Verity’s POV

The walls don’t talk.

They don’t whisper.

They don’t scream.

They don’t do anything but listen.

And so, I learned to do the same.

For as long as I can remember, the world has been stone. Cold, gray, unmoving. The air here is always damp, always laced with the faint scent of dust and something sickening. The only light I’ve ever known is the thin sliver of sunlight that peeks through the high window near the ceiling. It moves across the floor each day like it’s trying to reach me, but never does.

Just like everything else.

I don't know what’s beyond that window. I’ve never seen the sky. I’ve never heard the wind rustle leaves. I don’t even know what a leaf looks like. For the first twelve years of my life, I didn’t even know there were other people in the world. Not really. Only Grace.

She comes twice a day. Once when the sunlight appears and again when it disappears.

She never speaks.

She knocks once, enters, places a wooden tray down in silence, and leaves without meeting my eyes. She used to hum softly when I was small. But that stopped after a while. After one of his visits.

The man who called himself Father.

He only came twice my entire life. Both times, he didn’t speak to me. He looked down at me like I was something to be endured. A mistake. His eyes were the color of the storm I’ve never seen, but somehow, I knew. Cold. Cruel.

He spoke only to Grace, both times. Told her I was not to be spoken to. That I was not to be touched. That if she tried to teach me anything—anything at all—he’d have her tongue removed.

She didn’t hum after that.

And so I never learned what words sounded like. What they meant. I never spoke because no one ever told me I could. I would try, in the darkness, when the shadows surrounded me but the sounds came out wrong. Tangled. Strained. It made my throat ache, so eventually, I stopped trying.

They think I can’t speak.

But the truth is crueler, I was never taught how.

My birthdays are the only time I ever hear the sound of a voice. Once a year, Grace says my age. Nothing more.

“You’re eight now,” she once whispered, placing a small piece of cake on the tray. I didn’t know what ‘eight’ meant. Only that it made her eyes wet.

One year she said, “You’re thirteen. A woman now.”

That was the first year she came.

I remember it like it was yesterday. Her presence was like bloodstain, you can scrub all you want but it never leaves.

The door creaked open at night and it was not Grace’s time. I backed into the corner, clutching the rough blanket I slept with like a shield. And then she stepped in.

She was... beautiful. Pale skin. Long black hair. Emerald eyes. Her steps were delicate and cruel at once.

For a second, I thought maybe I was seeing a spirit. Maybe even someone that had come to save me. But when she laughed, the sound was cruel.

“Gods,” she said. “You really are real.”

She stepped closer. I didn’t know what to do. Her eyes raked over me, and something dark flashed behind them.

“I’m Felicity,” she said proudly, chin lifted. “Princess of Valcaryn. And apparently…” she snorted, “your twin.”

I didn’t know what a ‘princess’ was. I didn’t know what ‘twin’ meant either, but she explained it quickly with venom.

“Same face. Same birthday. But I’m better. You’re the ugly one.”

I stared, still not understanding, until she grabbed my face—roughly, her nails digging into my skin—and tilted it to hers.

“Look,” she hissed. “We’re the same. But I’m beautiful. And you’re nothing.”

That was how I saw my face for the first time—on hers. A face I didn’t know I had. A mirror I never asked for.

She visited again. And again.

She came to gloat. To insult. To hurt.

Her visits became routine. Like darkness.

Felicity would slam my head against the stone wall if I didn’t move fast enough. She’d rip my hair from the scalp for fun. Once, she brought a silver spoon and burned my arms just to “see what would happen to a freak like you.”

Another time, she brought a stick dipped in honey and shoved it into my mouth.

“Bet you’ve never tasted anything sweet before, huh?” she mocked, watching me cough and gag. “Don’t get used to it. That’s a taste you don’t deserve.”

She spat in my food once. Another time, she broke the tray entirely, forcing me to eat from the floor. And she always, always reminded me that no one cared. That I was locked away for a reason.

“They say you don’t even have a wolf,” she said once, curling her lip. “You’re not even one of us. You’re nothing. A mistake that should’ve been strangled at birth.”

But still… a part of me, twisted and broken, was glad she came. Because every time she stood in front of me, I got to see me. The face I never knew. It made me feel real. Like I existed.

Like I wasn’t a ghost.

***

Now, I sat in the corner of my tower. The stones beneath me brought me familiar comfort. I had memorized the cracks. The scent of moss and dampness is all I’ve ever known. I hummed sometimes, low and tuneless, just to fill the silence.

But tonight is different.

Because Grace spoke to me.

Not the birthday whisper. Not the annual aging.

Actual words.

She cried when she walked in.

I stood, confused, backing away. But she dropped the tray and came toward me. Her arms wrapped around me and I flinched hard because no one has touched me in years.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, shaking. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Her body trembled against mine. I didn’t move. Didn’t know how to respond.

“You’re eighteen tomorrow,” she said. “You’ll feel the pull of your mate soon.”

Mate.

She said that word like it was sacred. Like it meant something powerful.

I tilted my head. Questioning.

She pulled back. Looked me in the eyes for the first time in forever.

“Everyone has a mate,” she whispered. “Someone chosen by the Moon Goddess. When you turn eighteen, you can sense them. Your other half. The one meant for you.”

My heart clenched. I didn’t know what a goddess was. But I knew what it was like to want something—anything—to belong to.

“You may never meet yours,” Grace said, her voice breaking. “They’ll never let you leave. And even if you did… he wouldn’t want a girl like you.”

The words were cruel, but her tone was kind. Apologetic. Honest.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I sat by the wall, watching the ray of moonlight creep across the stone. I pressed my hand into it, imagining what the world might feel like beyond this room.

What if I left?

What if I saw the sky?

Even just once?

Grace had said there would be a ball. For Felicity.

I don’t know what that is. But I imagine music. Lights. People. Faces.

I want to see the world that made me. That forgot me.

Even if it breaks me.

So, I decided.

Tomorrow, on my eighteenth birthday… I will leave this tower.

I didn't care what’s out there.

I needed to see it.

Even if it was only for a night.

Even if it kills me.