Seraphine’s tears had not yet dried when her mother, with a weary but amused chuckle, brushed a strand of ash-blonde hair from her brow.

“Were you that worried, Sera? You’re just like your father.”

Her father, still sitting on the edge of the bed, coughed into his fist and quickly averted his face, but Seraphine noticed the redness around his eyes, the soft sound of sniffles to prevent a running nose. He had cried too, perhaps even harder than she had.

–How strange… they’re not really my parents, and yet I can’t stop seeing them that way. There’s this feeling deep inside me, like I truly belong to this family.

For a moment, Seraphine hesitated. Still deep in thought, but brushing that away for now. The knot of tension in her chest loosened slightly, though her legs still trembled with the memory of her panic. Slowly, cautiously, she stood. Strength seeped back into her muscles in uneven waves, like warmth returning to frozen fingers. She stepped closer, drawn irresistibly to the infants her parents cradled.

–In that weird memory flash… one of them died.

The soft rhythm of their cries mingled with the warm glow of the lamplight, creating a fragile melody that made the room feel alive. Shadows bent across the stone walls, but the air was tender, fragile, humming with a newness she could not name.

Her mother leaned forward, offering a gentle smile that was both exhausted and radiant.

“These are your little brothers. This little one is Adrian,” she said, lifting the infant slightly so Seraphine could see him better.

He lay in her mother’s arms, squirming and fussing, his tiny fists balled tight. His hair was a delicate crimson with pinkish highlights, shimmering faintly under the lamplight, strikingly similar, perhaps even identical, to Seraphine’s own.

–Ah, I remember. This one was supposed to be dead. Wait, supposed? How do I know that for–

When his eyes fluttered open, watery and confused, Seraphine’s breath and thought stilled. Blue, like hers. But not quite. Faintly kissed with violet, as if tinged by some secret fire. He might end up looking like a male reflection of her, and the thought made her puff her chest forward with both pride and somehow fear.

–I bet he would become a beauty like Seraphine. I only hope he won’t suffer the same bad reputation.

“And this is Julian.” Her mother gestured to the other baby resting against her husband’s chest.

This twin was quieter, softer. His dark lashes brushed his cheeks as he hiccupped, drifting into slumber. A crown of pale golden hair curled faintly at the edges, fragile as spun light. Whenever his eyelids fluttered open, Seraphine caught glimpses of his eyes, a gentle lavender blue, a delicate mix between their parents’ hues.

–I bet that one becomes one of those sweet and more quiet ones, one maybe a shy and smart one.

Seraphine chuckled slightly at the thought and then eyed the crimson haired baby. For some reason she held her breath, as if she was doing some intense operation. She reached out a trembling hand toward Adrian, and the baby’s crying ceased the instant his gaze met hers. It was as if recognition, or perhaps calm, had passed between them. Relief surged through her veins, painful in its sweetness. This was the baby in her flashes who was supposed to be dead, she was glad he wasn’t.

Adrian’s tiny hands reached, latching onto her finger with unexpected strength, clinging as though she were an anchor in an unfamiliar world. His grip was impossibly small, yet steady, and Seraphine’s heart ached as if pierced by a thousand arrows.

–He was so cute.

Lucien lingered at the threshold, awkward, caught between reverence and discomfort. It was her father who beckoned him inside, his voice low but firm.

“Come.”

Lucien bowed stiffly, shoulders rigid, golden eyes flickering like candlelight in the dim room. He looked as though he feared his presence might shatter the delicate atmosphere.

Adrian noticed him immediately. His wail rose again, louder, sharper. Her mother shifted, panic flickering across her face as she tried to hush him, mindful of Julian still dozing in her father’s arms.

Then, almost unbelievably, Adrian’s tiny arms reached. Toward Lucien?

Confusion rippled through the room. Her mother blinked, uncertain, but instinctively offered her son out.

“Would you—?”

Lucien froze, as though struck, but then crouched. He lifted the infant gently, hesitantly, as though holding something unbearably sacred.

The result was instantaneous. Adrian calmed, his sobs breaking into faint hiccups before dissolving into silence. His little fingers curled instinctively around Lucien’s thumb, wide violet-blue eyes blinking up at him, staring, memorizing.

The room stilled. Time seemed to halt.

Seraphine’s mother tilted her head in wonder, her lips parting. Even her father’s usual stoicism cracked.

