I feel like a rag doll while Eleni and Magdia pull, tighten, and spin me in front of the mirror. Their clenched fingers and nervous breathing make it clear this isn't simple work—it's a ritual. An obligation.And I'm the mannequin.
Even though I've taken Laila's classes for a week, at least I had the comfort of eating dinner alone. But not today. Today I've been summoned to dine with the whole family.
When they finally finish dressing me up, all I want is to tear everything off and hide under the sheets. But I follow Magdia out of the room.I don't have a choice.
The last thing I want is to face Laila's father, Lord Mallory, Regentus of Nova Gaelia. From what I've learned, he rules one of the smallest nations under House Noxirian… which still means a lot of power.Sounds impressive?Well, no. Not when, according to the stone book, he's a violent alcoholic capable of selling his own daughter for a bit more influence.
Maybe the book is lying, but I'm not about to test that theory by getting close to that man.
The servants open the dining hall doors, and my stomach drops.The room is enormous, suffocating, filled with dark wood and a kind of heavy luxury that feels like a tombstone. The table could seat forty people, but today we're only four… and still, the entire space feels crowded with fear.
Lady Mallory and Malcol are already seated. The boy—always restless—is today a miniature statue.That unnerves me more than anything else.
Lady Mallory signals the seat beside Malcol with a faint frown. I sit, and as soon as I do, the doors open again.
Lord Mallory enters as if the room were too small to contain him. His jewel-loaded attire weighs as much as his presence—or maybe it's the lingering terror in the air that thickens everything.He doesn't greet. He doesn't look at anyone. He barely breathes. He sits at the head of the table and snaps his fingers for the food to be served.
Silence. Absolute.
I try to mimic the others' posture—smaller, invisible.
I'm on my second plate when my knife hits the ceramic louder than intended. The sound detonates like a crime.I don't need to see him to feel his gaze stabbing into the back of my neck.
When I finally look up, he's staring at me over the rim of his cup, as if calculating how much effort it would take to break me.
"Well, if it isn't my stupid daughter, who apparently doesn't even remember table manners anymore…"
A shaky breath escapes me. I try to keep my mouth shut. Maybe if I don't speak, I don't exist.
His fist slamming against the table makes me jump."Answer me, you damn idiot!"
He stands and takes a step toward me. My hands sweat. My legs tremble.
Lady Mallory hurries to intervene."My great lord, don't waste your precious time on someone so useless. Tell me, will Regentus Talaveras be visiting next month…?"
He turns toward her. I tense, dreading what comes next.
And it happens: he grabs her face, forces her back into her seat, and threatens her with a softness that makes my skin crawl.
"You know how much I enjoy disciplining you. That's why you insist on speaking when you haven't been asked…"
Silence returns—heavier, darker.
Then his expression shifts. And his rage finds a new target: little Malcol.
The boy hasn't even spoken. He just stares at his plate.
"Pathetic bastard, you can't be my son," the man spits. "A baron of my blood would never cry like that."
And then I see it—a single held-back tear sliding down Malcol's cheek.Something essential breaks inside me.
In the next instant, Lord Mallory already has him lifted by the neck.
"I'll teach you not to disgrace the Mallory name," he snarls.
I look around. No one moves. No one breathes.And the boy kicks desperately, searching for air.
My legs move before I can think. I throw myself at him. With this small body, it's like trying to bring down a stone wall; I only make him step back.But it works—he drops Malcol.
He looks at me as if I were born to be crushed by him.
He knocks me down with a slap. The world rings. I taste metal in my mouth.I close my eyes. I wait for the next blow.
It never comes.
Lady Mallory grabs his arm with a desperate gesture."Please… let them go. I'll do whatever you want… but let them go."
He answers her with a punch that sends her to the floor.
"Leave," she manages to say before the next blow hits her.
I should be brave. I should defend her.But all I can do is grab Malcol and drag him away. The doors feel like they're trying to keep us inside.
The servants don't blink, forced to remain like statues.
The screams behind us chase me down the corridors like shadows.
I bring Malcol to my room. I don't know what to do. I don't know how to help him. The wounds that matter don't bleed.I touch my lips—blood.I swallow the tears.
We lie down on the bed, and I hold him tightly.
"Everything will be okay," I lie."Do you promise?""I promise."
When he finally falls asleep, and I'm able to breathe again without feeling my heart lodged in my throat, I get up. The moons cast a cold glow across the room.
The stone book weighs heavy in my hands.
If it's true… if it really shows the future… what should I do? Follow it? Defy it?Starving to death in a tower isn't an option.Being reborn endlessly in a cycle with no escape isn't one either.
There's only one alternative: change everything.
Lord Mallory must fall.And if his death is the only way, then so be it.
None of this can be real. None of this could exist.The more I repeat it, the easier it becomes to do what must be done.