Lilienne was born from fire.
Not the warm kind that comforts.
Not the holy flame that cleanses.
No—hers was the kind that devours.
The walls of the Sanctum were lined with runes that screamed when she touched them. The High Inquisitor said it was because her blood was cursed. Wretched. Dangerous.
"Your mother was a traitor," they whispered.
"Your father, a devil who seduced a witch."
"You were not meant to live."
But live she did. And from the moment she could walk, they made her a weapon.
---
She trained with iron cuffs around her wrists and spell seals on her skin to keep her from exploding. Her first kill was at age eight—a Council traitor who looked too much like her father.
She didn't cry. She smiled.
The High Inquisitor was pleased.
"You are her wrath incarnate," he told her. "You are the price of their sin."
Lilienne didn't know love. She knew fury.
She didn't know lullabies. She knew screams.
She didn't know a mother's touch. She knew cold hands and locked doors.
But there was one secret—one whisper that kept her from fully turning to ice.
A name.
Stolen from the fragments of her mother's soul during a forbidden ritual.
Anastasia.
The name echoed in her dreams like a half-remembered lullaby. Not Karena. Not Witch-Queen. Just... Anastasia.
And now that name was surfacing again.
---
The chamber flickered as she held her hand over the crystal pool, watching visions swirl—a man with eyes like hers… and a woman sobbing into magic-drenched water.
Her breath caught.
Was that…?
No. It couldn't be.
They had told her Anastasia was dead. That the witch who birthed her had been broken and consumed.
But the vision showed something else.
A woman reborn in power. With love in her eyes. Not fear.
"She's not dead," Lilienne murmured.
Her power surged. The runes screamed again.
A voice behind her hissed. "You're not ready—"
But she didn't care.
---
Lilienne turned. Her eyes burned red. Her spell circle cracked the floor.
"I want to meet my mother."
"And if she tries to lie again…" she smiled like a dagger,
"…I'll burn the world down just to watch her scream."
The grand market of Velmire pulsed with life—smoke curling from enchanted stalls, sweet herbs mingling with spices, and magical trinkets whispering secrets from behind velvet curtains. But Anastasia barely noticed the beauty.
She wore a glamour charm that cloaked her silver hair, softened her magic, and made her scent unfamiliar even to hounds. She was no longer the Witch-Queen. She was just a traveler now.
A mother looking for her child.
She moved quietly between stalls, eyes scanning every face, every glimmer of aura, until her heart froze.
There she was.
Lilienne.
The girl was older than she should be—years stolen from her in the Sanctum. Her hair was midnight black, her eyes a burning garnet, and her posture elegant, trained, royal. She wore black armor laced with crimson thread and a blade at her hip. The people parted around her like she was death cloaked in beauty.
Anastasia's breath hitched. Her hand trembled.
"Lilienne…"
She hadn't meant to speak it aloud.
The girl turned.
Their eyes locked.
And something... shifted.
---
Lilienne frowned, stepping closer, her senses prickling. "Do I know you?"
Anastasia swallowed. She forced her voice low, unfamiliar. "No. I'm just a healer. Visiting."
Lilienne stared at her. Too long. Too deeply. A flare of magic coiled in her eyes like smoke.
"You looked at me like you knew me."
"I'm sorry," Anastasia whispered. "You reminded me of someone. Someone I lost."
Lilienne's jaw clenched. "Everyone loses someone. Get over it."
The words stabbed more than they should have.
But Anastasia didn't flinch. She only whispered, "Some losses leave holes nothing can fill."
Lilienne's expression faltered for a moment. Just a flicker of confusion. Or pain.
"I was taken from someone," she said suddenly, like it had clawed out of her without permission. "Raised in the Sanctum. They say I was born of sin. Magic born wrong."
"No," Anastasia choked. "You were never wrong."
Lilienne's eyes narrowed again. "Why do you care?"
"I don't know," Anastasia said, tears threatening. "I think... because if you were mine—I would have fought every god and demon to bring you back."
Lilienne's breath hitched.
The silence stretched like a wound between them.
But the spell on Anastasia flickered.
For a heartbeat, Lilienne saw silver hair, moonlight eyes—her reflection in a mirror she had never dared to dream of.
Then it was gone.
"Who are you?" Lilienne whispered, stepping back.
Anastasia bit her tongue so hard she tasted blood.
"I'm no one," she said, turning to walk away before her heart shattered.
But Lilienne's voice followed.
"Wait... what's your name?"
Anastasia paused.
And broke her own heart.
"Selene."
---
Later that night, Antoine found her in the woods, trembling, curled in moonlight.
"She didn't know me," she wept. "She looked at me like a stranger."
Antoine wrapped her in his arms. "She's not lost. Just twisted by their lies. We'll get her back."
"But what if it's too late?" she whispered.
Antoine's voice dropped to a vow.
"Then we'll tear the world apart until she remembers what love feels like."