her sorrow, even the last spark of defiance Melissa looks at her mother “I'd rather have nothing... than inherit becoming you”

  The slap that hits her is perfectly measured. It is punishment, not rage. Still it is enough to throw her to the ground. “one day you will hear my voice... Mother. Even if I have to scream” she whispers.