I was once one of the most powerful witches in the Sun Moon Realm. Now, I’m a prisoner for the Soul Realm king and queen, who I’m forced to address as Mr. and Mrs. Grim Reaper.

The Soul Realm is inhabited mostly by soulless creatures who steal and sometimes eat souls. Grim Reapers make up the majority of the population. Then you’ve got your various soulless demons, zombies, banshees, hellhounds, and a few other random creatures. I’ve crossed paths a ton of times with walking corpses, which basically look like skeletons with dead flesh hanging off their bodies. Those are probably the most harmless creatures here. They spend a lot of time drooling all over themselves and eating their own flesh, which is disgusting, yet harmless. Maybe that’s why I don’t mind chilling in the walking corpse section of the bar. Because it’s the only place where I don’t have to worry about brain eating zombies, evil demons, soul sucking reapers, death alluring banshees, and soul hunting, deadly gazed, gods awful smelly hellhounds.

“Can I get another round?” I ask the bartender, an imp with a long nose, beady eyes, wrinkly skin, and stubby bat-like wings.

He kind of reminds me of those garden gnomes my mom kept in our backyard. I was pretty afraid of them—the gnomes, I mean—and believed they’d come to life one night and bite me while I was sleeping. My mom told me all the time I had an overactive imagination and that she hated that about me. Whenever I let my imagination get too wild, she used to make me sit in the dark closet with the door cracked so only a sliver of light peeked in, and forced me to repeat over and over again, “The only thing to see in life is darkness and light. Nothing else exists or matters.”

Yeah, she was an odd witch, and that was one of the milder punishments she gave me. I used to secretly despise her and her punishments. Now I long for them. Long for being in that closet where only light and darkness exists. The punishments I receive here have left scars all over my body and my mind. The things I’ve done … Seen …

“Can you make that a double?” I ask Mr. Gnome Bartender, a nickname I secretly gave him the first time I wandered in here. I’d never dare utter the name aloud.

While imps aren’t very common around here, most residing in the Willow Realm—the realm of glitter magic and fey—the ones who do live in the Soul Realm are soulless. Imps with souls are known for their trickery, mischief. The loss of their souls seems to magnify those traits. Some even carry demon blood inside their veins. Those are the ones you must watch out for.

Fortunately, I’m fairly certain Mr. Gnome Bartender isn’t harboring a demon darkness. At least, from what I’ve observed over the last couple years since I started coming to this bar to escape the awful deeds and horrors that I both inflict and witness daily.

My scarred hands tremble as my thoughts drift to what I did only hours earlier. The blood on my hands. The screams that filled the air …

I shudder, leaning forward and catching Mr. Gnome Bartender’s gaze. “Look, I know you’re super busy with those bags of flesh over there”—I nod at a group of walking corpses doing reaper blood shots—which yes, is as gross as it sounds—just a few barstools down—“but I could really, really use a drink right now.”

Mr. Gnome’s beady eyes land on me. “Can’t you see I’m busy?” He gestures at the walking corpses. “And unlike you, they pay for their drinks.”

As ludicrous as that sounds, he’s telling the truth. Walking corpses usually have massive amounts of coins on them. Not sure how or where they get them, and since I don’t speak gibberish, I can’t ask them. I want to, though. I want to know how creatures who spend a lot of time eating their own molting flesh somehow manage to attain money while I’m flat broke.

But my lack of cash funds has a lot to do with the fact that I’m Mr. and Mrs. Grim Reaper’s prisoner, and I make zero to none for the daily services they force me to provide. They do give me food sometimes, although it’s mostly leftovers that have been nibbled on by other creatures. On certain occasions, they forget to feed me altogether. Those days I go dumpster diving in nearby restaurant garbage cans.

“Come on; I just need a tiny sip.” I clasp my hands together and give Mr. Gnome Bartender what I hope is a pathetically pleading look. “Then I’ll leave you alone.”

He rolls his eyes. “Yeah, like I haven’t heard that one before.” He pours shots for the group of walking corpses then sets the bottle down and turns toward me. “For two years you’ve wandered in here every night and ordered three shots of faerie wine, which you drink and then either sneak away without paying me or you feed me some stupid sob story about how you forgot your cash. Quite frankly, my dear, I’m getting tired of it. I never should’ve let this become a habit.”

