Elle's Pov
We're seated inside Nana's inner chamber when the ritual begins. The room feels ancient, every shadow carries memory. The walls are layered with blackened symbols carved into stone, smeared with ash. Bundles of dried sage, wolfsbane, and night-root hang from iron hooks. On the floor, cracked bowls hold offerings; bone-dust salted earth, burnt herbs, and rings of hardened wax. The air tastes of smoke and old magic.
Mom holds my hand tightly, almost painfully. Her thumb keeps rubbing circles over my knuckles, a nervous habit she hasn't had since Father died. But Nana stands apart, straight-backed, solemn.
"Come," her voice cut clean through the silence. "You've let your gift flicker like a dying ember. Now it must burn."
She leads me to the center of the chamber. A circle of red chalk is drawn on the floor which I hadn't noticed it at first, but now it glows faintly, like embers under ash. She makes me sit inside and it feels like I'm being swallowed.
