Chapter 3

They dragged me out of the mansion, their manicured nails digging into my arms. They threw me onto the sharp gravel of the driveway.

"Your father invited me," I gasped, trying to push myself up.

"Liar," Madisyn spat, kicking me hard in the ribs with the heel of her expensive riding boot. The air rushed out of my lungs.

"Listen to that accent," one of her friends mocked, mimicking my rural Kentucky drawl. "So cheap."

"And those clothes," the other one said, pointing at my simple cotton dress. "Did you get them at a flea market?"

They surrounded me, a circle of predators. Madisyn grabbed a handful of my hair and slammed my face into the gravel. I tasted dirt and blood.

"You think you can steal my life?" she screamed, her face inches from mine. "You think you can take what' s mine?"

They kicked me again and again. They ground my hands into the sharp stones, laughing as I cried out in pain. My dress was torn, my skin was shredded.

Through the haze of pain, I felt a sharp crack against my chest. I looked down.

The cheap, worn-out locket I always wore was shattered. It was the last thing my mother gave me before she died. A small, silver heart with a faded picture of her inside.

Now it was just broken pieces on the dirty gravel.

Something inside me went cold. The pain in my body was nothing compared to the rage that filled me. It was a silent, freezing fury.

The curse was awake.