Words like unnatural and impure started the whispers. From the very beginning, Ivy Blackwood was different. She was only a child when she was accused of setting the fire, one she passively watched engulf the small house she had called home. Her fingertips burned and her hair singed. Some who watched her crossed themselves, convinced she was soulless for she showed no emotion at all. Calm and dispassionate, even when the screaming started that quickly turned to bellows of agony before dying into nothing but the roaring of the fire. She was locked away where she couldn’t bring harm to herself or others. To all involved, they had protected the world from a monster, but sometimes things are not what they seem.