I frown. “Then, why did you?”

He gives a half-shrug as he picks up a rag. “I felt sorry for you.”

Sorry? He felt sorry for me? Me, Star Wickingferd, one of the most powerful witches in all the Sun Moon Realm.

When I was born, every witch and wizard said I had such potential. That I would be an amazingly powerful witch when I grew up. That I could become the next ruler of Sun Moon Realm.

By the time I was ten years old, I had cast spells no witch or wizard thought possible. I even tracked down and safely hid three nature energy creatures, creatures that can achieve balance and control certain plants. Or, in some cases, get rid of toxic plants. And their power could very well stop the realms from being destroyed. Because, even though most creatures are unaware, a current threat is heading their way. Danger is upon us.

It all started over a decade ago when poisonous vines were planted in the Moonlight Realm, a realm where nearly every night creature, from vampires to werewolves, live. The creature who planted the vines is the evil, power hungry werewolf king of the Violet Mountain pack. If the vines continue to grow, they’ll end up spreading across the realms and killing almost every creature.

The only thing that can stop the vines from consuming the realms is nature energy creatures. Seven of them to be exact, one for each realm. And yes, there’s even one from the Common Realm, a magicless realm where humans reside. Although humans possess no magic, the nature energy creature from that realm does have its nature energy power.

I was only eleven years old when my mother received knowledge that the toxic vines had been planted. Since I was extremely powerful, she decided it’d be my mission to track down the seven nature energy creatures and hide them where the power-hungry werewolf king couldn’t find and destroy them. Then, once all seven were found, I would link their powers and they could destroy the vines.

To this day, I’m not quite sure how my mother found out any of this information. While she is noble in some ways, like with wanting to save the realms from a poisonous vine’s demise, she is also batshit crazy in many ways.

When she first informed me of the vines, I thought she was in one of her insane moods. Then she showed them to me and took me to a foreseer—a predictor of the future and seer of the past—who told me the future of the realms would be filled with death if I didn’t find the seven nature energy creatures and stop the vines from spreading.

And so began my two-year long mission to save the realms. During that time, I managed to successfully track down and hide three nature energy creatures: a nature energy werewolf, a nature energy faerie, and a nature energy witch. The latter was more my mom’s discovery than mine. And it was during that final discovery that my life went to shit, and I ended up stuck here.

My fingers curl into fists, recalling the day of that betrayal. If I still had control over my powers, sparks of magic would be emitting from my skin right now.

Then again, if I still had control over my powers, I wouldn’t be a prisoner in this hellhole of a dead realm for the last nine years with Mr. and Mrs. Grim Reaper controlling my powers, my decisions, my life.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got paying patrons to serve,” Mr. Gnome Bartender tears me from my thoughts as he turns around, dismissing my request for another double.

I pick up the empty shot glass in front of me and tip my head back, trying to suck out the last drops. When a few land on my tongue, relief starts to wash through me, but then the glass is pried from my fingers.

“Hey,” I gripe as Mr. Gnome Bartender sets the empty shot glass in the sink. “I wasn’t finished with that yet.”

“Yes, you were,” he snaps. “And I think you need to stop coming here. It’s been a real curse meeting you, Star, and it’s time for you to move your mooching elsewhere.”

A darkness stirs inside my chest at the idea of no longer being able to drink away my problems. I could go to another bar, if I could find one that would let me in, but so far, this is the only bar that’s granted me permission to walk through its entrance doors. I’m banished from elsewhere, due to what I am. A prisoner. The scum of this realm. Weak. Pathetic. A witch who has no control over her powers. A creature with a soul.

“You might want to be careful, little gnome,” I warn as my temper takes a hold of me. “One day, I might get control over my power again, and I just might make you regret taking my drink away.”

Swirls of cursed promises fill his eyes as he leans toward me. “Are you threatening me?”’

I should shake my head and run. If I want to walk away from this unscathed, I would. But the truth is, I don’t think I want to. I don’t want to be here anymore. Don’t want to continue suffering through night after night, carrying out the Grim Reapers’ requests. Even if death is my way out.

I’ve thought about it a lot lately. About death.

