“Do it again with more power,” Mr. Reaper demands as he looms in the shadows of the damp dungeon, watching me with his glowing yellow eyes.

Kneeling before me is a witch around my age, with long blonde hair, and bleeding red eyes. Her eyes weren’t red when she was first dragged in here. They were a light, faerie dust blue that reminded me of this waterfall back in my realm. When I was younger, I used to go swimming in the water below. A lot of young witches and wizards did, although I always went solo, since I had no friends.

It’s what I learned rather quickly. That being one of the most powerful witches also came with jealousy and hatred. Even adults often grew jealous of me, and some even feared me. I spent a lot of years alone because of that.

At the time, I longed to be around others. Right now, I long to be alone, locked away in my dungeon where I don’t have to stand here and inflict spell after spell on this poor witch.

I’m not even sure why Mr. Reaper wants to hurt her. He usually doesn’t explain the reason. Sometimes I question if he doesn’t even have a reason. That he just likes to watch the torture, that maybe he thrives on it.

Charging up a pale blue orb of magic in the palm of my hand, I stare down at the sobbing witch.

“Please don’t,” she begs, tears streaming down her face. Her white dress is singed from the countless other spells I’ve thrown at her, and her skin is starting to melt. The scent of rotting flesh taints the air. She won’t last much longer.

I’m glad. As selfish as it may be, I long for the end to come, for them to take their final breaths, for me to not have to hear their screams, their cries, their pleas. I hate myself for thinking that way, wish I could take their place instead.

What I would give to take their place. To know the end is near.

Sucking in a breath, I mouth, “I’m sorry,” then I throw the ball of magic at the witch’s chest.

She cries out, her body writhing, her limbs twisting in the most unnatural way as her muscles break apart and her blood boils underneath her skin.

“Are you messing with me tonight, Star?” Mr. Reaper stalks up behind me, his cloak swishing across the dingy floor behind him. “Or did all the wine weaken your power.”

“I’m doing the best I can,” I grit out, “and exactly what you’re telling me to do.”

He moves behind me, breathing into my ear, “You’re holding back. I can tell.”

No, I’m not. I’m really not. Because if I were, the witch would’ve been put out of her misery a while ago. But since I can’t control the level of power unless without his permission, I must continue to torment the witch, watch her suffer, melt alive from the inside out.

“Hit her harder and make her suffer,” he commands, gripping my waist. “Stop holding back.”

I grind my teeth, knowing he’s toying with me.

“Fine.” I breath in and out as I channel as much energy as he’ll allow me to, then lift the blaring red ball of magic up in front of me.

Red, like blood.

Like the blood on my hands.

I’m so sorry.

“Now hit her in the chest,” he whispers. “Hard.”

I hate him.

I hate myself.

Hate.

Hate.

Hate.

The hate makes the ball of magic ignite.

“Please, Star,” the witch begs.

I wince at the use of my name, and she must notice because she continues in a frenzy.

“I remember you from the Sun Moon Realm. You used to swim at the waterfall.” Desperation fills her eyes. “You seemed so sweet back then, and I think, deep down, you don’t want to do this.”

“No, I don’t,” I utter the truth, watching as she starts to relax. “But wanting and actually doing aren’t the same around here.”

A sob bursts from her lips. “Please.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper then chuck the ball of magic as hard as I can straight at her chest.

She screams out in pain as flames blaze across her melting skin. “Help me! Help! Why! Why! Why!”

The screaming lasts for what feels like hours, and Mr. Reaper makes me stay for the entire time, watching with him. Unlike me, though, he grins wider the louder the witch screams.

Once she’s done screaming, he leaves my side and walks up to her slacken body sprawled out across the floor. I want to look away, not wanting to see what’s coming next, but he forces me to watch as he seals his lips to the dead witch’s and drinks her soul from her body.

Every dead soul is a different color, not a single one the same. The darker the color, the more tainted the soul is. I’ve seen everything from black to a bright pink. This witch’s, hers is the lightest yellow I’ve ever seen.

Pure.

She was good.

Tears burn my eyes, and my fingers curl into fists as I mentally try to conjure up a spell.

Please, magic, work for me. Please be mine again so I can put an end to all this.

The skeleton tattoo on my wrists burns, scorching, melting heat. I cry out in pain, my legs buckling before I collapse to my knees.

“Haven’t you learned anything during your stay with me?” Mr. Reaper stalks toward me, lowering his hood from his head. “You can’t use your magic without me. Even trying to is disobeying me.” He crouches in front of me as I hug my throbbing wrist to my chest. “You’ve disobeyed me a lot lately. I think it might be time to break that out of you.” He scrapes a fingernail along my skin as he fixes his finger under my chin and forces me to meet his glowing gaze. “From now on, you will spend every waking hour with me. And when you’re asleep, I’ll haunt your nightmares.” His eyes flame as he leans in. “I own you, Star. Don’t ever forget that.” Then he leans in more with his lips parted, just like he did to the witch on the floor.

Instead of drinking my soul, though, he kisses me, something he’s done a lot in the last few years, ever since I turned seventeen.

Sometimes I wish he would just drink my soul. Maybe that way I wouldn’t have to feel the self-disgust and self-hatred. Maybe I wouldn’t care about what I did.

But I do care, because I do have a soul, no matter how broken and tainted it is.

I wish I were dead.

I wish I could kill him.

Maybe, after this is all over, I’ll say to hell with everything and do both.