The Face of the Wicked

g the simple pleasure of a hearty breakfast shared in good company. The aroma of freshly brewed coff

t had been weighing heavily on my mind since my discovery in the attic. "What was Mom like?" I asked, my voice barely above a

g it up. I don't want to make you feel sad," I add, my voice wavering with emotion. "Oh, sweetheart, I am so sorry," my father responds,

what was Mom like when you first met?" I asked on

ness. "Your mother, Lydia, was a beacon of light in a world filled with darkness," he began, his voice tinged with nost

or the woman I had lost too soon. "Your mother meant the whole world to me," he said, his voice tinged with a mix of nostalgia a

her. "At first, she did play a little hard to get, but I won her over at the end," he chuckled, the memory of their courtship bringing a warm glow to his features. "There wasn't a day

ed brow. "What can you tell me about them?" I pressed, my curiosi

. they were a storm of power and secrecy," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret. "It was said that The Blakes were renowned for their formidable magical

questioned, my curiosity driving me to seek answers about my family's past. "What d

voice tinged with a hint of reverence for my mother's dedication to uncovering the truth. "Your grandmother guided her with it to

father remarked, his tone tinged with sorrow. "Sadly, her parents passed away when she was in high school," he added, his voice filled with sympathy for the loss my mother had endured at such a

hed across the table to squeeze his hand. "Thank you for joining me for breakfast, swe

with him. "Well, I'm off to work. I have a long shift today, so don't wait up for me," he said, rising from his seat. I mirrored his moveme

cheek. "Have a nice day, see you tomorrow," he added, his words filled with tenderness as h

I barely registered the world around me. Lost in my own thoughts, I found myself navigating through the familiar streets with

ow over my otherwise mundane routines. As I crossed items off my to-do list, I barely noticed the figure that approached me until it was to

ression was grave, an urgency evident in the depths of his eyes as he regarded me with a sense of purpose that set my heart r

y. "You are in danger, Katharina," he insisted, his voice a whisper that cut through the clamor of the bustling stree

weight of his warning settled upon me like a heavy blanket, suffusing me with a sense of foreboding that made my stomach churn with unease. Was

aze with a steely resolve. Despite the turmoil churning within me, I forced my voice to remain steady,

Dylan's presence. As I hurried through the bustling streets, a torrent of thoughts and emotions swirled within me, grappling wit

impending meeting with Dylan. It seemed as though time had come to a grinding halt, stretching out before me like an endless expanse of unc

ivert my attention, no matter how trivial. I shuffled through the pages of a book, but the words blurred together in a meaningless jum

struggled to outrun the gnawing sense of apprehension that threatened to consume me. Yet, no matter how h