Jane stood outside the nursery with her palm still pressed against the oak door. She lingered for a long moment, then turned and walked down the shadowed corridor. The portraits watched her in silence. Every step felt heavier than the last
The sitting room held its breath. Aldric and Seraphina sat close to the hearth, their faces drawn in the flickering light. Celestine and Lucien occupied the armchairs by the window. Elara stood rigid against the bookcase, eyes fixed on the floorboards.
Viviane perched on the sofa arm, legs crossed, while Sylvaine claimed a straight-backed chair near the door. Raphaël and Luelle shared a small settee, shoulders pressed together. Saoirse leaned against the stone wall, arms locked tightly over her chest.
Jack stood by the mantelpiece, exhaustion carving deep lines into his face. Roxane sat in the centre of the room. She claimed no obvious authority, yet her stillness commanded the space. Jane took the empty seat beside Jack.
For a long moment, the only sound was the crackle of the fire.
Jack was the one to speak first. "The preparations. Are they really complete?"
Aldric leaned forward, his voice low and carefully measured. "The blood ritual will increase from fifteen runes to twenty-five. Based on her performance last year, we could push it to thirty or more, but this time she isn't only facing the blood ritual. It's better to keep the count below thirty."
Saoirse shifted against the wall, her brow furrowed. "Twenty-five is still a lot for a 5 year old."
"She can handle it," Seraphina said, her voice thin but firm. "She handled fifteen and stayed awake both times. Morwenna is stronger than she looks."
Roxane uncrossed her hands, and every eye turned to her. "On the LeFay side, the preparations are also complete," she said. Her voice remained level, stripped of comfort. "Unlike the previous rituals, this one works primarily on the soul's connection to the bloodline, rather than the physical body or the magical core. The soul is far harder to heal than the body and much more difficult to stabilise, which is why this is more dangerous than an ordinary ritual bath."
No one spoke. A single log popped in the fire, sending a flurry of sparks up the chimney.
"I am the best healer the LeFay line has, and physical healing is my domain," Roxane continued, looking around at the gathered family. "But we also have someone who specialises in the soul. It will be fine."
Jack's hands tightened into fists at his sides. "Who is it?"
Roxane didn't answer him directly. She simply looked toward the window, where the night pressed heavily against the glass. "They will be here when they are needed."
Celestine shifted in her chair, her green eyes narrowing. "The heart blood."
Roxane nodded. "Unlike the previous bath, this time we need one drop of heart blood from the parents and both sets of grandparents for the base mixture. The god-grandparents provide additional anchoring, while the godparents serve as the extra links." She counted them off on her fingers. "Seven drops of heart blood in total."
Jane's hand went instinctively to her chest. Jack reached over and covered it with his own, his grip grounding.
"All of it is already stored," Roxane said. "It's kept safe for tomorrow."
Aldric straightened his back, his expression solemn. "The positions."
Roxane continued. She stood and paced slowly to the centre, turning to face each of them in turn. "You will stand at fixed distances. Inner circle, four metres: Aldric, Seraphina, Jack, Jane, Celestine, Lucien. Outer circle, six metres: Elara, Viviane, Sylvaine." Finally, she gestured to the room's very edge. "The rest of you will stay at the outermost line, at seven metres. No one steps out of their position. No one moves, no matter what happens."
Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper. "If anyone moves, we will face the worst possible outcome."
Luelle's hand found Raphaël's, and he held it tightly. Roxane turned back to the room's centre. "Because this ritual focuses on the soul, the fire beneath the bath will be connected to her heartbeat and her life force. It tells us she lives. If the flames die, she is gone. They can't be relit."
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Roxane sat back down, her hands returning to her lap in a gesture of finality. "Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin."
. . .
The family dispersed slowly, and Roxane's words' weight hung over them. Celestine and Lucien walked upstairs together, their footsteps soft on the old wood. Raphaël and Luelle followed shortly after. Elara paused at the door to look back at Jane with a lingering gaze, while Viviane touched Jane's shoulder once in a quick, light gesture of solidarity. Sylvaine offered a curt nod before disappearing into the corridor shadows.
Saoirse stayed by the wall for a long moment, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest. Then she pushed off the stone and walked out without saying a word. Aldric and Seraphina were the last to leave, and Aldric paused at the door. "Jane."
She looked up, her eyes tired.
"Rest," he said gently.
She nodded, and he left. The sitting room was empty now, the fire burning low and casting long, flickering shadows across the furniture. Jane walked to the small desk in the corner. She pulled out the baby blue journal and opened it to a blank page. Her quill hovered, trembling slightly, before it touched the paper.
May 1, 1985.
Tomorrow is the ritual. The real one. L'Éveil du Sang (The Awakening of the Blood).
She paused, and a bead of ink pooled at the quill's tip.
Seven drops of heart blood. Twenty-five runes. Four metres, six metres, seven metres. No one moves. Grand-mère says the soul is harder to heal than the body. She says the fire will show us if she is still alive. If it goes out, she is dead.
