Beatrice's expression slowly shifted.
The relief she'd felt only moments ago dissolved beneath a growing frown.
"Wearing..." she repeated quietly. "...your face?"
Aire nodded once.
Her stomach twisted just thinking about it.
"The Dark Fae call him Lysander."
The name alone seemed to chill the room.
"He..." She swallowed, her fingers unconsciously curling into fists. "He stole my skin."
Neither Beatrice nor Asterion interrupted her.
"He looks exactly like me." She glanced at her hands briefly. "So perfect that even I..." Her voice faltered. "Even I thought I saw him a few moments ago."
Her eyes drifted toward the mirror she'd deliberately turned away.
"I looked into the mirror..." She shook her head. "...and for a second..." She forced herself to breathe. "...he smiled at me."
Beatrice instinctively reached for her hand.
Aire let her. Only because she was too tired to pull away.
