Isolde’s lips parted, her face draining of what little color remained. Edmund’s lips pressed into a thin line, disbelief flickering in his eyes.

“What do you mean?” His voice was harsh, almost a demand.

Seraphine drew a breath, steadying her words though her chest shuddered. “Only yesterday, from the evening on. I started to feel weird and then… I only remember a few names, perhaps. But the rest…” She swallowed, her voice breaking to a whisper. “Gone.”

The silence that followed was suffocating.

“This cannot be… Are you certain? Nothing at all?” Edmund’s voice cracked as he searched her face as if by sheer will he could drag the truth from her.

Before Seraphine could answer, Isolde swayed suddenly. Her knees buckled, and she pressed a hand to her brow.

“Isolde!” Edmund’s arms were around her instantly, steadying her before she could fall. The fear in his face was raw, unmasked. “You should not have come–”

“I will not be sent away,” she snapped, though her voice cracked. She clutched his sleeve with trembling fingers. “Not when our daughter has forgotten about us!”

Seraphine’s throat tightened. She had prepared to act, to pretend, but nothing had prepared her for this. For their pain. For their love. She wasn’t even sure if her lie was believable enough.

“Father… Mother…” Her hands twisted in the blanket, damp with sweat. She drew a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

–For lying.

Edmund drew a slow breath, his grip on Isolde firm as his eyes stayed on Seraphine. “Sera, do not jest about this. Tell me the truth.”

“I wish it were a jest.” Her lips trembled, her voice cracking despite her effort to hold steady. “But it’s not. I don’t know why, I don’t know how. Only that everything feels… gone. Like someone ripped it away.”

–Please, don’t ask any more questions.

Isolde’s breath hitched as though something inside her had shattered. Her mother’s eyes brimmed with tears, horror and sorrow mingling like she was mourning a death. She pulled Seraphine into her arms, clutching her fiercely, rocking her as though she were a child again. Her tears soaked Seraphine’s hair. “My darling girl. My precious child. How much more must you endure? First your grief, then your nightmares, and now this? Must fate rob you from us piece by piece?”

Seraphine’s own chest ached, feeling guilt for deceiving them. She could almost feel the grief bleeding from them, as though she had died and left only a husk for them to mourn. The ache tightened until her nails bit into the blanket.

Edmund guided Isolde into a chair by the bed, keeping one hand on her shoulder, steady, though his face betrayed his own turmoil. His expression hardened only to mask the fracture beneath.

“You mustn’t despair,” he told his wife, though the words sounded as though he spoke them for himself as well. His gaze turned back to Seraphine, voice rough. “We will find the cause. A healer, a scholar of the mind, someone will know what to do.”

Edmund’s hand twitched, as though he longed to reach for Seraphine but feared she might break apart at his touch. “My poor child…” His voice cracked.

Isolde broke then, covering her face with her hands. A sob escaped her, muffled but sharp. “No… no, not my child.” Her voice broke, raw and trembling. Tears welled and spilled unchecked down her cheeks. “To lose so much, to wake as a stranger to us, our poor Sera…”

The sound tore at Seraphine’s heart. She had to look away, had to press her palms into her eyes before her own tears betrayed her.

When she spoke again, her voice was raw. “There is… something else.” She paused, her throat dry, her pulse pounding in her ears. “About Lord Lucien. I cannot… I don’t think I can marry him.”

The silence that followed was heavy enough to crush her.

Seraphine fumbled with her hands, feeling nervous about what she said. Was it too soon after all? Or was it weird?

Edmund’s brows snapped together. “What did you say?”

She shook her head swiftly, fighting through the tremors in her voice. “He deserves a woman who can give him her whole heart, not one who wakes unable to even recall their past together. It would be cruel to bind him to me. Please, Father, Mother… I cannot.”

Isolde’s breath caught audibly, her hand clutched to her chest. Edmund froze, his features twisting between shock and disbelief.

“Sera…” he began, voice thick.

“I…” Her lips trembled. She forced herself to continue, even as the guilt laid heavy on her shoulders. “I can’t. It wouldn’t be fair. He deserves someone who can love him back. And I–” Her voice broke. “I can’t promise that. Not now. I’m not even sure if I ever feel ready.”

Isolde let out a ragged sigh, reaching for her daughter’s hand. “Oh, my darling…”

But Edmund’s voice cut in, sharp and pained. “You cared for him deeply. You wanted this engagement. Why cast it aside so suddenly?”

“Because I’m not the same person anymore!” The words burst from her before she could stop them, her hands clenching tight in her lap. “I don’t remember him. I don’t remember us. How can I bind myself to a man I barely know? How can I give him nothing but a stranger?”

Isolde’s tears spilled freely, but her voice was firm as she turned to Edmund. “Then let it be so,” she gasped between sobs. “If her heart cannot bear it, do not force her! She has already suffered two broken betrothals, two griefs no girl her age should bear. Twice over, Edmund. Must she suffer more?”

