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turn the wolves

on the ones you love

From the moment she was born, Sally was a half-tamed girl with a penchant for mischief. Her childhood was spent seeing how far she could wander into the woods without getting lost, as Eclipse Town offered little in the way of amusement, and she was one of the few girls brave enough to climb up to the Canopy from the Understory to watch the spiders spin their webs.
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In an effort to keep her out of trouble, her mother stationed her in their shop, which left little time for fun. The woman ran a dressmaking business, and Sally's fingers were always sore from the places she pricked herself with the sewing needle. There was resentment in every stitch she made, for she would never be able to wear any of the dresses — no, not her.
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By her teen years, Sally had become dreadfully bored with the small world she knew. Making friends was a chore, as the other girls' mothers didn't like the idea of their daughters spending time under the roof of the town harlot, and she was hopelessly tired of competing for attention with her mother's suitors. Much of her time was spent pining for freedom — for excitement. One day she would make it to Sundial. One day she would make something of herself. She would rather die, she thought, than stay in that wretched house a moment longer.
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Was it really any surprise that Sally invented radical ways to draw attention to herself?
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When her mother's admirer stormed out, maniacally raving that the girl had taken away his sight, it was no mystery who the perpetrator was. Oh, he was fine — it was harmless, really, only temporary, only meant to scare him — but it caused quite a stir in the Savages' household. That night, fearlessly and foolishly, Sally finally found the courage to leave.
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The City of Sundial was big for a sixteen-year-old-girl, more vast than she could ever have imagined, but as lost as she was, she had too much pride to return. She endured the first few months on her own, but she had been arrogant. Survival did not come as easily as she had thought it would. In another life, she might have crawled back to that horrid shop, beaten, defeated, if not for the dashing stranger who happened to cross her path.
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She met Gavin by the docks. He said he was a trader, that he was only passing through for business, but Sally knew that was a lie the moment she saw Silvertongue's crest embroidered on the handkerchief he gave her to dry her eyes. He was her savior.
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Worming her way into the coven was the best and worst decision of her life, but survival came at a price. She trusted him — worshiped him — swore she would do anything for him. It was no question of morals. She would be his accomplice, his decoy, his doll, whatever he needed. She owed him that. Magic had been a word she had scarcely heard her mother utter — a word full of shame — but Gavin taught her it was power. Without him, she would be nothing.
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Perhaps she was naive to think that she was more than a pawn in a box, but when he turned his back on her during a mission and let her take the fall for his mistake, something inside her snapped. The incident was swiftly swept under the rug, as a witch as inexperienced as herself should not have been involved in such illicit activities. Lies. All he had fed her were lies. There were rumors surrounding Gavin's disappearance, but his whereabouts were unclear.
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It was then, perhaps, just shy of eighteen, that Sally embraced the darkness which she had felt blossoming inside her. The brooding bitterness in her chest became a comfort, a tool. Hatred filled the empty spaces. It gave her strength.
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She saw the looks on the faces of her comrades, the barely concealed scoffs as she rose to the ranks of apprentice. They underestimated her, yet they must have seen something in her ambition. While she looked as fragile as a doll, there was little that could hold Sally back. Anything — she would do anything to squash the meek girl from her past and prove herself, redeem herself, if only given the chance. Then, no one would see her as helpless again. Then, she could seek her revenge.