Raelyth stood before the tall, ornate mirror in his chamber. His hands gripped the edges of the sink, knuckles white as ivory. The reflection staring back at him was not the silvery-black hair of the public Duke, but the golden mane of his true self. It shone under the soft candlelight, yet there was no warmth in his jade eyes. They flickered with memories, old and sharp, that clawed at his mind as if they had waited all these years for the dark hour to return.
His breath came in slow, measured pulls at first, then faster, ragged, as though the mirror itself drew in the past alongside him. The scent of cold marble and polished wood mixed with the faint iron tang that always lingered after his… episodes.
Years ago, he remembered, and the memory tore itself from the depths of his mind.
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