Then. Adrian laughed. A bubbling, joyous sound, innocent and trusting.

Every sound in the room seemed to dim, leaving only that laughter. Seraphine felt it wash over her, so pure, so piercingly fragile that it almost hurt.

“Well,” her mother murmured, smiling despite her exhaustion, “looks like he likes you.”

Lucien’s lips parted, the faintest of smiles tugging at them, uncertain but undeniably there. His golden eyes softened, almost reverent, as Adrian nestled against his chest. He looked startled, shaken, and quietly moved in ways Seraphine had never seen before.

Warmth stirred in her chest as she watched. Something simple, something untainted, it was a moment of peace she did not trust, but could not deny.

For a while, they were simply a family.

Her mother’s soft laughter, her father’s quiet hum as he rocked the golden-haired twin, the faint creak of the cradle. For a while, the world seemed safe and untouchable. But it was not hers.

Her father let out another cough, his eyes flicking toward Seraphine. He turned away too quickly, but she caught it, the faint glisten at the corners of his eyes, the rawness of a man too proud to admit his heart had cracked.

She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. It felt foreign, almost forbidden, but real. She remembered Evelina’s words, how she locked herself up for weeks prior maybe this evening. Perhaps for their sake, she could try to be a good daughter.

–I’m sure I can act, until I know more.

Her mother gave her a tired but affectionate glance. “Go ahead and rest now, Sera. I’m sure you must be tired.”

Seraphine nodded, her chest swelling with a gratitude she could not voice. She turned to a maid, whispering softly, “Prepare the guest room for Lord Lucien. It’s late, and he cannot be sent out after escorting me all this way.”

–This kind of went against what I told Evelina… but it would feel wrong to send him away now.

The maids bowed, moving swiftly. Lucien’s gaze lingered on Seraphine, his golden eyes softer than she thought possible.

“Sleep well,” he murmured. “I’ll be close by if you need me.”

Her lips curved into a faint, weary smile. “Goodnight, Lucien.”

The words carried more than courtesy, they carried a depth of relief, a quiet appreciation for someone who had stood steady when everything else threatened to crumble.

Later, the maids guided her to her chambers. Warm water was drawn. Her hair was washed and combed with perfumed oils, each stroke dragging the heaviness of the day deeper into her bones. Her long nightdress was already laid out, the fabric soft and thick against her skin, keeping the cold from seeping in. With polite bows, they left her, the heavy door clicking shut.

Silence fell.

Seraphine sank onto the vast bed. It was too large, suffocating in its emptiness. She reached instinctively toward the sheets beside her, searching for warmth that wasn’t there.

Her chest tightened.

Loneliness struck like a dagger, sharp and merciless. Breath caught in her throat. She curled onto her side, clutching a pillow with desperate strength, tears spilling unbidden. Her body shook, sobs wracking her frame, raw and unrelenting.

Her whisper cracked in the silence.

“I miss you, ₵̶̴̸̵̨̡̙̘̤̫͖̻̱̘̰̺͙͕̳̰̃ͤͤ͒͒ͦ̉́̿ͧ̏̄̊̒͑̌͆͒͗͜͝�̱͚̹̽ͅ_̶̧͚̯̼̼͈̲͉̮̯͍̩̲̏̈́̇̇͊ͫ͆̅̉ͧ̏̅̓́ͤ͗̎́̕͞͡ͅ�̵̷̵̢̢̛͍̪̬͚͍̯̣̲̥̪̜͔͇̜̞̬̭̻͓̇͛ͣͧ̓͛̈́̓̋̎ͧ̓ͧ͐̀̚͜͢͡…”

The name warped. A glitch, a blur.

Her breath stilled.

–Huh?

She was not sure what that was. For a split second she thought she misheard it. But once more when she tried to think of the name, it became blurred, glitched even. As if the name was an error in her head.

She tried again–

–₵̶̨̙̘̃�̱͚_̏̈̕�͍̪̇͛.

The letters twisted, broken static in her mind, like ink smeared across a page. Letters collapsing, twisting, vanishing. The sound slipped through her fingers like smoke.

“No… no, no, no.” Her voice splintered. She sat up, panic clawing her throat. “Not her. Not her, please–”

Her breath shattered into ragged gasps. She stumbled from the bed, tearing through the room in frantic desperation. Drawers clattered to the floor. Bottles, ribbons, trinkets scattered. Her hands shook as she dug through every corner, searching and searching for anything to write with.

