“None of them were 𝘮𝘦,” Jula growled.
“None of them were 𝘮𝘦,” Jula growled.
“I know,” Jula said calmly.
“I know,” Jula said calmly.
Jula understood—she didn’t feel 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 of this version of herself. Even knowing the stakes, she was at ease.
Jula understood—she didn’t feel 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥 of this version of herself. Even knowing the stakes, she was at ease.
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jula called back. “Had no idea you existed.”
“Sorry to keep you waiting,” Jula called back. “Had no idea you existed.”
Both versions.
Both versions.
But somehow so lonely. So vast yet so empty.
But somehow so lonely. So vast yet so empty.
“Let’s do it.”
“Let’s do it.”
“Maybe,” the Mistress of Fate said apologetically. “Usually. So long as I am here, even if you lose, I can stop it from killing you.”
“Maybe,” the Mistress of Fate said apologetically. “Usually. So long as I am here, even if you lose, I can stop it from killing you.”
“The longer we give the magic to live in Jula, the more of an advantage it has,” Larissa said.
“The longer we give the magic to live in Jula, the more of an advantage it has,” Larissa said.
“Use that to your advantage,” Circe ordered. “Your magic belongs to you. Not you to it.”
“Use that to your advantage,” Circe ordered. “Your magic belongs to you. Not you to it.”
“It’s…about eighty-twenty,” Ginessa said reluctantly. “With the magic being on the winning side.”
“It’s…about eighty-twenty,” Ginessa said reluctantly. “With the magic being on the winning side.”
Jula didn’t know if she could live with that.
Jula didn’t know if she could live with that.
If Jula lost…
She’d be left with nothing. No magic, be it chaos or regular.
If Jula lost…
She’d be left with nothing. No magic, be it chaos or regular.
It wasn’t enough to be born to it. Chosen by it. Jula had to prove she was capable. Worthy.
It wasn’t enough to be born to it. Chosen by it. Jula had to prove she was capable. Worthy.