Aurora sat by the window of her room, her sharp eyes fixed on the moonlight that spilled across the floor like melted silver.
The glow was soft, almost haunting, and her reflection shimmered faintly on the glass. Her face was calm, composed—but inside, her thoughts ran wild.
Her mind was a storm, full of fragmented memories, suspicions, and truths that didn't quite fit together.
She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the windowsill as her gaze darkened.
Being quick-witted, she was already starting to connect the pieces—what if the real Aurora, the original host of this body, had been Helen's real granddaughter?
At first, she had assumed that if Lily wasn't connected to her, then Helen wouldn't be either, and that thought had stung more than she cared to admit.
