My eyes fluttered open to the familiar opulent Céline of Seraphina’s room. Murmuring voices reached me. I turned my head on the pillow and froze.

There she was. The Stepmother.

She was perched on the edge of my bed, her hand resting near mine. The moment she saw my eyes open, she snatched my hand, her grip surprisingly strong. A look of theatrical relief washed over her face.

“Oh my dear daughter! You’re awake!” She cooed, her voice dripping with false concern “I was so terrified when I heard you’d fainted.”

A movement behind her caught my eye. A young man stood there, his arms crossed. He had the Duke’s imposing build but with softer, handsome features, shockingly blond hair, and the same piercing green eyes I’d seen in the mirror. A brother.

He didn’t wait for an introduction. His voice was cold and sharp as a blade.

“I suppose fainting is easier than admitting the truth, isn’t it, Sister? How could you poison Mother? Can’t you see how frail she is? Or is any attention, even this, good enough for you?”

The Duchess sighed a masterpiece of performers sadness. She places her other hand on my cheek; her touch felt like ice. “Now, now, my son. We must have faith. I know it must have been a mistake. Even if she did it,” she said, her eyes locking with mine, oozing a venomous kindness, “she will always be my lovely daughter.”

Her smile was a perfect, beautiful lie.

The blond brother scoffed. “We should let her ‘rest’”, he said, making the word sound like an accusation. “Father will be here soon to deal with her. I can’t understand why he hasn’t kicked this mad dog out of the house.”

Once everyone had left, I scrambled out of bed. I ignored the lingering dizziness—I had to find a diary

“There’s no way a Rofan novel character doesn’t have a secret diary,” I muttered to myself, frantically pulling open drawers and rifling through the wardrobe. Nothing. After nearly an hour of desperate searching, my fingers finally brushed against a loose floorboard under the bed. My heart leapt. Hidden beneath it was a simple wooden chest, sealed with a sturdy lock.

I stared at it. Now what, we were in a fantasy world, right? Maybe there was a spell. Feeling utterly foolish, I held my hand out and whispered, “Open. Wooden chest, open!”

Nothing not even a spark.

Okay that was embarrassing. The half dragon creature mentioned white flames. I squeezed my eyes shut, concentrating with all my might, trying to summon even a wisp of magic to melt the lock. Still nothing. Defeated, I slumped onto the bed. “Why am I even trying so hard?” I sighed to the empty room. “I don’t want to fight these people. I can’t do this. I am not some brilliant protagonist— I’m just average.” The door swung open without a knock. Why does everyone get in this room without even knocking, it’s not some open bar.

It was the older brother from the Duke’s office. He looked at me with the same old disdain, as if I were something unpleasant he’d found on his boot.

“Father sent me,’ he announced, his voice flat. “You’re confined to your chambers. You’re lucky mother is pleading for mercy; anyone else would have been executed for attempted poisoning a noble, on top of that a Duchess. Consider your endless tea parties canceled. You won’t be able to parade your disgraceful behaviour and unheard luxuries in front of the other ladies anymore.”

I just sighed internally. Why does everyone here hate me on sight?

I decided to just ignore him. There was no use for me to step in someone else’s business. Unfortunately, he was still standing here as if he was waiting for something. So I just sighed and replied.

“I understand.”

He got out of the room murmuring “What an ungrateful person, I can’t believe we’re siblings.”

The moment the door clicked shut, the polite mask I wore for the duke’s son vanished. A wave of pure, undiluted fury washed over me .

“What an ungrateful person,” I muttered, mocking his haughty tone. Ungrateful? He called me ungrateful? My hands clenched into fists at my sided. I was angry at him, at the Duke, at the stepmother, at the dragon creature for dumping me here. My gaze fell on the wooden chest, still sitting on the floor where I’d left it. It became the focus of all my rage.

“This is all your fault!” I seethed at the inanimate object, as if it were personal responsible for my misery. I glared at the stubborn lock, wishing I could incinerate it with my mind.

