One upon a time...

It was an ordinary day for The Villain, aside from his body being on fire.

Evie Sage's first week on the job was terrible—at least for Trystan Maverine. Wax dripped from the candles before him onto the parchment he was reviewing, just missing the tiny rim of its holder. He sneered at it. Its defiance mimicked the woman he'd hired when he'd been bleeding out and losing all sense of himself in Hickory Forest.

An excellent time to make life-altering decisions about new hires.

In his defense, he'd been certain she would quit almost immediately. But the woman was unbreakable. He'd tried everything, and not short of murder—he'd done that, too. But even a body on her desk didn't make her or her wretched smile falter. No matter what tasks he threw her way, no matter the danger or the disgust they should've evoked, she smiled. And worse yet, she stayed. Her persistent presence inspired a feeling that he couldn't figure out for the life of him.

He could sense her standing off to his side, practically glowing with heat, like an array of flickering light. Light he had to fight to stop himself from looking at, like it was physically tugging at his attention, his mind. But he wouldn't let her distract him. Instead, he stared intently at the deep onyx of his desk, where another drop of wax fell. He was near the tipping point—he could feel it like lighter fluid tipping near a powder keg.

The correspondence in his hands wasn't helping. Blasted nobles. Another invitation from Lord Fowler, the only noble in the land willing to do business with The Villain. It would have been a mark in his favor, if the lord didn't consistently send him dinner party invites. May as well send him dynamite. Fortunately, friendliness over mail correspondence was easy to ignore. It was decidedly less so when the source of friendliness was a mere five feet away, smiling and...dear gods, was she humming?

No one should be this cheery. It was unnatural.

He wondered if the assistant he'd hired was, in fact, not human—perhaps she was some sort of manic sun sprite that had never seen darkness. And unfortunately, that unnatural disposition didn't end with her. Her contagious energy was spreading through the office faster than the Mystic Illness, which had been brutally claiming victims through Rennedawn for the last decade. He seemed to be the last one unscathed by her. His workers seemed happier, the murderous depictions on the stained-glass windows brighter; even his guards seemed more amiable, less bloodthirsty.

He'd seen an intern skip through the office that morning. That had been the final straw.

Sage let out a second hum from across the room. He wanted to grab her shoulders and demand to know where it came from, this endless well of pleasant emotion. She hummed again, and his eye twitched. He was wrong. That was his final straw.

He turned from his correspondence, his mouth open to chastise her, but stopped when he took in the dreamlike state of her expression. She was leaning into the wide-open office window, her profile illuminated by the moon and stars. The night air caressed her dark hair, creating the illusion she was flying. He stared at the slope of her nose, almost...charmed?

Something had to be done.