It started with a whisper.
Not a voice. Not a sound. A whisper—like the breath of a forgotten dream curling against the inside of Seraphina's skull.
She was five.
Her days were full of glittery dresses, books stacked too high, and endless questions. Why does fire dance? Why do stars shine? Why do mirrors look back but never speak?
One afternoon, while her mother chatted with nobles downstairs and her father scribbled notes in his study, Seraphina sat cross-legged in her playroom, humming to her dolls. She arranged them in a circle, placing a cracked hand mirror in the center like it was the sun of their tiny universe.
And then she touched it.
It was instinct. No reason. Just a pull.
Her fingertips grazed the glass.
The mirror blinked.
Literally—blinked. A ripple. A shimmer. Like reality forgot what it was supposed to be.
Her dolls' heads twitched. The air thickened. The fire in the nearby hearth surged, turning a strange, flickering blue.
Seraphina yanked her hand back—but it was too late.
> [System Initialization... Reconnection: 7%]
[Warning: Memory Echo Unstable
The text scrolled across her vision like it was burned into her eyelids.
She stumbled, fell onto her hands. Her palms sizzled where they'd touched the glass, but there was no burn. No pain. Only a strange, cold fire.
She gasped. Her doll—her favorite one with the stitched smile—burst into flames.
Blue again.
Silent.
No smoke. No crackle. Just... gone.
Her eyes widened, heart hammering.
> [Trait Activated: Mirrorflame Core — Fragmented] [Observation Level Increased. Emotional Sync Detected.]
And then she heard it.
A voice.
Not hers.
But hers.
Older. Calm. Controlled. Sad.
> "You touched the glass too soon."
Seraphina whimpered, turning in circles. "Who said that? Mommy? Papa?!"
> "No. They're not listening. They can't hear the echoes yet."
She looked back at the mirror. Her reflection stared back... but the eyes were wrong.
Not wide and innocent.
They were older. Hollow. Ancient.
> "You are not broken, Seraphina. You are remembering."
She blinked, backing away.
"Who are you?"
> "I am what's left. The fire that survived the ash."
The door burst open—her father's voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
"Seraphina! What's going on?!"
The mirror stilled. The flames vanished. The world righted itself.
But Seraphina's hand still glowed faintly blue. And the voice in her head remained.
> [Connection Paused. Flame Core: Dormant]
She turned to her father and smiled weakly, forcing her voice not to shake.
"Papa... I think my doll caught fire."
He stared at the ashes, at her unburned hands.
And for the first time in her short life... someone looked at her with fear.
Not because she was dangerous.
But because she was different.
And something... was waking up.