About

  She knew nothing of sweetness. She knew nothing of feeble humanity and kindness. Tattoos marred upon frigid skin had proved to all those who challenged her of her worth. Of her resolve, and determination. She had fought as a warrior, she had championed as a scholar, and she had lived as a queen, clawing her way with shattered bones and broken heart, to sit upon her earned throne.

  Xanthea. A name that sparked curiosity and rumour, as much as it did disdain. A ‘horned little goblin’ to the senior members of the court of demons, and an inspiration to the demonic bards and poets who gaggled like eager children to spread tales of her endeavour.

  She basked in the moonlight like a ghostly silhouette. Perched upon carved marble and dipping careful fingertips into a bowl of pomegranate seeds, she would ponder the moon as its light lay flush against her pale skin. The biting cold of the night did not seem to deter her from sitting outside. Upon her ankles lay a great snake, content to use her legs as branches. Scales that shimmered like rippling water as the creature shifted to rest its head upon her knee.

  “Such a beautiful thing that you are.”

  She breathed, her words almost lost to the fluttering wind. Her fingertips had ghosted over the snake’s skull, watching its tongue protrude from its mouth to flicker into the air. She marvelled the serpent’s image, likening herself to the creature. Cold blooded and cunning. A beacon of respect.

  Xanthea was sat upon the court, among the demons that eyed her. Careful glances and muttered smirks of biting remarks kept behind the rotten smiles and sharp teeth. Hands extended as she bowed her head in regards.

  She smothered the room with her radiating persona. A being that oozed toxin as she spoke, eyes half lidded and basking in the uncomfortable squirm of other nobles, lips curling into something sinister, serpentine and sly as her upturned nose caught the air, fingers curled around the arms of her throne as each word that left her lips sunk the spirits of her targets, eyes downcast and voices silenced.

  The half-child human-demon. The woman beyond what others could have expected to sit among them. Spoiled blood clear of perfect lineage, but she had savaged her way through endless trial to prove to them that she was more demon than any last one of them.

  Xanthea took her humanity and devoured it. Torn apart and swallowed like poisoned water as she destroyed any evidence of her ‘lesser’ half. And only in the true dead of night, would she rip open her heartbreak to cry bitter tears over her lost heritage, her forgotten family left abandoned for a chance to be worthy enough to sit on a throne of broken glass and empty love.

  She had done all she could. And now that she was where she had dreamed herself being, she had come to ponder how truly lonely the top could be.

-PunchingSolas-