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him. And we continued down the wall. He showed me the succession of prophecies and with every painting, the images got worse. Some of them depicted grotesque scenes—battles yet to happen. I was in every painting, prominent on every canvas. We stopped in front of a prophecy in the middle of the series, my breath caught in my throat. It depicted me in a flowing black ball gown with a jewel encrusted bodice. Corset strings laced it up tightly. I was in that room, the same room I saw myself in during a vision I had several months ago—a vision that ended with me realizing I was the demon queen. My eyes seemed different in the painting, vacant, hollow like I wasn’t me anymore.   These things would come to pass. The paintings didn’t lie, but I couldn’t see how they could possibly reveal the truth either.
    I turned away, covering my mouth. “I can’t look at these anymore.” I felt bile rise up in my throat. What had I become? How did it happen? Some of these things had already come to pass. That’s what made it so horrifying. This was real. It was true. These things would happen.
    Lorren shook his head and shoved me towards the next painting, “No,” he said fiercely, “You have to look. This is what happens.” His fingers wrapped around my wrist as he pulled me to the next painting, and then the next. “Do you see? Have you noticed the one unifying element that is in every single prophecy?” His eyes were cold.
    I pulled out of his grip, and turned to him. “I see. I see myself in every single one. I see that I look haunted and hurt.” I pointed to one that showed me in battle, with the tips of my hair glowing like violet flames. “In that one I look fierce and certain. But in none of these is there a damn thing that says I wanted all of this to happen. Yeah, maybe I play a part, but so does Eric, Collin, Shannon, Al and every other person in any of these! It’s not just me! The whole world doesn’t go to Hell because of one shitty decision that I made!” I was yelling, and didn’t realize it. “I’m sorry, but it’s not a destiny that I wanted.” I hung my head, as Lorren walked away from me.
    He pointed to a painting, asking me more questions and folding his arms. He walked back to the painting of Eric’s trial. “This part mattered, greatly. And the thing that acted as the catalyst wasn’t only you. There are several factors at play…” he glanced over at me. “How did he escape punishment? I assume that he wasn’t turned into a Valefar in front of the Martis army.”
    “He wasn’t,” I answered, “I saved him.”
    Lorren looked surprised. “You saved him?” I explained what happened and how the Martis condemned Eric for helping me. “We’d saved each other several times over the past few months. And down here. It’s just, that last time I tried to save him, well…I screwed up. He was dying and I couldn’t understand him. I thought he wanted to live and that was the only way I knew…” my voice hung in the air and I’d stopped speaking mid-sentence.
    “But…” he prompted.
    But, I liked it, I thought. But, I enjoyed tasting his soul. The thoughts brushed the back of mind and were too horrifying to acknowledge. I shut my eyes and shook my head. “But nothing. It’s my fault he’s a Valefar.” Looking at the rest of the paintings it was clear. I set this in motion. My decisions were causing a cascade of effects that I didn’t anticipate. There was no way I could have possibly known. I swallowed hard. “So this is it. This is what causes the Apocalypse. Me.”
    He nodded. “You and some other factors, but mostly you. But it seems to be an accident, which is shocking. A girl ends the world by mistake.”
    Normally, I would have sneered at him. But he was right. I shrugged, “I thought I could change it. I thought the prophecy could bend and become what I made it.”
    “It doesn’t work like that. The prophecy is set in stone. This stuff happens,” he gestured towards