Witches and wizards aren’t supposed to go to the Soulless Realm when we die. At least, that’s what most believe. Our power supposedly goes to the skies and gets recycled while our soul is set free into the world. While I’m unsure if that’s true, I haven’t seen any of my kind while I’ve been trapped here, so I doubt we end up here when we die.

Death. Could it be a better choice? Would my soul be freed from the anguish tainting it? Or, would my tainted soul be stuck here if I decided to take my last breath?

Maybe tonight’s the night I’ll finally find out.

Can I really do it, though? Give up like that? And what about the bigger purpose of why I’m here?

Confliction dances through me as my lips part. “Yep, sure am,” I tell Mr. Gnome Bartender.

Well, there you go. I guess I have my answer.

Then, to really seal the deal of pissing him off, I reach over the countertop and snatch a bottle of faerie wine.

“Don’t you dare—” he starts, but I bolt from the barstool and haul ass for the exit doors, shoving walking corpses out of my way as I weave across the most depressing dance floor ever. Seriously, walking corpses are the laziest dancers I’ve ever seen. Plus, they can’t hold a beat if their lives depended on it, which explains why they don’t.

“Stop her!” Mr. Gnome Bartender shouts as I sprint toward the door, clutching the bottle of faerie wine. If I drop it, I won’t be able to get drunk enough tonight and will end up sinking into my nightmares. That is, if I even make it to falling asleep.

Yeah, that’s probably not going to happen, but I continue running away anyway, bursting out the exit doors and veering down the closest dark alleyway. Hunkering down behind the trash cans, I unscrew the cap off the faerie wine and down a few gulps.

As the magic burns down my throat, a calmness settles inside my chest. I know I’m addicted, have been for the last two years, but it’s the only thing that gets me through the pain anymore, the punishments, the forcing, the evilness that’s both inflicted on me and by me every single goddamn day.

After a few more gulps, I’m feeling pretty good. Weightless even. Calm. Not happy, though. No, sadly, not even drinking faerie wine can make me taste happiness. Honestly, it’s been so long—nine years to be exact—since I’ve felt that lightness that comes with being happy. Do I smile? Sure, but it’s all fake, a façade, necessary to survive. Nope, happiness is something I’ll never experience again, even if I do manage to escape this realm. Because, what I’ve done here, even though I was forced to do it, will always haunt me.

Sliding to the dirty asphalt, I stretch out my legs and cradle the bottle of faerie wine against my chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” I tell the bottle.

Sure, talking to a bottle might make me as batshit crazy as my mom, but who else in the magical curses am I supposed to talk to? No one here likes me because of what I am, and the feeling is mutual for the most part. I did befriend a bat once that was living in my prison chambers, but then Mr. Reaper decided he was going to lock me up and starve me for two weeks straight as punishment for disobeying him. When the hunger become too great and Bestie—that was what I named the bat—was the only edible thing around, one thing led to another and … Well, yeah, Bestie’s no longer with us.

“May he rest in sweet, blissful, bat peace,” I mutter then down another couple of swallows.

A hiccup slips from my lips, and I giggle as the realm around me begins to spin.

“Shit, I think I may have overdone it tonight,” I mutter as I rest my head back and stare up at the smoky sky.

I miss the stars that glitter across the Sun Moon Realm sky. I miss the sunlight. The sky is always black here, polluted with smoke and ash. And the air always reeks of spoiled meat baking in the sun.

“I hate it here!” I cry. “I hate you, Mother, for putting me here!”

“Pity parties are for the weak, Star, or have you learned nothing during your time with me?”

The deep, raspy voice that slithers from the shadows sends a chill crawling up my spine. I hurriedly down a few more swallows, knowing I’m going to need to be extra numb for the punishment I’ll receive tonight.

“I’m not having a pity party,” I lie, my words starting to slur together. “I was merely cursing the heavens.”

“And your mother.” He emerges from the shadows, nearly blending in with the night. Like usual, his hood is drawn over his head—only during rare occasions does he ever pull it down. I’ve seen what lies beneath the cloak, though.

