The Ardent Mansion was quiet that night, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
In her room at the far end of the second floor, Jane sat on her window ledge, looking out at the moonlit forest beyond the iron gates. A soft breeze played with her midnight-black hair, but she didn't feel it. She never did.
Today was her birthday. Nineteen. Not a number worth celebrating. Not for someone like her.
No gifts. No cake. No hugs or words of love. Just another quiet dinner with her parents, who smiled too politely and spoke too little.
They didn't ask how she felt. They never did.
She didn't blame them.
After all, what could they say to the daughter who couldn't feel the warmth of their hands or the taste of food? What joy was there in raising the only Ardent child without a Gift?
Jane hugged her knees, resting her chin there. "Happy birthday, Jane," she whispered to herself, dryly.
A knock came on the door.
It opened without waiting for her answer.
John stepped in, dressed in his usual black uniform with silver lining. A new servant—yet already so serious. Too obedient.
"Lady Jane," he said, his voice steady. "Your parents have retired for the night. I'll be outside your door if you need anything."
She tilted her head and gave a small smile. "Anything?"
He paused. "Anything within reason."
"Boring," she murmured, waving him away. "Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, milady." He bowed and left, closing the door gently.
She listened until the sound of his boots faded, then pulled the curtains shut and crawled into bed. The moonlight still touched the corners of her room, casting faint silver lines on the floor.
She closed her eyes.
And everything changed.
⸻
The world around her twisted, pulling her into something strange—something wrong.
Suddenly, Jane was no longer in her bed.
She stood barefoot in a forest where the trees bled crimson, their leaves whispering like voices. The ground glowed with violet veins, pulsing like they were alive. The sky above was neither night nor day—just an endless swirl of purple and black, heavy and hollow.
"What… is this?" she murmured.
But her voice sounded different—sharper, clearer. It echoed strangely, like the forest was listening.
Ahead of her was a path made of dark stones, curling deeper into the woods.
She hesitated only a moment before walking forward.
There was no wind. No scent. No sound. It was a silence so thick, it wrapped around her like a second skin.
Then she saw it.
At the end of the path stood a raised altar of black stone. Floating above it, glowing softly, was a book.
It was bound in deep violet leather, covered in ancient symbols that shimmered faintly like fireflies. It hummed—not with sound, but with power.
Drawn forward, Jane stepped onto the altar and reached out.
The moment her fingers brushed the book, pain exploded through her body.
She screamed.
The forest roared to life. Trees twisted. The ground shook. Purple fire burst from the altar, wrapping around her arms, her chest, her eyes.
Her skin felt like it was burning from the inside out. Her breath caught—her heart slammed against her ribs.
But something inside her said, Don't let go.
So she held on.
Her vision blurred—darkness and light mixed in violent waves—and then everything went still.
⸻
Jane woke up with a gasp.
Her body was drenched in sweat. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her hands trembling as she sat up in bed.
The room was quiet. Normal. But her fingers—her fingers glowed.
A faint violet light pulsed gently from her palms, like a heartbeat made of flame.
She stared, horrified and mesmerized.
"What is this…?" she whispered, her voice cracking.
Before she could understand what was happening, the door to her room burst open.
"Lady Jane!" John stood at the threshold, his eyes wide with concern. "Are you alright? I heard—"
"Don't come in!" she cried out.
Without thinking, she raised her hand—and a burst of violet force slammed the door shut, right in front of his face.
Silence returned.
Jane stared at the door. At her hand.
Her body trembled.
She had done that. She had moved something—someone—with her will.
And the glowing still hadn't stopped.
Her breathing slowed as she sat in the silence. Her mind spun.
This… this was power.
But not the kind her family spoke of.
This wasn't the power of healing. This wasn't the sacred Gift of the Ardent line.
This was something else.
Something dangerous.
⸻
Behind the door, John stood frozen.
He looked down at his trembling hands.
He had seen it. Felt it.
Magic.
But not the kind passed down by noble blood.
He whispered to himself, "She's… not normal."
Jane stayed frozen for several long seconds.
Her hand slowly lowered as the violet glow began to fade, retreating back into her skin like it had never been there.
Her heartbeat was still fast, loud in her ears.
Then—another knock.
A soft one this time.
"Ms. Jane," John's voice came from the other side of the door. It wasn't formal now. It was calm. Careful. "I'm coming in. Don't be afraid."
The door creaked open slowly.
Jane didn't stop him this time.
John stepped in, eyes scanning the room before settling on her. She was sitting on the edge of the bed, legs folded, eyes wide and dazed. Her hands clutched the sheets like she was still grounding herself in reality.
He didn't speak right away. Just closed the door behind him and walked a few steps closer.
"I saw it," he finally said. "Your hands. That light."
Jane swallowed hard. "It was a dream. I think. I don't know anymore."
"You're not dreaming now," he said gently. "And you're not hurt."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," she said quickly. Her voice cracked again. "I didn't know what I was doing. It just—happened. I thought I was going to burn."
John crouched in front of her, careful to keep his distance. "It wasn't fire. It didn't burn. It looked like… magic."
Her breath caught.
Magic.
The word tasted forbidden in her mouth. Unnatural. Wrong.
But also true.
"I think it's inside me," she whispered, voice barely audible. "Something awakened."
John studied her for a moment. Then, after a pause, he sat on the floor, legs crossed. At her level.
"I don't know what it is," he admitted, "but I know what people will do if they find out."
Jane looked down at him, startled. "You're not afraid of me?"
"I've seen worse," he said with a soft shrug. "And you just slammed a door in my face instead of throwing me out the window. So I'd say we're off to a good start."
She blinked. Then—just barely—she smiled.
"I don't want anyone to know," she said. "Not my parents. Not anyone. Promise me, John."
He nodded, without hesitation.
"I promise."
There was a moment of silence between them. The moonlight filtered through the curtains now, softer, as if the world had settled again.
Jane reached out her hand—not glowing now—and John hesitated only a second before taking it.
His hand was warm. Hers still felt… off. Not numb, exactly. But different. Like a current hummed beneath her skin now, just waiting.
She met his gaze. "What do I do now?"
John's expression became serious. "We keep this quiet. And we figure it out. Together."
⸻
That night, after John left her room, Jane curled up beneath her blanket with her heart still racing.
She didn't know what she was becoming.
But one thing was clear.
The curse—whatever it was—had begun.
And it had chosen her.