As the villagers scattered, flames curled around the stacked logs in the village square, licking along the charred and twisted ropes that now pooled around delicate feet instead of wrapping around delicate wrists. As the wood popped and sparks rained down upon fiery hair that would never burn, their light illuminated the pensive expression of the woman sitting amidst the flames with her head on her hands.

Should she kill them? Personally, intimately cheering as they burned? After all, turn about was supposed to be fair play. But, as she looked around the deserted square, she remembered smiles and small kindness, soft eyes and playful teasing. She remembered watching all that warmth disappear as her brother insinuated himself and the weakening of her own body as Terror gained strength.

Hope looked up at the empty sky and smiled. No, she wouldn’t kill her would-be murderers. But Terror, well, he was on her territory, and it was high time Terror found out how cruel Hope could be.