Edmund tensed, his hand curling into a fist at his side. “And would you have her lock herself away again?” His voice rose, though not in anger at Seraphine but at the despair closing in on them. “Would you see her fade into the shadows, haunted by these nightmares, shunned by society? Lord Lucien gave her laughter again. He gave her light.” He turned to Seraphine, eyes fierce with desperate hope. “If any man can help you find yourself once more, it is him. Do not cast him aside so easily.”

“Or he may break her further!” Isolde snapped, her composure unraveling. “Can you not see? Every time she dares to love, death tears it away! And you would have her risk that again?”

“She cannot shut herself away forever,” Edmund countered, voice low but thunderous with pain. “Lord Lucien is patient, kind. He could help her heal.”

“And if she cannot love him again?” Isolde’s voice cracked on the words. “What then, Edmund? Will you watch him wither beside a ghost of the girl he loves?”

“Isolde,” Edmund’s tone carried a quiet rebuke, though his eyes never left Seraphine’s pale face. “Do not rush her. Sera, listen to me. You and Lord Lucien, perhaps you only need time. He may help jog your memories, perhaps even bring you happiness again.”

“Happiness?” Isolde pulled back, her eyes flashing with wet fury. “You’ve already forgotten how she screamed herself awake from nightmares? How she dulled herself with those tonics the physicians brought, just so she could find one night of peace? She was a shadow of herself, Edmund. And when Leonard died, when he died–” her voice broke. “She nearly withered away. Then you let another boy court her, not even months later, because he smothered her with gifts and sweet words. Do you recall how long that lasted?”

Edmund’s shoulders sank as he exhaled slowly. “Six months. I recall.”

Isolde pressed her palm to her mouth, her voice trembling. “Barely six months before her heart was broken again. You would have her walk the same road once more?”

Edmund looked to Seraphine then, his expression softening. “I only want what’s best for you, my daughter. I do not believe Lord Lucien is like the others. He truly loves you, I can see that. If you push him away now, will you not regret it later?”

Seraphine swallowed hard. The lie sat heavy on her tongue, yet the words felt almost true. “No… he deserves better. I don’t even know myself right now. To hold him to promises I can’t keep would be cruel.” Her voice broke as she lowered her head, hands trembling in her lap.

Isolde pulled her close again, murmuring soft reassurances. Edmund stood behind, his brow furrowed in conflict, torn between hope and fear.

The two of them locked eyes. Grief, fury and fear clashing in silence.

Seraphine’s lips parted, but before she could speak, a soft knock echoed against the door.

The three of them turned as it creaked open.

Earl Lucien stood in the doorway.

He looked stricken, pale beneath his raven black hair, his golden yellow eyes shining with something brittle and broken. His eyes caught hers at once, wide and stricken with disbelief.

“Seraphine…” His voice was quiet, unsteady. He looked from her to her parents, then back again. “Forgive me. I did not mean to intrude. I was… worried, when I heard voices. I only meant to check on you.”

He drew in a shallow breath, shoulders stiffening. “I did not mean to overhear. But I could not leave without making myself known. I… I heard.” His words wavered, heavy with anguish. “I heard that you wish to end our engagement.”

The room fell silent around him. Seraphine’s pulse faltered, her lips parting but no sound coming.

Lucien’s hand tightened on the doorframe as if to keep himself upright, his eyes glistening. “After all we promised each other… after the letters, after you said you looked forward to seeing me…” He shook his head faintly, as though the ground had shifted beneath his feet. “I thought you had finally found peace again. That we had found it together.”

His voice broke on the last word.

“I… forgive me, that was not what I meant to say,” he said quietly, stepping inside. His voice trembled. “Is it true? You don’t remember?”

Seraphine could barely breathe. She couldn’t find the words, only gave a faint nod.

Lucien’s hands curled at his sides, a flicker of desperation crossing his features. Lucien’s shoulders stiffened, his voice trembling as he stepped closer. “Then why not… why not let us start anew?” His voice cracked, and he stepped closer, pleading. “I would wait. I would court you again from the beginning. Give me the chance, Sera. Please. Don’t cast me aside as if there is no hope at all.”

–No. I can’t.

Her throat burned, but she forced herself to meet his eyes. “Lu– Lord Lucien… it wouldn’t be fair. To you. You deserve someone who can love you without hesitation. And I…” She shook her head, her voice breaking, trying to distance themselves. “I don’t think I ever can.”

His face twisted as if she had struck him. His hands curled into fists at his sides, his lips trembling.

“How can you be so certain?” he whispered. “When you won’t even try?”

–I don’t want to deceive you even more. I’m sorry.

Her silence was answer enough.

Lucien drew in a sharp, shuddering breath, eyes never leaving hers. His voice, when it came, was barely more than a whisper, yet it seemed to fill the room.

“Then forgive me… for believing in you. For thinking we could survive even this.”

The words broke as they left him, like glass shattering. He bowed his head, shoulders stiff, but didn’t wait for her answer.

The door closed behind him with a soft, polite click, yet it felt heavy, as if sealing something final and somber.

The silence that followed pressed down on Seraphine’s chest, stealing her breath. His absence hurt more than his presence ever had.