wear a necklace of rope, side by side with me; any

[magnus]

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

Their family indeed had a habit of ruining the things that mattered most to them.

It had started with Atrox and Twinge—two warmongers who loved each other almost as much as they loved themselves. Their love had been grand, but it had been poisonous. Together, they had fought more often than they did not, at each other’s throats with fury constantly. It seemed the toxic nature of that love had seeped into the bloodstream of their offspring. Makai, who killed and enjoyed it. Makai, who took something beautiful and destroyed it because he knew he did not deserve it. Makai, who just kept running.

Magnus knew that same poison. He was born from it, after all. He, too, had loved someone beautiful and pure and so utterly out of his reach. He had stretched himself thin for that love, smothering whatever impurity raced through his veins just to mold himself into what she deserved—but it didn’t work. The shadows of his soul lashed out, violently, in reaction. Before he had known what was happening, he had blood on his hands and a kingdom looking at him for guidance. It had been too much. Too much.

So he had done what his family was bred to do: he had ruined it.

Were he to learn that same destructive behavior had made its way to the third generation would break his heart, but it would not surprise him. Atrox was good at throwing carbon copies of himself, and he was good at injecting his bloodline with a particular brand of poison. They were all cursed with it.

Perhaps they were also cursed with insomnia as Magnus often failed to sleep. Usually, he spent his nights roaming the Gates—checking on the residents and ensuring everyone was safely asleep—but tonight, he was drawn from it. Tonight, he took to the air, struggling against the newness of his wings. It was frustrating to go from a creature so in tune and in control of his body to one who stumbled like a babe. By the time he landed, somewhat clumsily, at the border of the field, he was covered in sweat and agitated.

He was just about ready to make his way home when he saw her, deep blue, horned, and utterly familiar. There was something about the glint in her eye and the way she held herself that spoke to him—reminded him of himself. Magnus did not deny his curiosity and instead made his way over toward her, the color of his coat deepened to a dusky gold from the sweat, his eyes bright, muscles tense. “Hello,” his greeting was, as always, simple—his voice throaty and quiet. “My name is Magnus.” Why do I know you?

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.