And then, I felt it.

A warmth bloomed in my palm, not unpleasant, but startling, I looked down. A flicker of pure white flame, ethereal and cool to touch, danced just above my skin. My anger evaporated, replaced by shock. It worked.

Hesitantly, I pointed my palm at the lock. The white leaped from my hand, not with a roar, but with a soft hiss. It enveloped the lock for a second before vanishing, leaving behind the smell of ozone and a perfectly unlocked chest.

Elated, I threw open the lid. Inside lay a diary bound in faded leather, a dazzling diamond ring, and a delicate gold necklace. But my triumph was short lived.

The white flame was still there, stubbornly clinging to my fingertips like a stubborn second glove.

“No, no, no. Off. Go away,” I whispered, shaking my hand violently. The flame wobbled but didn’t extinguish. Panic began to prickle at my neck. I scrambled into the bathroom, plunged my hand into the basin of weather, and held my breath.

The water didn’t sizzle. The flame didn’t die. It simply burned on top on the water, a miraculous and terrifying violation of physics.

“Damn it! How do I turn it off?!” I was on the verge of full-blown hysterics. I forced myself to take a deep, shuddering breath. Think, Julia. The creature said it was my power. My emotion…

“Okay,” I said to my reflection, my voice shaky. “You are Seraphina. You are calm. You are in control.” I walked back to the bed, sat down, and closed my eyes , focusing on nothing but my breathing. I pictured the flame as a candle and gently blew it out in my mind.

When I opened my eyes, my hand was normal. The flame was gone.

A weak laugh escaped me. “Well, for once, I didn’t completely fail.”

I snatched the diary, clutching it like a lifeline. “Please, Seraphina,” I begged the empty room. “Tell me something useful.”

I opened the diary, the pages brittle under my fingers, and began to read.

20 January, Year XXX

My hand still shakes as I write this. Father hosted a ball for Duke Valerius. I was meant to be seen, not heard— the disappointing daughter ket in the corner. But then… he saw me Cassius Valerius. He didn’t look at me with pity or disgust. He actually saw me. He brought me a glass of punch and asked about my favourite season. No one ever asks me anything. For a moment, I didn’t feel like a monster. I felt like a person. He is my only hope.

8 September, Year XXX

It happens again today, Arthur’s and Percival got territories from father. I got a reminder from Stepmother Laria that my very existence is drain of the family’s resources. She smiles at them and calls them “my precious sons”,” but her touch leaves bruises on my arms where no one can see. Why does she hate me? What did I do? They adore her. It like they’re under a spell, and I am the only one who can see beneath the beauty.

15 December, Year XXX

A new girl arrived today at the Valerius’s estate. Elara. A fallen noble from the Eastern Kingdom that was just defeated by our young Emperor. Cassius saved her from slavers. So I visited the Valerius with the duchess Laria to have some more information about this person. For a moment, I saw a kindred spirit—another soul crushed by circumstance. I tried to give her my handkerchief.

Duchess Laria found out. The punishment was… servers. She said kindness is a weakness our family cannot afford. She said I must be the one to put Elara in her place. To show her the Montclair’s family’s “strength.” She convinced me with her fits and her threats. I am a coward. I am becoming the monster they all say I am.

2 April, Year XXX

It’s over. I went to Cassius today, my heart full of desperate hope. I all but begged him to court me. He refused. He said I was too “volatile”, too “extravagant.” He said I would be a burden to his political ambitions. A BURDEN. That’s all I will be to anyone.

The anger… it was a white-hot fire in my veins. I couldn’t contain it. For the first time? I didn’t want to. I wen -t to his office and I… I let it out. The flamed answered my call. Now the west wing is ashes. And so is my future.

The half-dragon says this power is a gift. It feels like a curse.

——

I desperately tried to turn the page, to read what happened next, but the following pages were fused together as if sealed by magic itself. The story ended at the fire.