The world was burning.
Seraphina ran through smoke and shadow, her breath ragged, her bare feet striking the cobblestone streets of Valemont. The town bell tolled endlessly — low, thunderous, echoing across the empty square.
"Selene!" she cried.
But her voice was swallowed by the wind.
Buildings cracked and split as though the earth itself had turned against them. The grand manor loomed in the distance, its windows glowing red. Figures — faceless and shrouded — drifted through the streets, whispering in tongues she couldn't understand.
Somewhere in the chaos, she saw her sister.
Selene stood at the center of the square, her white gown fluttering like torn silk, her hair wild and dark. She turned slowly toward Seraphina — her face calm, eyes pale and distant.
"Selene!" Seraphina screamed again, reaching out.
But as she did, her sister's figure began to dissolve — first her hands, then her face, until only mist remained.
The bell's toll grew louder, louder, until it became a heartbeat.
Then silence.
The town vanished. The ground beneath her feet turned to glass, reflecting her own face — split down the middle, one side alive, the other pale and still.
A voice, deep and ancient, whispered through the dark:
"One shall sleep, that one may rise."
Seraphina gasped.
She woke with a cry, sitting upright in bed, drenched in cold sweat. The room was dark but still, the moonlight slanting across her blanket. Her pulse thundered in her throat.
For a long moment, she couldn't breathe.
Then she threw back the covers and rushed from her room. The corridor stretched ahead, empty and dim.
Her feet carried her to Selene's door. She knocked once — no answer. She pushed it open.
The room was bathed in pale morning light. Selene lay perfectly still beneath the sheets, her face serene, her hands folded neatly over her chest. Her skin looked almost translucent.
"Selene?" Seraphina whispered, stepping closer.
Her twin didn't stir. Her breathing was faint but steady, as if caught in a dream too deep to wake from.
Relief washed through Seraphina, though it tangled strangely with unease. She brushed a strand of hair from Selene's face, hesitating at how cold her sister's skin felt.
"You scared me," she murmured softly, forcing a smile. "You're all right."
She turned and walked back toward her room, but the air felt heavier now — thick with something unseen. The house was quiet, too quiet.
As she reached her door, she thought she heard footsteps — small, quick — and a child's laughter echoing faintly from the corridor behind her.
When she turned, the hall was empty.
Only the long shadows watched her.
The door closed softly behind Seraphina, her footsteps fading down the corridor.
For a long moment, the room remained still. Only the gentle ticking of the clock and the whisper of wind against the window broke the silence.
Then—
Selene's eyes snapped open.
They were not her eyes. Not anymore.
The soft green that once held warmth was gone, replaced by a cold, luminous gray — ancient and sharp, like light caught in ice. Her lips parted, drawing a slow, deliberate breath.
A faint smile crept across her face.
"So," she whispered, her voice lower, edged with something unfamiliar. "It begins."
She sat up, moving with eerie composure, and turned toward the window. Outside, the morning sun broke over Valemont's hills, spilling gold across the town. She watched it in silence for a while, her expression unreadable.
Then she began to laugh — softly at first, then louder, a sound that filled the room with something dark and triumphant.
"The people," she said between breaths, her tone almost reverent. "The ones who bowed before the crown and cheered when I burned."
Her laughter stopped abruptly.
Her gaze hardened, the smile fading to something colder.
"They will remember me. Every stone in this wretched town will weep for what it took. For what it cost."
She rose from the bed, her bare feet touching the floor with the grace of someone long used to power. Her fingers brushed against the vanity mirror, tracing a streak of condensation. The reflection that stared back was not entirely hers — the outline flickered, faintly overlaid with another woman's face.
The King's sister.
"I died carrying my child," she whispered, her tone breaking for the first time — sorrow bleeding through the anger. "And they called me a disgrace. They buried me without a name. Without a prayer."
A tear slipped down her cheek, but it turned to steam before it fell.
"No more."
She stepped toward the window, her palm pressing flat against the glass. Below, the town stirred with life — merchants opening their stalls, children chasing one another through the streets.
"You took my blood," she said, voice trembling with rage and grief. "Now I will take yours."
The sunlight dimmed slightly, though no cloud crossed the sky. The wind shifted — cold, whispering through the open panes as though answering her.
She smiled once more, softer now, but infinitely more terrifying.
"This is the beginning of chaos," she murmured. "And through their screams, my child shall rise."
A single droplet of blood fell from her wrist onto the wooden floorboards — bright, vivid, alive. It sizzled faintly before sinking into the grain like ink.
Outside, a flock of crows rose suddenly from the trees, their cries piercing the morning air.
The curse had begun.