Seraphina didn't walk — she ran.
Tears burned behind her eyes, the breath crushed from her lungs as she tore through the corridor, down the steps, and out into the courtyard. Panic clawed up her spine like a living thing. The marble beneath her slippers felt unsteady, as though the manor itself reeled with her fear.
She spotted Lord Daven by the fountain, speaking quietly with two guards. Relief and desperation collided inside her.
"Daven!" her voice cracked.
He turned sharply. "Seraphina?" His eyes widened at the sight of her disheveled dress, wild breath, trembling fingers. He stepped forward at once. "What has happened?"
She grabbed his hands—hard—like he was her last anchor in the world.
"It's not Selene," she whispered, voice trembling with urgency. "That is not my sister."
Daven froze. Confusion flitted across his face. "What do you mean?"
"She's changed—I confronted her—her eyes, her voice—Daven, whoever that is, it is not Selene!"
Before he could respond, the air shifted.
Light footsteps whispered from behind them. A soft hum floated through the courtyard, a familiar sweet melody that once soothed childhood nightmares — now a siren song of dread.
"Dearest sister," Selene's voice came from the archway, smooth as silk and poisoned honey. "Running again?"
Seraphina flinched. Selene stood framed in gold afternoon light, serene smile, hands folded gently like a saint. Only Seraphina saw it — that glint beneath her lashes, cold and ancient.
Daven turned slowly toward her. "Selene…"
Selene dipped her head. "Forgive her, my lord. She hasn't been well."
Seraphina stiffened. "Do not twist this—"
Selene continued as though she hadn't spoken, voice lilting mournfully.
"She wakes crying, speaking nonsense of spirits and shadows. Father's illness has weighed upon her more than we knew."
The lie slithered through the courtyard like smoke.
Daven's expression shifted — a flicker of doubt, uncertainty, worry.
Not for Selene.
For Seraphina.
Seraphina's heart fractured.
"I am not delusional," she whispered. "I know my sister, and that thing—"
"That thing?" Selene repeated softly, lips trembling as if wounded. "You call me a thing now?"
Her voice wavered. Perfect. Practiced. A performance crafted to shatter trust.
"You see?" Selene whispered to Daven. "She's frightened. She needs rest, not fear."
Seraphina's hands balled into fists. "If you are Selene, then tell me—"
Selene's voice suddenly dropped, just for Seraphina to hear:
"You're unraveling. And when you break, they'll lock you away, not me."
Seraphina felt ice crawl into her chest.
She whispered to Daven, pleading now: "Listen to me… someone has taken my sister. I swear it. I swear it."
Daven swallowed, jaw tight. He reached for her shoulder, gentle.
"I believe you are troubled," he said quietly.
Not disbelief — worse. Pity.
Seraphina's breath shook.
Selene stepped gracefully between them, placing a hand on Seraphina's arm — a touch soft enough to look loving, yet Seraphina jerked away as though burned.
"You should rest," Selene murmured. "We will protect you."
Seraphina stared at her, voice raw: "You are not Selene."
Selene smiled — a slow, knowing curl of lips that did not belong to her sister.
"I am exactly who I have always been," she whispered. "You simply do not recognize me anymore."
Daven glanced between them, torn, the courtyard too quiet, atmosphere too tight, as though reality itself held its breath.
Selene turned away, humming again as she glided back toward the manor.
For a long moment, Seraphina couldn't speak. Her body trembled, breath shuddering.
Then—very quietly—she whispered, voice full of breaking glass:
"I am not losing my mind. I know her. And that is not her."
Daven looked at her, eyes soft with worry rather than belief.
"I will not let you fall apart," he whispered.
Seraphina stepped back from him.
"I am not falling apart," she breathed. "I am the only one still standing."
She turned away, heart pounding, resolve forging like steel in raw flame.
If no one believed her…
She would save Selene alone.
And if she failed — the world would burn.
Night settled over Valemont like a mourning shroud, heavy and breathless. Somewhere beyond the windows, the wind whispered through the trees; inside, candle flames shook as though the walls themselves feared what walked within them.
Daven stood outside Seraphina's room for a long moment before knocking.
No answer.
Only silence.
He pushed the door gently. It opened without resistance.
Seraphina lay curled on her bed, still in the gown she had run in, her hair fallen like dark silk across the pillow. She looked fragile — far too fragile for the weight she carried. Her fingers trembled even in sleep, clutching at the sheets like a drowning soul clinging to the last edge of light.
He exhaled slowly and took a seat beside her bed, elbows on his knees, watching her breathe. He did not know why he stayed — only that leaving felt wrong. She looked like someone fighting wars in dreams, battles no one else could see.
Minutes stretched quietly.
Then her breath hitched.
A tear formed at the corner of her eye — then another — and another. They slid down her cheeks silently, not from any nightmare scream or restless thrashing, but from a grief so deep it seeped out of her soul in sleep.
"Selene…" she murmured brokenly, voice raw. "Hold on… please…"
Daven's pulse stilled. He leaned forward.
Her hand suddenly flew to her chest, fingers digging into her nightgown as though her heart were being pulled from inside. Her body arched, breath crushed beneath invisible agony.
"No— don't— Selene—!" she gasped in her sleep.
Daven shot to his feet. "Seraphina!"
She jolted upright with a strangled breath, eyes wild, tears streaming, chest heaving like she had been drowning.
He caught her shoulders instinctively.
"Hey— hey— you're safe, breathe—"
Seraphina stared at him, vision unfocused, tears falling like rain. She touched her chest, fingers trembling.
"She's hurting," she whispered in a shattered voice. "Selene is hurting… she's calling me— I can feel her—"
Daven swallowed. He had seen fear. Panic. Delusion. But this— this was different. Pain radiated from her like a wound that bled without ever breaking skin.
She grabbed his hand desperately.
"That thing in the manor is not my sister," she whispered, voice shaking with truth she could no longer contain. "Selene is suffering somewhere… trapped… crying through me— Daven, I feel her pain as if it were mine."
Her voice broke as another tear dropped, heavy, aching.
Daven stared at her, breath caught in his throat. Moments ago, he had doubted. But now — he had witnessed something no madness could mimic. This wasn't hysteria. It wasn't imagination.
It was a bond.
A bond that was bleeding.
He sat beside her slowly, his expression grave, shaken.
"Seraphina," he whispered, voice low, reverent almost, "I believe you."
Her body trembled with relief — and despair.
He cupped her face gently, thumbs brushing her tears — not in romance, but in solemnity, in recognition of a truth that terrified him.
"Whatever is happening," he murmured, voice steady despite the chill creeping up his bones, "you are not alone in this. I will not doubt you again."
Seraphina closed her eyes, breath quivering.
"Thank you," she whispered, voice breaking like fragile glass. "I just… I just want her back."
Daven looked toward the dark corridor beyond her door, where shadows lingered like watchers.
"We will find her," he vowed.
Not loud.
But unshakably certain.
The vow hung between them, solemn and dangerous — a promise made in the heart of a storm, against forces older and darker than either of them understood.
And somewhere deep beneath the manor's foundation…
Something shifted.
Stirred.
Listened.