Upon first glance, the Grim Reaper king appears human, with slightly above average pale skin. Most would guess his age to be around twenty-two. Really, though, he’s older than most creatures that roam the realms. Dark hair, tall, lean, I’ve heard whispers about his attractiveness. I’ve never seen it, though, because I’ve looked him straight in the eye too many times, have seen the soulless monster living behind the pretty mask, the illusion, the façade. Nothing about what the Grim Reaper portrays is real. Darkness, evil, soulless—those are the truths that lie inside him.

“You don’t seem too happy to see me.” He steps toward me, his cloak swishing across the ground.

“Am I ever?” Uttering those words will come back to bite me in the ass later. But I’ll worry about that later. Right now, I’m too drunk to hide my true feelings, my detest for him.

He stops in front of me. “You’re drunk.”

I raise the bottle. “Huh? What tipped you off?”

He chuckles, again another illusion. “Are you going to share?”

I hug the bottle to my chest. “I’d rather not.”

“That wasn’t a request.” The lightness in his tone fizzles.

Gritting my teeth, I give him the bottle.

With his glowing eyes fixed on me, he untwists the lid to open it, and then downs the rest of faerie wine before tossing the empty bottle into the nearby trash can. Then he fixes his glowing eyes on me.

“I got a very interesting telegram from an imp tonight,” he tells me. “And it told me a very interesting story.”

“Huh? Really? What was it about?” I feign dumb, but my stomach ravels into knots.

“I think you already know the answer to that.” His voice lowers, darkens. “Well, except for the ending.”

I swallow a shaky breath. “I usually don’t like to hear the ending of stories.”

“Yeah, well, I usually don’t like to receive telegrams in the middle of the night, but unfortunately, we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Tears veil my vision as I stare at the spot of ground in front of me.

Don’t cry, Star. He likes it when you do that.

“No, we don’t,” I whisper, my hands trembling.

“Good, then I don’t expect you to protest when I tell you to get up, no matter how much you want to.”

Sucking in a deep breath, I squeeze my eyes shut and rise to my feet. I want to keep my eyes closed forever, but that will only piss him off more and lead to a longer punishment.

Lifting my eyelids open, I meet his glowing gaze.

“Good girl.” He reaches out, the sleeve of his cloak riding up and revealing his long, slender, human-like fingers. “You turned into such a beautiful woman.” As he strokes my cheek with his fingertips, it takes all my willpower not vomit all over him. “Maybe that’s why I’ve allowed you to get away with so much lately. My attraction to you … it’s been a weakness. Most of my prisoners don’t even get to leave the dungeon, yet I’ve allowed you to wander the realm as you pleased for the last few years, only asking that you obey my laws and respect the creatures I rule over.” He shifts his fingers to my long, wavy brown hair, combing through the strands. “But tonight, you broke both rules by insulting the imp and stealing a bottle of faerie wine.” He tsks me, gripping my cheeks between his hands. “But again, that might be my own fault for being blinded by your pretty face and allowing you to turn into such a disrespectful creature.” He pinches my face more tightly. “It’s time to change that.”

Tears drip down my cheeks as he squeezes my face harder. Tears of hatred. Of sadness. Of rage. I want to curse him, blast him with magic, but the tattoo of a skeleton marking my wrist binds my magic to him. I can’t cast a spell or a curse without his permission or request, and the only way to get rid of the tattoo is for the reaper to remove it. Or if a powerful creature like, say a witch, werewolf, or vampire, takes pity on me and removes it from my body, but then my magic is just bound to them, so I’m really not free. And considering the realm I’m in … yeah, I’m not counting on that happening anytime soon.

It sucks. It really, really does. That me, one of the most powerful witches ever born in the Sun Moon Realm, is now under the control of the Grim Reaper. And the reason I’m a prisoner for the ruler of the undead …

My mother.

Her betrayal led to me being here.

He leans forward, his eyes darkening to a dim glow as he grips a handful of my hair and pulls hard. “Now, here’s what we’re going to do. We’re going to go back to the bar, where you’ll get down on your hands and knees, and beg for that imp’s forgiveness. Then, after that, we’re going to go back to the palace, where you will cast the spells I request. After we’re done with that, you will come to my chambers and spend as long as it takes making this up to me. Do you understand?”

I bob my head up and down, tears of rage spilling down my cheeks as regret presses down on my chest.

Regret that I ran away from the bar.

That I didn’t just let the imp kill me.