–Anything, please, just anything! I have to remember. I have to write!

Anything to record ₵̶̨̙̘̃�̱͚̹̽ͅ_̏̈̕�͍̪̇͛ before she vanished completely.

–₵̶̴̸̵̨̡̙̘̤̫͖̻̱̘̰̺͙͕̳̰̃ͤͤ͒͒ͦ̉́̿ͧ̏̄̊̒͑̌͆͒͗͜͝�̱͚̹̽ͅ_̶̧͚̯̼̼͈̲͉̮̯͍̩̲̏̈́̇̇͊ͫ͆̅̉ͧ̏̅̓́ͤ͗̎́̕͞͡ͅ�̵̷̵̢̢̛͍̪̬͚͍̯̣̲̥̪̜͔͇̜̞̬̭̻͓̇͛ͣͧ̓͛̈́̓̋̎ͧ̓ͧ͐̀̚͜͢͡, ₵̶̴̸̵̨̡̙̘̤̫͖̻̱̘̰̺͙͕̳̰̃ͤͤ͒͒ͦ̉́̿ͧ̏̄̊̒͑̌͆͒͗͜͝�̱͚̹̽ͅ_̶̧͚̯̼̼͈̲͉̮̯͍̩̲̏̈́̇̇͊ͫ͆̅̉ͧ̏̅̓́ͤ͗̎́̕͞͡ͅ�̵̷̵̢̢̛͍̪̬͚͍̯̣̲̥̪̜͔͇̜̞̬̭̻͓̇͛ͣͧ̓͛̈́̓̋̎ͧ̓ͧ͐̀̚͜͢͡, ₵̶̴̸̵̨̡̙̘̤̫͖̻̱̘̰̺͙͕̳̰̃ͤͤ͒͒ͦ̉́̿ͧ̏̄̊̒͑̌͆͒͗͜͝�̱͚̹̽ͅ_̶̧͚̯̼̼͈̲͉̮̯͍̩̲̏̈́̇̇͊ͫ͆̅̉ͧ̏̅̓́ͤ͗̎́̕͞͡ͅ�̵̷̵̢̢̛͍̪̬͚͍̯̣̲̥̪̜͔͇̜̞̬̭̻͓̇͛ͣͧ̓͛̈́̓̋̎ͧ̓ͧ͐̀̚͜͢͡!

Nothing. The name dissolved every time she reached for it.

“WHY?!”

Her scream tore the silence, hoarse and broken.

Repeating the name three times in her head brought nothing back. Was she truly starting to forget her lover’s name? Her girlfriend who had been with her for ten years? Was she going to lose even more memories?

“No! I can’t… I won’t forget her! Why is this happening?!”

Her voice cracked as rage surged through her tears.

“Is this some sick joke? Am I supposed to just forget my past and move on here with a new lover?!”

She tilted her face upward, glaring at the ceiling as though it hid the author of her torment. Her hand shot up, middle finger stabbing toward the heavens.

“Fuck you!” she shouted. “I never wished for this! The least you could do is let me keep my memories! What? Did you erase her name so I’ll start falling in love with someone else here? Huh?! You want me to be with Lucien that badly? Or is this just one of your twisted games?!”

She scoffed, then hurled her pillow against the wall with a ragged cry. Her laughter cracked into sobs, then bled back into laughter, hysterical and unhinged.

–Hahaha…hah…you must think I’m pathetic, don’t you?

She dragged a hand across her face, streaking her cheeks with tears.

–Maybe you want to be me. You enjoy watching, don’t you? Reading every thought, every breath. Or do I annoy you? Come here then. Take my place. See how fun it really is.

Once more she tried to cling to her girlfriend’s memory. Their adventures, their promise of marriage, the proposal she had been planning. But it was slipping, dissolving like smoke in her grasp.

“No! Something…There has to be something I can write it down with!”

She ripped open drawer after drawer, contents scattering across the floor.

Nothing.

Nothing to steady her crumbling past. With a cry, she smashed the empty drawers to the ground, the wood splintering. A plank came loose with a dull crack. Something slid out and fell to the floor.

A notebook.

She froze, forgetting to even breathe for a moment.

