đź“– Vows of Blood
By Islamiyah
---
The next morning came dressed in silence and fog.
Selene stood barefoot in the center of her room, eyes locked on the antique mirror across from her. It hadn't been there yesterday.
Its frame was obsidian-black, carved with symbols that twisted the longer she looked at them. Her own reflection stared back, almost perfectly… but not quite. Something in the eyes was wrong. Slightly off. Almost like the mirror didn't just reflect her—it studied her.
She stepped closer.
"You're not part of this room," she murmured. "So who placed you here?"
As if in answer, the candle beside the mirror flickered. Once. Then again.
Selene lifted her hand, pressing her fingertips to the cold glass.
And the mirror moved.
Not physically. But the image inside it shifted.
Suddenly, her reflection was gone.
In its place was a burning field—a battlefield. And standing in the center, barefoot and bloodstained, was her… or a version of her. Darker. Her eyes glowing faintly, hair wild like smoke. And around her feet, fire curled like a pet.
Selene staggered back. The image snapped shut.
The mirror was normal again.
She was alone in her room.
But something had changed. She felt it in her spine. Like the air had memory.
---
Later that day, she walked through the estate gardens—a labyrinth of roses, thorns, and stone statues that felt far too lifelike. The scent of lavender clung to the mist. Two guards followed her silently, their presence subtle but clear.
She didn't speak to them.
She was being watched. She knew that.
And not just by men.
There's something breathing beneath this house, she thought. It's old. It's hungry.
She paused at a stone fountain.
Its water was dark, too dark. When she peered into it, she saw her reflection again—but this time, it smiled back even though she didn't.
A hand touched her shoulder.
She turned fast—too fast—only to find Luciano standing behind her.
"You're jumpy," he said.
"Maybe I have reason to be."
He studied her. His presence always felt like pressure: quiet, clean, inescapable.
"You saw the mirror," he said.
She didn't ask how he knew.
"You put it there," she said instead.
"I did," he admitted. "I needed to see something."
"You could've just asked."
He shook his head slowly. "Power doesn't speak truth. Fear does."
Selene narrowed her eyes. "So did I pass your next test, husband?"
"No," he said softly. "You revealed something else."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded parchment. "You've been summoned."
"By whom?"
"The Circle," he replied. "Our allied council. The inner bloodline leaders. They want to see you. Judge you. Decide whether you're an asset… or a threat."
"And if I decline?"
Luciano stepped closer, voice dark. "Declining is the same as declaring war."
Selene took the parchment. Broke the seal.
Inside, a symbol she hadn't seen in years—the mark of her mother's side. The Moreau crest. Twisting vines, a bleeding rose, and a serpent eating its own tail.
"They know what I am," she whispered.
"They've always known," Luciano said. "They just want to know if you do."
---
That night, Selene lit a single candle and stood once more in front of the mirror.
This time, she didn't flinch.
"You want to show me who I am?" she whispered. "Then do it. But I won't be your puppet."
The mirror pulsed with warmth.
And slowly, her reflection stepped forward and whispered something.
Selene couldn't hear it.
But her heart did.
And the candle exploded into flame.