──────────────⋆˖☽ ​​𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑾𝒊𝒍𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑭𝒍𝒐𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒔 ☾˖⋆───────────────

“I just meant… I like that you’re different. That’s all.”

The words hung in the air between us, soft yet strangely insistent. Celia stood taller, swaying slightly, a disarmingly warm smile spreading across her face and igniting a spark in her eyes. I pushed myself up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed to face her. The mattress groaned in protest. I leaned forward, my hands folded tightly in my lap, a knot tightening in my stomach.

“Exactly what do you mean by that?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

Her gaze dropped to her pristine apron. Her fingers found the frayed hem and began twisting the fabric, mangling it into a tight, pale worm. “It’s just…” she began, her voice trailing off into a self-conscious mumble. “You aren’t from here. You’re… an outsider. Like me.”

When she finally met my eyes again, they held a deep, warmth—an innocent conviction that made my stomach clench. She was sunlight and open fields. I was the shadow that fell at dusk.

“I am nothing like you, Celia,” I said, the words tasting bitter. My gaze fell to the marble floor as my hand instinctively went to my opposite arm, rubbing my skin. How could I explain it to her? This place adores her, this sweet, kind girl. We were worlds apart.

“Well, I think you are,” she insisted, her voice a soft counterpoint to my denial. “And that’s all that matters.” She reached out, her hand hovering for a moment before pressing gently against my shoulder.

My recoil was instantaneous, a sharp, involuntary flinch as if her touch were a live flame.

The warmth in her eyes vanished, replaced by a wounded surprise that tightened her lips before she could smooth her expression back into place. “Sorry,” she whispered, snatching her hand back. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s fine.” My eyes darted to the closed door, to the space where I knew Emeric was listening, then snapped back to her. I changed the subject, my voice clipped. “What was that with Emeric?”

She stiffened, her head tilting with a practiced confusion that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “What do you mean?”

“You were… curt with him,” I observed, watching her carefully. It was a jarring departure from the gentle girl I’d seen so far. Is this all an act?

A flicker of pure panic crossed her face. Her eyes shot to the door and then widened, a film of unshed tears making them glisten under the dim light. “Was I?” she breathed. “Oh, truly, I didn’t mean to be rude. It’s just—he attacked you! I was… upset.”

Upset for me? A stranger she’d met only days ago? I couldn’t make sense of the pieces she was presenting, so I held my silence.

“He just gets so hot-headed sometimes!” she exclaimed, throwing her hands up in a gesture of theatrical frustration. The flash of anger was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a trembling lip.

So she can get mad, too.

“I need to apologize,” she murmured, her voice muffled by the hand now covering her mouth. She began to pace, the gentle tap of her shoes on the marble floor marking out the frantic rhythm of her anxiety. “As soon as I can.” Her lips moved, rapidly and silently, as she rehearsed an apology meant only for Emeric.

Perhaps her outburst was genuine, a simple mistake. But a cold knot of certainty was tightening in my gut. I didn’t trust her. My thoughts spiraled outward, away from her and this room. I had to leave this place. My purpose was to protect people from the Cursed Moon, and I couldn’t do anything locked in here.

My gaze drifted to the window, where rain lashed against the glass. A cold dread pooled deep in my stomach as the final, chilling thought took hold. Will I even make it out of here alive?

No! The word was a silent scream in my mind, a rebellion against the fear. I am not that weak. I will find a way out of here. The path just hasn’t revealed itself yet. If only I could get my hands on my bow—or any bow. That would be the first step.

A heavy sigh escaped me. I fell back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. The soft tap of Celia’s shoes stopped, and I felt her presence beside me. I turned my head.

“Would you like some water, miss?” Her voice was soft again, a gentle hook pulling me from my thoughts.

“It’s Alanah,” I corrected, my tone flatter than I intended. “And yes, water would be good.”

“Okay, Alanah! I’ll be right back!” She hurried toward a small table in the corner, and in her haste, she knocked her toe squarely against its carved leg. “Ouch!” she yelped, hopping on one foot. The display was so artlessly clumsy, so seemingly genuine, that it only deepened my confusion. It felt either entirely authentic or masterfully staged.

Recovering, she grabbed a pitcher and poured a glass, carrying it carefully back to me.

Before I could take it, the sharp, metallic click of the lock drew both our gazes to the door. Mira stood in the entryway, her own clothing impeccably dry despite the storm raging outside. Her severe eyes flickered to me, then settled on Celia.

“Mikaeus wants you to get some rest. I’m taking over.”

Celia gave a sharp, distracted nod, her mind already elsewhere. As she fumbled to hand me the glass, I heard her whisper frantically to herself, “I have to find Emeric… I must apologize…”

I took the cup just as she rushed past Mira and out of the room. The lock clicked shut behind her. From the other side of the door, her shaky voice called out, “Emeric, wait!” The frantic tap of her shoes faded down the hall, leaving a heavy, unnerving silence in its wake.

Mira and I were alone. She moved to the table without a word and sat, her gaze fixed on the rain-slicked windowpane. A low rumble of thunder rolled through the mountains, followed by a silent, ghostly flash of lightning that illuminated her stern profile.

I pushed myself off the bed and walked to the table, taking the chair directly across from her, a deliberate move. Mira turned her head slowly, her expression unreadable in the gloom.

“Why are you really here?” I asked, holding her gaze.

Mira’s face remained a placid mask, but I saw her hands clench on the table, her knuckles turning white. Her voice, however, was perfectly smooth. “I came to check on you. To ensure your well-being.”

I glanced around the quiet room. “Everything seems fine.”

“So it does,” she conceded. A muscle in her jaw jumped. “I was also sent to inform you that Mikaeus will be here shortly to speak with you.”

“Fine,” I nodded. “Then why get rid of Celia? This isn’t where you usually are.”

Mira leaned forward, her eyes softening almost imperceptibly. “Because that girl,” she said, her voice dropping lower, “is a liability.” She paused, a flicker of something unreadable—history, perhaps—in her eyes. “She needs to rest.”

I just nodded, and an awkward, charged silence stretched between us. Mira pushed herself to her feet and moved to the far side of the room, putting a clear, deliberate distance between us.

My gaze dropped to the bouquet of wildflowers on the table. They were beginning to wilt. A faint, shimmering miasma—like heat rising from pavement—danced around the petals as their vibrant colors slowly bled to gray. The phantom scent of decay mingled with the sweetness. I closed my eyes, trying to grasp the memory of the vision I’d had earlier, but it was like trying to cup smoke. I have no control over this.

I dropped my head into my hands. A chill crept into the air, seeping into my bones. When I looked up again, I caught Mira watching me, her expression guarded. She quickly looked away.

A sharp knock at the door, followed by the familiar click of the heavy lock, broke the tense quiet. The door swung inward, revealing Mikaeus. Raindrops clung to the ember waves of his hair like tiny jewels, yet his clothes were perfectly dry. His golden eyes found mine immediately, and in their depths, I saw an emotion I couldn’t decipher—worry, longing, or something else entirely.

Mira rose without being told. His gaze slid to her.

“You may wait outside.”

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𝓓𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓭𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓼𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓼. 𝓐𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽!