Nicholas hadn't walked these halls in sixty years. The wood still bore the same familiar groan beneath his boots. Edmund offered a polite nod from his frame. Nicholas returned it with a slow inclination of his head. Isolde pressed a painted hand to her chest. The old woman with white hair simply watched, her gaze heavy with unspoken recognition.
He followed Roxane up the stairs, the leather satchel at his shoulder, the wooden box secured under his arm. When they reached the nursery, the door stood wide open. Jane was leaning against the wall with her back to the stones, while Jack sat in the chair by the window. Both of their faces were haggard, ashen grey, and it's clear they hadn't slept properly in ten days.
Nicholas set the wooden box on the nightstand and turned his attention to the girl in the bed.
Morwenna's dark hair was shot through with stark, brilliant sections of white, and her eyes remained closed while she breathed with a slow and even rhythm. The green snake was still pressed against her side, and Cinder lay at her feet. The fox's amber eyes were fixed on the newcomer with a wary intelligence.
Nicholas didn't need to touch her to see her state. Six centuries had taught him to read the spirit as easily as a physician reads a wound.
Morwenna's soul was weak and flickered at the edges. It wasn't broken, but stretched thin, frayed where the ritual had torn it loose and forced it back.
"She won't wake like this. Her spirit still needs to bind to the frame," he said, his voice low in the still room. "Her soul has to settle before I can examine it properly."
Jane's voice was hoarse when she spoke. "How long?"
"Two days, maybe three."
Jack stood up, his posture stiff. "What do you need?"
Nicholas opened his satchel and pulled out a small glass bottle filled with a pale gold liquid that shimmered even in the dim light. "She must drink this. Put one drop in water three times a day. It will anchor her soul to her body while I prepare my tools."
Jane took the bottle, her hands steady despite the exhaustion visible in her eyes. Seeing that the instructions were understood, Nicholas left the room to give them space.
On the first day, Morwenna didn't move. Jane sat beside her and fed her the water with a small spoon. Although the liquid was bitter, the girl swallowed it without waking. By the second day, her breathing began to deepen, and the flickering at her soul's edges started to settle into a more permanent alignment.
Nicholas returned to the nursery on the evening of the second day, carrying a silver bowl, a vial of clear liquid, and a single white candle. "Everyone out," he commanded gently.
Jane looked at him with a brief hesitation, but Jack put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.
"We will be in the corridor," Jack said, leading her out.
Once the door closed, Nicholas set the bowl on the nightstand and poured the clear liquid into it. He lit the candle, watching as the flame burned small and steady, and then he placed his hands on either side of Morwenna's head. His fingers didn't touch her skin, but hovered just above her temples as he closed his eyes.
The gold potion had done its work. The soul lay visible now, mapped in light and shadow. He saw the fractures first. Jagged lines, like ice split by a sudden blow. They were knitting together, but some edges remained raw, resisting the mend. Beneath the tears, he felt the weight.
"This wasn't right. A child's spirit should be light, pliable, still forming. This was heavy. Dense with decades of quiet endurance. Only a small fraction carried the natural brightness of five years."
He opened his eyes and saw that the candle flame hadn't even flickered. He sat back on his heels to process what he had seen.
. . .
The next morning, he asked for a private space to work, and Aldric gave him the small study on the second floor. Nicholas set up his equipment, laying out crystal vials and a small silver knife alongside the bowl. Roxane joined him a few minutes later.
"You found something," she said.
"I found two things." He laid the vials on the desk. "Her soul's tear marks are from the moment of death. Something ripped her out of her body, and when she came back, the soul was forced back in. Most of the tears are healing, but some are resisting."
Roxane waited for him to continue.
"The density is all wrong. Most of her soul is too heavy for a child. It has the density of someone much older—perhaps decades older."
Roxane's green eyes narrowed. "Another life."
"I think so. When she died, her soul didn't stay in the void. It went somewhere else and lived another life entirely. When she resurrected, it was pulled back here."
Roxane remained quiet for a long moment. "Can you prove it?"
Nicholas picked up the silver knife. "I need a piece of each portion—the dense part and the normal part. They will be very small, and she won't feel a thing."
He returned to the nursery where Jane and Jack were waiting. They didn't ask questions, simply stepping aside to let him work. Nicholas placed his hands near Morwenna's head again and closed his eyes, finding her soul's two distinct portions. He took a sliver from each, harvesting threads of light thinner than a human hair, and placed them in separate crystal vials before sealing the lids.
The verification took three hours. He poured the first thread into the bowl, added a drop of his own blood, and spoke words that had no sound. The liquid cleared. He repeated the process. The result was the same.
One soul. Two lifetimes. Not a stranger. Just her, carrying the weight of what she had survived.
— 14th June, 1985, After a month of observations and examinations
He wrote it on parchment.
The family gathered in the morning room that evening. The fire was lit and the windows were dark, creating a somber atmosphere as Nicholas stood at the head of the table. He read his findings aloud, explaining the tear marks and her soul's unusual density.
"She lived another life," he concluded. "When she died here, her soul went somewhere else for decades. When she resurrected, it was pulled back."
Celestine's voice was quiet and trembling. "Était-elle heureuse là-bas?" she asked.
Was she happy there?
Nicholas hesitated. "The density readings suggest she wasn't particularly happy. There's evidence of trauma and mental health issues. Her soul carried those burdens back with her."
Luelle pressed her hand to her mouth, and Raphaël immediately put a comforting arm around her. Nicholas set the parchment down.
"I can't go any deeper. Soul work is delicate, and in her condition, any further probing would be dangerous. What I have seen is enough."
He turned his gaze to Jane. "She is still Morwenna. Not a stranger, not someone else, just her own soul, carrying the weight of another life."
Jane didn't cry. She simply nodded in acceptance.
. . .
The departures began the next morning. Celestine kissed Morwenna's forehead and left without a backward glance. Lucien followed, his steps slow on the stairs. Raphaël stood in the doorway until Luelle took his hand, leading him down the hall.
Elara paused at the bottom step, looking up toward the nursery door. "She will wake," she said, though no one answered her.
Sylvaine left in silence, her footsteps dissolving into the manor's quiet. The house grew still, holding its breath. Only Aldric, Seraphina, Saoirse, Jack, Jane, Roxane, and Nicholas remained. The long month stretched ahead. They would wait. They would watch. And when the time came, they would be ready.