In the young lord's bedroom, just as their sister rushed out, the twins whispered as the last of the maids left.
"You were right," Mia said.
"I usually am." Gia shrugged. "Have you ever seen that color before?"
"You tell me! You're the one always counting how many times her eyes shift a day!" Mia retorted.
"Hey, don't yell at me—i'm actually worried about her"
"Well, you're always worried about her"
"i know you do too" Gia hissed, gesturing at the sleeping boy. "Just as much as him"
"I…!" Mia snapped, then sighed. "…don't know." The last words came out a whisper.
"Come here," Gia hugs Mia "You big baby"
Mia doesn't resist—and hugs her back
"If you tell her, I'll hurt you" Mia warned.
"I'm taking it to my grave" Gia chuckled.
.><><><.
Meanwhile, somewhere along the hallway—I was lost in thought, absent-minded of my surrounding.
They called it the Influencer Surge.
A rare condition when one's influence energy builds too fast—or accumulated too much for the body to contain. Like a tidal wave trapped beneath the ribs, until it tore through.
Theo had it coming, inevitably. His manifestation was late—borderline strange. Born mages usually manifested early, like the twins did at three. It wasn't unheard of to be delayed, but everyone assumed his influence was just a faint spark. Of course they did.
But I shouldn't have been so stupid.
"They're all idiots! And I'm the biggest idiot for not seeing it coming!" I spat, frustration cracking my voice.
The thoughts pressed heavy against my chest. It wasn't guilt exactly—just that tight, choking kind of knowing feel, that everyone around me kept breaking, and in some twisted way, it was my fault.
I might actually have went blind, because I didn't notice the door until i walked straight into it.
"—Ow." i hissed, stumbling back and rubbing my forehead. "Great! I can't even stand my ground against doors now!"
"Iris?"
Of course. The universe wasn't done yet.
I sighed, flat and drained. "What?"
Marissa stepped out from behind the door, her posture perfectly poised as always—but her face wasn't. It hovered between shock and something softer. Her lips parted like she meant to speak but forgot how.
"Iris… are you alright?"
(Did I hear that right?)
"Your eyes," Marissa whispered, then paused.
"What about them?"
No answer. Just that same wary, scared stare everyone had been giving me all morning. Father included.
Do I really look like I'll shatter any minute?
My teeth clenched. I didn't want pity. Never asked for it, never would. "I said—what?" my tone cracked sharper than intended.
"N-nothing," Marissa stammered. "I just thought—never mind. I'll excuse myself." She curtsied, retreating quickly.
"Marissa never stammers…" I murmured to myself. "Just how wrecked do I look?"
Fairly enough, I hadn't seen my reflection since the kidnapping.
Emily had returned home after her release. And i didn't trust any of the others. I just found it odd to believe that people made to wash, clean, cook, and serve—be at their beck and call—always, could still see nobles in a favorable light. Not to mention they had no right to argue.
(Emily was the only authentic one among them, at least.)
Then i saw it—the reason behind the frightened glances. In the faint reflection of the glass pane beside the stairwell, my eyes stared back at me.
Not green.
Not blue.
But grey. Like Blind grey.
(That figures, I'm spent )
I'd never seen grey. I reached up, fingertips brushing my skin, a little confused, then dizziness slipped in, blurring my vision. My head spun, breath shallow.
I leaned against the glass for support, eyes shut. A hollow laugh escaped my lips.
"I need some air."
.><><><.
A Pyromancer—at nine. He'd live through it, it's just fire. Pyromancers were immune to flames… supposedly.
I'd been told all this. But knowing didn't make it easier to see him lying there, barely breathing, thick air with that faint metallic heat only Pyromancers carry. (My fault for wishing he'd gain power sooner, stupid.)
The more i thought about Theo's reckless outburst, the more my chest ached. The house was suffocating. No air. And the walls felt like they were closing in.
I burst through the back door that led to my garden near the east annex—that one breath of peace. But my sanctuary wasn't empty.
Two figures rested under the willow tree. The Prince and his ever-present shadow, Ryder Belmont. Both asleep.
{Ofcourse.}
I approached quietly, half out of habit, half out of irritation. I'd have preferred to avoid him entirely—but this was my garden. My fresh air. He could find his own.
"You aren't running away this time?" Raymond's voice drifted, eyes still closed. Or so i thought—until his icy blue gaze met mine.
"I… have no idea what you mean," i said flatly.
"That's good, actually." He sat up, gaze steady. "I've been meaning to tell you this, since our first meeting at the palace."
I said nothing.
"I really like your eyes. They're beautiful, even now."
Something in his tone felt genuine, it made my stomach twist—it wasn't admiration, wasn't pity, but something seeing through me. It irritated me more than I'd ever want to admit.
"Thank you," i managed, turning away. I walked to the opposite side of the tree and sat down, back pressed to the bark, willing my mind to quiet. to let myself breath.
"Finally getting some shut-eye?" he asked.
"I'd like to try," i muttered.
"You're exhausted," he said after a pause. "Not sleepy."
"I didn't realize there was a difference between the two, Your Highness."
A muffled laugh followed—Ryder's, no doubt. The rustle that came after was probably him getting a disciplinary kick.
"Your Highness," I continued, tone detached, "while I appreciate the royal gesture of condolence… please forgive me. I don't have the strength to exchange shallow pleasantries right now. So, if you would—please leave me be."
Silence lingered between us-three—long,thick and unspoken. I closed my eyes.
They didn't leave.
The wind blew peacefully, we just sat on the grass, a quiet shadow on the other side of the willow hovered over me