Past midnight, snow fell over Sexton, settling over the empty courtyards and the dark rows of windows. In her room, Ruelle sat on the floor beside a low-burning candle stand, the wooden box open in her lap as she stared down into the small mirror inside it.
There had once been a belief that the soulless and the dead cast no reflection. For a long time, people said it was true of vampires. But they carried reflections. She was not like them… was she? She had never craved blood.
Maybe she could compare the mirrors, she thought to herself.
So she emptied the contents of the box onto the floor and turned it over in her hands, tapping at the back in an attempt to loosen the mirror.
"A little early to be summoning ghosts," came Lucian's voice. Ruelle looked up and found him standing at the door. At that same moment, the mirror slipped free and fell onto the floor. "Trying to wake the dead?" One of his eyebrows lifted slightly.