The leather cover was worn, the edges frayed, filled with hurried scrawls in an elegant but rushed hand. She flipped through in a frenzy. She caught fragments, hurried ink smears, notes blurred by water stains, words crossed out in haste. Some phrases jumped off the page in stark clarity.

“Living soul from the outer world… must be suitable… consequences unknown… side-effects severe… memory instability… be cautious… none succeeded… forbidden ritual of–…”

Her stomach lurched, she felt so nauseous that she almost needed to puke. The handwriting shifted, at times elegant, at times chaotic and jagged:

“…cannot reverse… possible permanent corruption of self… warning: losing everything… new vessel… trade…”

Her vision blurred as she read further, the words dissolving into near-gibberish at the edges.

“…make it stop… I must stop it… Lucien… sacrifices need to be made… no more deaths… this has to work… escape… please… please… please… please make it stop…”

A laugh burst out of her, sharp and broken.

“HAHAHAHAHAHAHA…Haha…So… that’s it… that’s why I’m here…Hah… because of Seraphine? She did this?! You… you bitch–!”

She slammed the notebook against the bedframe, sending it skidding across the floor.

The room seemed to spin. Sobs ripped out of her, louder, harsher, until they became screams. She clawed at the blankets, whispering her lover’s name, or what was left of it, corrupted syllables spilling like ash.

Her voice cracked into madness.

“Why me? WHY ME?! Why not anyone else? There are so many who would…!” Her chest heaved as the words broke apart. “I was happy! I was happy with her!”

The notebook fell open again, revealing a page marked born anew. Water stains blurred its edges, but the meaning remained clear enough: ritual, magic spell circles, sacrifice, soul of the outer world.

She was not a dead spirit. She was a living soul, stolen and traded. The original Seraphine had bartered her life away.

Her hands clawed through her hair, tangling and pulling. “It’s not fair… This is a nightmare… it has to be…” She rocked against the bedframe, laughter and sobs twisting together. “Yes… just a nightmare. I’ll wake up… I’ll wake up soon…”

Her throat burned, her voice breaking into whispers, curses, fragments of names, as though chaining herself to a fading self.

“₵̶̙�̱͚̽ͅ_̏̈̕�͍̪̇͛… I wish you were here… Why only me… why didn’t you join me…?”

She screamed out loud like a roar, letting the frustrations out. She punched at her second pillow over and over again, making some feathers come out of it.

–I know what they’re doing. They will never let me go home in peace. I bet they imprison me until they’re satisfied with the story. If I get home, I will find this author and–

Knocks thundered at her door. Voices, frantic and worried, called her name. The handle rattled. She seized a chair and hurled it against the door, before someone fully opened it.

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

Gasps. Murmurs. Someone asked if the duke and duchess should be summoned.

–No, not them. I can’t bother them now.

Her rage quivered, then quelled, not gone, but suffocated beneath exhaustion and panic. Her chest heaved. She took a deep breath to calm down.

If there was no way home, then this was her life now. Screaming like a madwoman in a fortress would help no one. It would be meaningless, utterly nothing will come out of it.

She dragged the chair aside, cracked the door open. Maids stood clustered in the hallway, the head butler among them. Their faces were pale with worry, but not with fear. Some even looked at her with pity, as if they had seen this before.

She couldn’t meet their eyes. Her gaze sank to the floor. “…I’m sorry. I just… had too much on my mind.” Her voice trembled, soft with shame. “I’ll be quiet. Please don’t tell my parents. They need their rest.”

They exchanged uneasy looks, still unconvinced, but bowed. One by one, they retreated to their rooms.

Only one lingered.

Her personal maid. The young woman with long black hair tied high, her face framed by soft bangs, eyes of deep viridian green, like the tranquil glow of late-afternoon grassy fields. She hesitated, then stepped closer with a gentle smile.

“My lady,” she said softly, “shall I bring you some hot chocolate milk? It may soothe your nerves.”

Seraphine nodded. Her voice came small, almost childlike. “…Could you also bring me something to write with? A journal, or paper, and maybe a…quill?”

–I bet they don’t have modern pens here.

The maid dipped her head. “Of course, my lady.”

While she was gone, Seraphine cleaned as best she could. Broken wood shoved aside, drawers returned to their place, sheets smoothed. The mess could not be erased, but it was sort of hidden.

The maid returned with a candle, paper, quill, ink pot, and a steaming teapot with a cup of hot chocolate milk. She set them neatly on the dressing table.

Seraphine’s throat tightened. The sight of chocolate milk, the smell, it reminded her of home. Her home. Her chest ached as tears threatened again. She looked up at the maid, forcing a small smile. A name surfaced through the fog of her mind, stabbing with the familiar ache of a headache.

“Thank you, Alisea.”

The maid’s smile warmed further. “With pleasure, my lady. Rest well. Call for me if you need anything.” She bowed and left.

Seraphine lifted the cup, blew softly, and took a sip. Sweet warmth spread through her chest.

“Home…” she whispered. A tear slipped free. She wiped it quickly, then slapped her cheeks. “Now is not the time to cry.”

She seized the quill. She had to write. Every detail of her past life, before it slipped away.

At the top of the first page, she scrawled in jagged, desperate letters:

“DO NOT FORGET HER! I HAVE TO GO HOME. DON’T FORGET ₵̶̨̙̘̃�̱͚_̏̈̕�͍̪̇͛!”

Seraphine sat hunched over the desk, quill trembling between her fingers. The ink bled heavily onto the page as though it, too, carried the weight of her desperation. She wrote because she had no other choice. Because if she did not, the memories would wither like smoke and she would be left with nothing but hollow echoes.

First and foremost, she had to write about ₵̶̙�̱͚̽ͅ_̏̈̕�͍̪̇͛. Her love. Her joy. Her reason.

Her hand shook as she carved the letters, the cursed distortion already staining the name. It didn’t matter. She pressed harder, as if force could overpower whatever twisted magic tried to consume it. Tears fell freely, dripping onto the parchment and smearing the ink, but she refused to stop.

She missed her smile, oh dear, that smile. The way it curved shyly at first before blossoming into something that could banish every shadow in a room. Her laugh, too, loud and unrestrained, is very infectious as she always laughed along even when she was mad. The memory made Seraphine choke out a sob that rattled her chest.

“She would be fine here,” Seraphine whispered hoarsely with a chuckle as her quill scratched on. “She’d survive. She’d rule even the world here, or maybe just an empire.”

She forced herself to write that down, every word of it. Because ₵̶̙�̱͚̽ͅ_̏̈̕�͍̪̇͛ always joked about it, how she would change the world if only given the chance. She would end corruption, cut out the rot festering in power. Proper education first, no prison education, but a true proper one, was what she always said, because education was the root of preventing ignorance.

Seraphine wrote all of it. Every rant, every spark in her eyes. She wrote until the parchment blurred beneath the storm of tears, until her hand ached and cramped.

She scrawled about the silly dances she would break into when Mina felt down, arms flailing until she couldn’t help but laugh. About her keen eyes, taking up the cooking and filling the bath whenever Mina was tired. About the way her lover would crawl into bed beside her, pulling her into warm arms, humming a lullaby against her hair until sleep finally claimed her.

Her hand trembled harder. The words grew uneven. She began writing faster, frantic, because the memories were slipping, slipping–

–No, stay with me. I have to remember it all!

She wrote about their adventures together. The ridiculous dates they planned with no money, picnics on grass in a park or walks in the rain because they forgot to check the weather. The fights that ended in tears and apologies and kisses, the kind that left them closer than before. The way they’d dreamed of the future, even when the world itself seemed set against them.

Family not accepting them. Mockery from bystanders. Running away, hand in hand, laughing and crying both at once.

Seraphine’s quill tore through the parchment, ripping the page. She didn’t care. She kept writing, smearing ink across her hands, across her sleeves.

“Don’t disappear,” she begged in broken whispers. “Please. Please don’t disappear.”

She wrote the name again, over and over again, even though the letters warped, even though the corruption bled through like a rot she couldn’t stop. She pressed until the nib snapped and left a jagged streak across the parchment. Until her blood mixed with ink. Her tears smeared it further until the words looked more like wounds than writing. She wrote until her body collapsed, clutching the pages like a lifeline.

Her body shook with sobs. Her breath came in shallow, ragged gasps.

“This was real. She was real. We were together,” she mumbled into the silence. “Don’t let her disappear. Please…”

And Alisea, peeking silently and hidden from the door, could only watch as her lady fractured into pieces no one, not even the gods, could gather again.