Eira opened her eyes slowly. A cold, heavy darkness loomed around her like a suffocating blanket. Her vision, blurred at first, sharpened gradually. She was lying on a hard floor, the stone beneath her body cool and damp. As she sat up, her breath caught.
The room was dim—barely illuminated by a single candle placed on a small wooden table. Its flickering flame cast long, crooked shadows across the walls. A bed stood in one corner, made neatly, as though untouched. Everything was silent, the silence was quite frightening .
Then she saw her.
Behind the table, seated motionless in the darkness, was a figure. A woman. Black hair fell past her shoulders, and her posture was poised, almost regal. Eira squinted, trying to place her face, but the candle's light made it difficult. She glanced around, her heart beginning to pound.
"Ana?" she whispered into the silence.
But the room answered only with stillness. Ana was nowhere to be seen.
She straightened up and leaned against the wall behind her, her breathing sharp and shallow. Panic bubbled at the edge of her chest, threatening to consume her—but she quickly closed her eyes and reached inward. Occlumency. She summoned it like a shield, soothing her nerves, calming her breath, forcing clarity into her mind. This wasn't the time to panic. Because panic will make her irrational and being irrational was the last thing she needed in this moment .
When she opened her eyes again, they locked onto the woman seated across from her. She studied her quietly, wondering who she was, what she wanted, and more than anything—why had she been taken? And where was Ana?
She turned back toward the woman and studied her silently.
The woman watched her right back, her lips curled faintly into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"So," she said, her voice calm, deliberate, and slightly mocking, "you are quite composed for a child, Eira. I thought I would have to deal with a crying little girl… tantrums, screaming, begging. But look at you. So calm. Very unusual, considering the situation you're in."
Eira stared at her silently for a few seconds, then replied in a steady voice, "Where is Ana?"
The woman chuckled softly, a cruel sound in the silent room.
The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Oh? Even now, you worry about that little friend of yours?" She leaned forward, the candlelight casting sharp shadows across her face. "Why do you care about that disabled girl? Her life doesn't matter. Even if she grows up, she'll end up like the rest of us. Broken. Twisted. An outlaw, just like me."
Eira's eyes narrowed. "Stop. Just stop with this nonsense," she said coldly. "Tell me if she's safe or not."
The woman sighed and tilted her head. "You rich people . Always thinking the world is something under your dainty little feet." Then her eyes darkened. "You really are naïve, Eira. Painfully naïve."
Eira narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? And why did you kidnap me?"
The woman's smile sharpened, grew dangerous.
"I think," she said slowly, "that you already know the answer to that, somewhere deep in your heart."
Eira's frown deepened. "Enough riddles. Answer the question."
With a theatrical sigh, the woman stood from her chair, the shadows peeling back to reveal her face fully.
Well," the woman said with a casual shrug, "I was paid to kidnap you. Someone out there wanted you gone—wanted you taken from Beauxbâtons. Said they'd pay me handsomely if I could manage it. So I did." She smirked. "And before you ask, no—I won't tell you who. People like me… we don't reveal our clients. So don't waste your breath with offers to pay me double or promises of forgiveness. That kind of thing doesn't work on me."
Eira exhaled, the realization slowly solidifying in her mind. Someone had gone to great lengths to have her removed. And they had used her—Ana? No. That couldn't be.
She steadied herself and said calmly, "Fine. I won't ask the usual questions. Just one thing—where is Ana?"
The woman didn't answer right away.
The woman stood.
Eira watched closely as she stepped out of the shadows, fully illuminated now. She was tall, striking, with long black hair and piercing eyes. There was something eerily beautiful about her. Eira's eyes rose to her face—and then they widened. Her gaze dropped to the woman's arm.
Her left hand was missing.
Eira's breath caught.
Her mind reeled.
Eira's breath caught. "That's… impossible."
The woman smiled slowly. "Oh, darling. This is the magical world. Everything is possible."
Eira stared, heart thudding. "So… you used Polyjuice Potion? To imitate Ana?"
The woman laughed—a low, bitter sound. "Still trying to explain it away, hm? Still clinging to your sweet little illusions?" She leaned closer, her face lit from below by the flickering candle. "But I'm afraid I have to break your heart. I am Ana—Anastasia."
Eira stumbled back a step, her hands gripping the stone wall behind her. "No. That's not true. I've spent over two months with her. She was real. Kind. She—she wouldn't do this."
The woman's smile didn't fade. "You want answers, so I'll give you one. If there's one thing I was born with, it's metamorphmagia. I could imitate anyone. Voice, mannerism, aura. That was my gift. But every gift has its cost. Mine was this." She lifted her arm slightly. "The hand."
She stepped closer, and her voice softened, strangely gentle now. "It was all a show, Eira. Everything. Every tear, every stumble, every kind smile. I did it all to earn your trust."
"It was incredibly difficult to get inside that school," she said. "Beauxbâtons… it's warded like a fortress. I spent weeks forging documents, weaving spells, manipulating the records. Just to be accepted as a student. Just to get close to you."
Eira sat frozen, the cold seeping through her skin. Occlumency dulled her reactions, kept her breathing steady, but it couldn't stop her heart from breaking.
"I still remember the day we met," the woman continued. "I almost broke character. You were so kind to me. So genuine. You made it too easy, Eira. The proud little heiress, taking pity on the poor, broken girl." Her voice cracked into a bitter laugh. "It was almost too perfect."
Eira stared, speechless.
The woman's tone shifted. Softer. Sadder.
"But I won't lie. I did enjoy those days. For a time, I let myself forget. I imagined what it would've been like to have a friend like you… when I was still at Durmstrang. Maybe things would've been different then. Maybe I would've been different."
She looked up at Eira, eyes glistening in the candlelight.
"I did consider you a friend, truly. But I've long stopped believing in friendship. In love. In kindness. The world doesn't reward those things. And I have a mission, Eira. That always comes first."
"And now, here we are," she said softly. "You, my target. Me, your fake friend."
Eira's lips parted, but she didn't speak. She couldn't. Her throat felt tight.
Her mind was a storm of thoughts—memories of smiles, shared whispers, evenings by the fountain, laughter in the greenhouse. All lies?
No. Not all.
The emotion behind them was too real. Too raw.
She looked at the woman again—no, not Ana. Not the friend she knew. Just someone wearing her skin.
Ana stood , her shadow stretching across the room like a curse.
"You really are a good actress," Eira said, voice cold now. "You deserve an award."
The woman—Anastasia—smirked faintly.
"Perhaps," she whispered. "But even the best performances must end."