Days after the vision first haunted her, Lyra sits alone in her chamber, the moonlight painting silver patterns across the silk sheets. The memory of Kael, bloodied and bearing the black lotus, lingers like a shadow behind her closed eyes.
Her fingers trace the intricate runes embroidered on her veil, each stitch humming with latent power. The prophecy whispered promises and warnings—words tangled in time like a thorny rose.
A soft knock breaks her reverie. Selene, the mysterious siren, steps inside, her presence as fluid and intoxicating as the sea breeze.
"You carry a storm within you, Lyra," Selene murmurs, her voice a melodic temptation. "The black lotus is no ordinary curse—it is the key to unravelling fate."
Lyra's eyes meet hers, violet fire igniting. "And Kael? He's the one marked by it."
Selene smiles, a secret playing on her lips. "Bound by prophecy, intertwined by desire. But beware—the deeper the passion, the darker the shadows."
As Selene's words fade, Lyra feels the threads of her destiny pull taut, the line between power and peril razor-thin.
Outside, the distant hum of the festival continues, oblivious to the storm gathering in the hearts of two doomed souls.