Seraphina walked beside Selene, their cloaks brushing as they moved down the slope from the manor. For once, the sisters looked nearly identical again — their hair pinned the same way, their faces half-hidden beneath hoods. But Seraphina could feel the difference between them, like standing beside a mirror that reflected not her likeness, but something waiting to take her place.
The town greeted them with silence.
Market stalls were abandoned, some overturned as though left mid-flight. A few villagers peered from behind curtains, eyes wide and hollow, their faces gaunt as if the fog itself had drawn the life from them. The air smelled faintly of iron — sharp and unpleasant — and Seraphina's stomach turned.
Selene walked calmly through it all. Her pace unhurried, her gaze sweeping the deserted square with a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"They're afraid," Seraphina murmured, glancing toward a small boy clutching his mother's skirts near a closed bakery.
"Of what?" Selene asked, her voice smooth, detached.
"Of… something they can't see."
Selene tilted her head, the motion slow, deliberate. "Then perhaps they see more than you think."
Seraphina turned sharply, startled by the weight behind those words. "What does that mean?"
But Selene only smiled faintly, continuing on as if she hadn't spoken at all.
They passed the chapel, its doors bolted shut. Black wax had been smeared along the handle in the shape of a circle — a sign of warding. The priest's quarters stood empty, the crucifix above the entry cracked clean down the middle. A chill threaded through Seraphina's veins.
"Father Benedict wouldn't leave," she whispered. "Not unless—"
"Unless he saw something that made him doubt his own faith," Selene finished, stepping past her. "Imagine that, sister. A man who prays every day and still fears the dark."
Seraphina stared at her. The tone — the slight amusement beneath the words — didn't belong to the sister she knew.
They continued toward the square, where a few townsfolk had gathered around the well. The water was blacker than ink, rippling without wind. A woman was kneeling by it, clutching a rosary so tightly her knuckles bled. When she saw the twins approach, she gasped and lowered her head.
"Your Highnesses," the woman stammered, "please — you must speak to His Grace. The town… it's cursed."
Seraphina knelt beside her. "What happened?"
The woman's lips trembled. "The crops wither overnight. The livestock are born wrong — twisted, half-formed. And the air…" She looked up suddenly, eyes wide and terrified. "The air whispers. It calls our names."
Selene crouched beside her, placing a delicate hand on the woman's shoulder. "And what does it say?"
The woman hesitated, then whispered, "It says she's coming."
Selene's expression didn't change. Only her thumb moved — a small, almost soothing circle against the woman's shoulder. "Then pray harder," she said softly. "Perhaps someone will listen this time."
The woman's breath hitched. She pulled away, scrambling back. Seraphina rose, anger and confusion twisting inside her.
"Selene, that was cruel—"
"Realistic," Selene interrupted. "If prayer could stop what's coming, it would've done so long ago."
Her voice was calm, but the words carried something sharp beneath — a truth that didn't sound entirely human.
As they walked back toward the manor, Seraphina noticed something else — every time Selene passed a reflective surface, the glass or water seemed to ripple faintly, as though reacting to her presence. Even the puddles distorted, their mirrored images trembling out of sync.
By the time they reached the bridge leading up to Valemont Hill, the fog had thickened, wrapping them in pale silence.
Seraphina stopped midway, turning to face her sister.
"Selene… what's happening to this town?"
"It's waking up," Selene said simply. "And when something wakes, something else must sleep."
Seraphina stared at her, her pulse quickening. "You're scaring me."
Selene smiled faintly, her eyes glinting with something cold and knowing.
"Good," she whispered. "Fear makes you see clearly."
The wind picked up, carrying distant murmurs — voices that sounded eerily familiar, like echoes of the townsfolk's prayers dissolving into something darker. Seraphina took a step back, clutching her cloak tighter.
Somewhere behind them, the church bell rang once — hollow and slow.
Selene turned toward the sound, her expression unreadable.
"Do you hear it, sister?"
"Yes…"
"Then you know," Selene said softly. "The first offering has been made."
The climb back to the manor felt longer than usual. The air grew heavier the higher they walked, as if the fog itself pressed against them, clinging to their cloaks and stealing the warmth from their skin.
Seraphina's thoughts churned.
