The following web-novel contains dark themes, including descriptions of death, violence, child neglect, and more.  Reader discretion is advised. 

PROLOGUE

Villains are destined to die. 

Everyone knows that. In every storybook, the villain is either slain by the main character or cast away–exiled until death swallows them whole. 

The villain is never on top.

The villain never wins. 

The villain never gets their happily ever after. 

So why…why was it that this time the villain won?

“Father, please! Don’t do this!” I screamed, my broken fingers clawing at the wooden flooring as the knights dragged me towards the dungeons.

The chill of the stone walls seeped into my bones, but it was nothing compared to the cold in his eyes—the same eyes that had once promised protection, now void of any love. 

“Silence, Anastelle,” he hissed, his voice sharp enough to cut through the clamour of my terror. “You’ve always been weak. A liability. You should have never been born to carry the Crowhurst name.” 

The torches flickered, casting shadows across the walls, turning the knights’ faces into masks of cruelty. I thrashed, kicked, begged…but it was useless. My father’s grip on my life was absolute. 

A whimper fell from my lips as the two knights roughly threw me to the ground. Instinctively, I began crawling at the floor, crawling towards my father. My small, shaking hands gripped the hem of his pant leg, and I looked up at him with wide, desperate eyes.  

“Please…don’t do this! I’m sorry! I’m sorry, Father!” I sobbed, tears streaming down my cheeks, my chest heaving with ragged breath. 

His gaze didn’t waver—cold, unyielding, void of emotions. “You were always a stain in this family,” he spat, his voice sharp as a blade.

He bent in front of my small kneeling form, gripping my chin roughly—forcing me to look him in the eyes. “But now…finally, you have a purpose.”

The words hit me like ice, freezing my blood. A purpose…and yet the way he stared at me felt like a death sentence. 

Rough hands gripped me, yanking me backward. I screamed and thrashed, kicking my legs with all the strength my weak body could muster, but it was useless against the two knights holding me. 

Cold shackles snapped around my wrists, biting into my skin, and the heavy clink of iron echoed through the silent dungeon. 

“Let me go! Please!” I gasped, tears stinging my eyes, my nails scraping against the floor. The pain of my broken fingers dulled, replaced by the fear pounding in my chest. Strange symbols were carved into the stone beneath me, glowing faintly as my fingers latched onto them in my struggle.

The knights quickly tossed me onto my back, the same cold shackles around my wrist, and locked around my ankles too, securing me to iron poles. I struggled, my small body writhing, but the chains held fast, biting into my skin. 

My father stood over me, a silver dagger that glinted in the torchlight raised above his head. Panic surged through me, hot and sharp, and my chest heaved with each ragged breath. “Your sacrifice will bring honour to your family. You should feel proud to finally have a use.”

My breath hitched as a cold, terrifying grin spread across his face. Then, in a flash of silver, the dagger pierced my shoulder. I screamed, my voice breaking against the walls, and my terror peaked. 

A strange energy stirred in the air around us, and I saw pure madness flash in my father’s eyes as he raised the bloodied dagger once more.

His laughter—wild, broken, and drenched in cruelty–ripped through the dungeon, the last sound I would hear before searing pain tore through my chest and the world shuddered violently around me. 

Then…darkness swallowed everything.