The palace gardens were meant to calm the mind — sprawling paths lined with marble statues, roses that bloomed even in late autumn, fountains whispering softly beneath the morning sun.
But to Seraphina, it felt too bright.
Too open.
Everywhere she looked, reflections stared back at her — the ripple of water in the fountains, the polished edge of Selene's silver parasol, even the jeweled eyes of the marble nymphs that seemed to watch her pass.
Selene walked ahead, radiant in her pale blue gown. The sunlight adored her — it always had. It caught in her hair, gilding it gold, as if the world itself bent toward her warmth.
Seraphina followed in silence, her own dress the color of moonlight. She trailed her fingers along the trimmed hedges, trying to ground herself in the softness of the leaves, the hum of bees, the distant chatter of courtiers strolling the paths.
They turned a corner, and the fountain courtyard opened before them — the same one that had been their childhood refuge. Its centerpiece, a sculpture of twin angels carved from white marble, rose above the water, wings entwined.
Seraphina slowed. Something about them felt wrong today — one angel's face had been marred by a faint crack running from its temple to its lip.
It hadn't been there before.
---
SELENE
(smiling)
You remember this place? We used to sneak here after lessons. You were always afraid we'd be caught.
SERAPHINA
I wasn't afraid. I just didn't want you getting into trouble.
Selene laughed softly.
SELENE
Always the cautious one. I miss that little girl sometimes.
SERAPHINA
She's still here. Somewhere.
SELENE
Then she hides well.
They paused by the fountain. The water shimmered, perfectly still despite the breeze. Seraphina leaned over it, gazing into her reflection. The surface rippled faintly — then steadied.
Two faces looked back at her.
Not hers and Selene's.
Hers — twice.
One smiling faintly. The other expressionless, eyes cold and unblinking.
SERAPHINA
Selene… do you see that?
Selene glanced at the fountain.
SELENE
See what?
SERAPHINA
There's—
She turned back. The reflection had normalized. Only herself. Only water.
Selene raised a brow.
SELENE
You look pale again. You really should stop skipping your tinctures.
Seraphina swallowed.
SERAPHINA
I'm fine.
Selene's voice softened — almost kind.
SELENE
You've been uneasy ever since the ball. Was it the young lord? Did he say something?
Seraphina hesitated. The boy's face flickered in her mind — his laugh, his gaze as it slid past her toward Selene.
SERAPHINA
He said nothing. But I saw… something in him. Something familiar.
SELENE
(laughing lightly)
Familiar? You barely spoke to him.
SERAPHINA
Maybe not me.
Selene frowned slightly, studying her.
SELENE
You're scaring me when you talk like this.
SERAPHINA
Are you?
Their eyes met — one filled with warmth, the other shadow.
The silence stretched between them until a gust of wind swept through the courtyard, scattering petals across the water.
The ripples shimmered, and for the briefest instant, both sisters saw it — a third reflection, standing between them in the water.
A pale girl, her hair floating like mist, her face hidden behind a spiderweb of cracks.
Then the image vanished.
Selene drew back sharply.
SELENE
Did you—?
SERAPHINA
You saw it too.
Selene pressed her hand to her chest.
SELENE
It must've been the light. A trick of—
SERAPHINA
Don't. Please don't tell me it's nothing.
Selene looked at her, truly looked, and for the first time since childhood, there was fear in her eyes. Not pity. Not irritation. Real fear.
They left the garden soon after. But as they walked back toward the palace steps, Seraphina glanced over her shoulder.
The fountain's surface was still now — almost serene.
Except for one small detail.
The reflection of the twin angels had changed.
Only one stood upright now.
The other's wings were gone.
That evening, as dusk fell and the palace lamps flickered awake, Seraphina found herself standing before her mirror once more.
But this time, she didn't see herself.
She saw the garden, bathed in moonlight — as if the mirror had become a window. And in the water's reflection, the cracked angel's eyes opened.
Night draped the palace in silence.
The corridors were empty now, lit only by the low burn of wall lanterns. The air carried the faint perfume of roses from the garden below — sweet, almost suffocating.
Seraphina moved barefoot through the marble halls, her silk nightgown whispering against the floor. She hadn't told anyone about the fountain — not even Selene. The vision lingered behind her eyes like a memory she couldn't wash away.
When she reached her chamber door, the handle was cold to the touch. Colder than it should have been.
She pushed it open.
The room greeted her with stillness. The mirror stood across from the bed, gleaming faintly in the moonlight that spilled through the window.
And just as before — it showed not her room, but the garden.
The twin angels. The fountain. The cracked marble face glistening with dew.
Seraphina's breath trembled in her chest.
She stepped closer.
SERAPHINA
(softly)
Why do you follow me?
The reflection didn't move. Only the faint ripple of water disturbed the image.
SERAPHINA
You're not real. You can't be.
But the closer she came, the colder the air grew — biting, unnatural. Her reflection finally began to appear faintly over the garden scene, the two images blending: her face superimposed over the cracked angel.
SERAPHINA
What are you trying to show me?
Her voice wavered. The silence that answered was almost intelligent.
The candle beside her flickered violently.
Then — faintly — she heard it.
A whisper, distant, as though carried through water:
VOICE (O.S.)
You forgot me.
Seraphina flinched, heart pounding.
SERAPHINA
Who—who said that?
No reply. Only the faint sound of dripping — water? — though there was none.
The mirror fogged over, slow and deliberate. When she lifted her hand to wipe it clear, her fingertips met glass colder than ice. Her reflection stared back at her — wide-eyed, trembling.
Then her reflection smiled.
A soft, almost pitying smile.
SERAPHINA
No.
She stepped back sharply, nearly tripping over the edge of her rug. The candle flame steadied, the air warmed slightly — and just like that, the mirror showed only her room again.
Everything was as it should be.
Everything looked ordinary.
But on the surface of the glass, barely visible in the moonlight, something was scratched into the lower corner — letters so faint she had to kneel to see them.
"Not yet."
---
She didn't sleep that night.
Each time she closed her eyes, she saw her reflection still smiling.
Still waiting.
And when dawn came, she found a single rose petal on her pillow — white as snow, wet as if freshly plucked.