SIGRID

“Electra!” I heard Drusilla’s annoying screech behind me just as I’d stepped into the domain of the head witch.

With an irritated look, I turned to face her.

She was dressed in a beautiful burgundy gown, her hair pulled back into a long braid that swung down her back.

“I thought I was late and Morgana would scold me, but if her favorite is still hanging around, then I’m saved,” she huffed, and immediately a man behind her dabbed her forehead with an embroidered white handkerchief.

He was a handsome elemental, young—too young—and even under his neat little suit, I could see the bruises on his wrists when he raised his hand to wipe her sweat.

She couldn’t even wipe her own disgusting sweat.

“That’s enough. Get away from me, I want to speak with my sister,” she snapped, shoving him aside and striding toward me, trying to grab my arm.

I spun around and left her standing there, disgust swirling in my stomach.

The real Electra was cold, and with these miserable bitches, I didn’t even