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Breaking the chains that bind us has always been painful, and next to impossible. There have been many times over the years where I've wondered if our role was not to protect but instead a curse, where we must endure, watching the horrors that unfold before us.

The sun dips low in the sky, making the magic underneath my skin flex, but it's not enough to free me. Yet.

Arianwen has slept peacefully for the better part of an hour after her exploration of the grounds, her chest rising and falling slowly in a tempo that soothes me. She seems calm. Serene. Present. Alive.

This chapel was beautiful once, with flagstone floors and stained glass windows that made the chamber light up like a rainbow at this time of day, colourful bursts stretching out and touching every corner of the sacred space.

The lady of the house back in 1835, Lady Eleanor, used to sit in here each morning after she took her daily walk through the gardens. She loved the windows and the peace they brought her, just like I did.

Ari reminds me of her sometimes, the gentle way she moves, the softness that makes me want to wrap myself around her small frame and keep her safe.

Lady Eleanor's husband liked to drink and gamble in the local taverns, stumbling home after days away, always with his pockets empty, smelling like a whorehouse. At least, that's what she would say when she saw him falling from the carriage, clothes askew. I have no idea what a whorehouse smells like, but I can imagine.

She was just his plaything, his prized possession to parade around and use to carry on their legacy. It was why, when the money started to dry up, he used her as collateral instead. The first time he gave her to someone else was in this very chapel. I still hear her screams sometimes, carried on the wind like a nightmare.

When their eldest child died in a hunting accident, that was truly what broke the lady of the manor. One night, she came to the chapel in her nightgown, barefoot, eyes wild. Her husband was in his rooms with his new mistress, and I watched from afar as the lady spent hours on her knees at the altar, praying.

God has no place here. The evil that lingers makes sure of it.

When dawn rose, she tried to burn down the chapel – cleanse it of all the memories and the spirits that haunted her waking moments. I was powerless to stop her, bound by the chains of my magic to watch as she barricaded the doors and herself inside to be consumed by the flames.

She'd learned that screaming changed nothing by this point, accepting her fate in silence, and that was much worse as I watched her be engulfed.

The Lord didn't see the need to repair the small chapel, instead letting it be forgotten, his sins claimed by the weeds and wilderness. Until today.

Arianwen lies amongst the ruins, and I know that I won't let history repeat itself. I will not let her die here.

With all my strength, I fight against the binds, moving slowly towards her. Each step feels like agony, but it eventually eases as the sun sinks lower and lower until I can crouch beside her with ease.

Unable to help myself, I reach out and run my hand over her silky tresses, letting my fingers sink into her white-gold locks as I stroke the length.

Her hair is so long. So beautiful and mesmerising. I can understand his fascination with it, but that's where our similarities die. I would never pressure Ari to cut her hair. I love it wild and untamed. I know that there's a spirit to match locked inside her, and I long for the day she's able to unleash that part of herself.

Until then, I'll watch over her and protect her, until she can stand up for herself.