Christopher's pen moves again after weeks of silence. Andrea's call brings chilling signs that the Sepulcher is stirring, and Bianca's presence deepens the mystery. What begins with frost and fever ends with silver eyes no one else can explain.
─── ❖ ────── ❖ ────── ❖ ───
It has been nearly a month since I last wrote. The days blurred together with research and restless pacing, and I would not waste ink on silence. We chased maps that led to nothing, pressed scribes who whispered contradictions, and argued until exhaustion wore us thin. But today, at last, the silence broke.
Andrea called me. The sound of her voice alone was enough to surprise me, but her words unsettled me further. She spoke of mirrors frosting over without reason, of her fridge spitting ice cubes at her feet, of her body swinging from chills to fever within minutes. The child within her stirred restlessly, its movements wild, erratic. Fear had lodged itself in her voice. She confessed she would not see a doctor, afraid they would lock her away as unfit. James dismissed her.
I told her where I was. I told her what I suspected. That the Ethereal Snow was near.
When the line went dead, I sat for a long while, staring at the empty page of this journal. Her words clung to me like frost, lingering in my ears. Signs I could not ignore. The Sepulcher was stirring, though it lay far beyond her reach. And if Andrea was already feeling its pull, then it was only a matter of time before others did too.
That was when Bianca's voice startled me from across the aisle. "Well, I was wondering why you changed to the role of a mouse."
I looked up and managed a smile. "Yes, I have been quiet, have I not?"
Her smile widened, though faintly. "You feel the stirrings as well?"
I gestured to the chair opposite mine. "Sit. There is something I must share with you."
She listened as I recounted Andrea's call, the strange happenings at her home, the fever and frost, the child thrashing as though it had already fought the world. I told her Andrea would arrive within a day.
Bianca's hand pressed sharply to her belly, her body folding slightly forward. Her eyes widened. "He just kicked me. Harder than before. Harder than ever."
Her breath escaped in a cloud, misting the air between us. For a heartbeat, I thought the chill of the Labyrinth had deepened, but no, the frost came from her. Yet she laughed softly, shaking her head. "If something like this is going to happen to me each time something good or bad stirs, then childbirth should be a breeze."
She rubbed her belly, still smiling, but when her gaze lifted to mine, I froze.
Her eyes had changed to a silver hue. Shimmering like metal catching firelight.
And then they were gone, the color fading in a blink, leaving her unaware. But I knew what I had seen. The child was already reaching outward, eager for the meeting yet to come.
─── ❖ ────── ❖ ────── ❖ ───
This entry raises the stakes: two expectant mothers are now bound to a place that calls to them across distance. Christopher records with unease, sensing the unborn are already aware of one another. Yet neither he nor the parents truly grasp what they are walking toward. The question lingers: what will happen when they finally meet?