The first offering has been made.
The words repeated in her head with every step. She tried to reason it away — perhaps her sister was only being cryptic, playing with her mind as she often did when they were children. But there was no playfulness in Selene's tone anymore, no softness in her eyes. It was as if something inside her had calcified, replacing warmth with purpose.
When they reached the wrought-iron gates of Valemont Manor, the guards stood stiff, their eyes downcast. One of them flinched when Selene passed, his hand trembling around his spear. Seraphina caught it — the subtle recoil, the silent fear — and it unsettled her more than anything they had seen in town.
Inside, the manor felt colder than the morning air. The chandeliers were unlit, and the long corridor leading toward the grand staircase was half in shadow. Their footsteps echoed against marble floors, hollow and distant.
Selene walked ahead without a word, gliding almost soundlessly. Her movements were too smooth, too precise — not the clumsy grace of her real sister, who used to laugh when her gown caught on a corner or her hair came loose in the wind.
Seraphina followed her into the sitting room. The fire there had burned to embers, filling the air with the faint scent of ash.
"Selene," she began quietly, "what did you mean earlier? About the offering?"
Selene didn't look at her right away. She stood before the fireplace, staring into the dim coals as if seeing something moving beneath them.
"Everything has a price, sister," she said finally. "Even peace. Even love. Someone always pays."
Her voice was so calm that it frightened Seraphina more than if she had shouted.
"What kind of price?" Seraphina pressed.
"One that's already been paid."
Selene turned then, her face half-lit by the fading firelight. The flicker cast shadows that didn't quite match her movements, and for a brief second, Seraphina could have sworn there was another shape behind her — faint, translucent, watching.
Seraphina stepped back, her throat dry. "You're not making sense."
Selene smiled faintly. "Sense is for those still asleep."
And with that, she walked past her sister and out of the room, leaving the faint scent of lilies and smoke trailing behind her.
Seraphina stood frozen, her chest tightening. She wanted to follow, to demand answers, but exhaustion pressed down like a weight. Her body ached from the unease that had settled over her for days. When she finally retreated to her chamber, dusk had already swallowed the sky.
The room felt different — heavier. The mirror by her dresser was fogged at the edges, though no window was open. She brushed her fingers against it, and for a fleeting instant, she thought she saw another reflection — not her own, but Selene's, pale and frightened, mouth moving soundlessly.
Seraphina blinked, and the image was gone.
She shook her head, clutching the locket around her neck, the one their mother had given them as children — two tiny glass pendants containing a single strand of each other's hair. They used to believe it kept their bond unbreakable.
But now… even that comfort felt foreign.
When she lay down, sleep came fast, as if pulled by unseen hands.
And then — the dream began.
She was standing in the manor's corridor, but it wasn't as it should be. The walls dripped with water, the paintings wept dark streaks, and every candle burned blue. The air was filled with the distant sound of weeping — soft, steady, endless.
"Selene?" she called out, her voice echoing unnaturally.
A faint sob answered from the end of the hall.
She followed it, her feet sinking slightly into the wet carpet. The sound grew clearer — a woman's sobs, desperate and muffled. When she turned the corner, she froze.
Selene was there — but not the Selene who walked the earth now. This one looked frail, trembling, her nightdress torn and damp. Her wrists were bandaged with crimson cloth, and her skin had the pallor of moonlight.
"Seraphina…" she whispered. Her voice was weak, distant, as though carried from beneath water.
"Help me… please… I can't find my way back."
Seraphina stumbled forward, her throat tightening. "Selene, what's happening to you?"
Selene shook her head, her tears falling soundlessly. "She won't let me leave…"
Before Seraphina could reach her, the candles flickered violently. A wind rushed down the corridor, carrying a thousand whispers. The reflection of the dream-Selene began to ripple, as though the world itself tried to erase her.
"Wake up, Seraphina!" she screamed, her voice shattering into echoes. "Please — wake up!"
The hallway collapsed into blackness.
Seraphina jolted awake, heart pounding, her sheets tangled around her legs. The fire in her hearth had gone out. For a moment, she could still hear that final whisper — help me…
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, gasping for breath.
The night was silent again, but she knew — something had changed. The dream wasn't a dream. It was a warning.