For days after the red moon, Elena felt different. Her senses sharpened. She could hear whispers of servants in far-off rooms. She smelled roses from the garden even with her window shut.
But it wasn't only her senses. At night, when she touched the book, a warmth flowed through her fingertips, into her chest. Sometimes, she swore the words on the page shifted, bending to her thoughts.
One evening, she caught her reflection in the mirror. For a breath, her eyes flashed scarlet. She stumbled back, gasping. When she looked again, they were normal.
"Elena…"
The voice filled the room, closer now, inside her head.
"You are mine. You always were."
She pressed her hands to her ears, but it made no difference. The voice came from her very blood.
"Stop!" she cried, tears stinging her eyes.
And then, as if in answer, she felt a soft touch brush across her cheek—though no one stood there.
She collapsed to the floor, trembling. She knew now that the Ancestor was not just haunting her.
He was awakening inside her.