Jane stared at the ink. It looked too sharp against the cream paper.
I have to believe she will survive.
She set the quill down. The words sat on the page, heavy and unmoving. She didn't close the book. She simply sat until Jack crossed the room and rested his hand on her shoulder.
"Come to bed," he said.
She stood, leaving the journal open. They walked upstairs through the darkened halls. The portraits slept in their frames. Jane paused outside the nursery door. Her palm rested flat against the wood.
She didn't knock. She just stood there, listening to the quiet breathing inside, until Jack gently guided her away.
She turned and walked to their bedroom, and the door closed behind them. The house settled into a deep, uneasy silence.
. . .
The light was a flat, uninspired grey when Jane opened her eyes. She hadn't slept at all, but had instead lain in the dark with Jack's arm across her waist, listening to the clock tick away the seconds. At some point, the grey had crept through the curtains, and she hadn't even noticed the transition. She sat up, and Jack's hand fell away. He was already awake, staring up at the ceiling with a vacant expression.
They dressed in total silence.
. . .
The morning room was full. Steaming food sat untouched on the plates. Morwenna sat between Jane and Seraphina. Her hair was nearly black now, only the tips holding onto white. The silver streak at her temple caught the pale light. The velvet snake rested in her lap, coiled around her legs. Cinder lay under the table, his chin on her knee.
The air felt heavy, thick enough to choke on. Morwenna watched the steam curl from her tea and vanish. She looked at Jane's trembling fingers. She saw the tight line of Aldric's jaw. The silence pressed down on her,
A cold, hollow dread sat in the pit of her stomach, a fear that had no name and no shape. She felt small—smaller than she had been yesterday—as if the world were growing larger and more dangerous around her.
She picked up her fork, held it for a moment, and then put it back down. She looked around the table at each of them. All of them were waiting. She could feel the pressure of their eyes, the weight of their unspoken worries.
Morwenna sat up straighter and spoke clearly. "I will be fine."
She said it like a simple fact of nature, like it's a simple statement, calm and certain. Saoirse's mouth twitched, and Jane squeezed her hand under the table. No one argued with her.
. . .
After breakfast, Jane helped her change into simple cotton shorts and a grey shirt. Morwenna sat on the edge of the bed, the nursery suddenly feeling like a place she had already left behind. Cinder pressed warm against her legs. The green snake lay on the pillow, watching with blank glass eyes. She waited
. . .
By mid-morning Jane walked beside her and Jack followed close behind. The stairs felt freezing under her bare feet. The ritual chamber waited below, torches burning low, blue runes pulsing across the floor.
The ritual chamber was exactly as she remembered it: stone walls, torches burning low, and the floor runes pulsing with that soft, rhythmic blue light. The altar sat at the centre, its grey cloth smooth and expectant. The blood ritual always came first; it was the foundation upon which everything else was built.
Morwenna lay on the grey cloth. The stone pressed hard against her back. She stared at the ceiling and watched the torchlight flicker across the stone. Then the carving began. Twenty-five marks. Each one flared against her skin, a sharp bite of frost followed by a heavy, creeping warmth.
The runes pulsed in time with the low chanting. She felt them root into her flesh, pulling and pressing, demanding space. She counted the shadows to keep her mind from fracturing.
One. Two. Three.
The air grew thick, hard to pull into her lungs. The pain climbed, a dull, relentless pressure that threatened to pull her under.
She didn't scream. She gripped the edge of the cloth until her knuckles turned white. She forced her eyes open. She kept counting
She lost her count, found it again, and then lost it once more.
At some point, the crushing pressure eased. The runes dimmed, and the chanting stopped. She was still on the stone, still awake, and still breathing. Jack lifted her from the altar, her arms hanging heavy and her head resting against his shoulder. Voices reached her, sounding distant and blurred through her exhaustion's haze. Jane's hand touched her cheek.
"It's done," her mother whispered.
"Done," Morwenna repeated.
The ceiling faded, the shadows slipped away, and then there was only nothingness.
. . .
Warmth pulled her back to consciousness. She opened her eyes slowly. The nursery fire burned low and steady. Cinder was curled at her feet, breathing in slow rhythm. The green velvet snake lay heavy against her side, anchoring her to the mattress. She didn't remember the stairs. She didn't remember the corridor. Only the stone and the chanting remained. Jane sat in the chair by the window, hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were red-rimmed but clear.
"The blood ritual is done," Jane said softly. "It worked."
Morwenna nodded. Her body felt hollow, drained of everything, yet the sharp ache had faded, leaving only the heavy pull of sleep dragging at her eyelids.
"Sleep, baby. Rest now," Jane whispered.
Morwenna closed her eyes as the fire crackled softly in the hearth. Cinder's tail gave a single thump against the blanket. She let the quiet pull her under, sinking into a deep, dreamless dark.