The corridor leading to Selene's chamber was colder than the rest of the manor. Seraphina could feel it immediately — that faint drop in temperature that clung to her skin like dew. The torches along the walls flickered unevenly, their light struggling to hold steady as she walked.
She paused before the door, her fingers hovering just above the polished handle. Behind it, she could hear the faint scrape of movement — slow, deliberate, almost rhythmic. Her breath caught.
"Selene?" she called softly.
No reply. Only the steady sound of pacing.
Gathering her courage, she pushed the door open.
The room was dim, heavy curtains drawn against the morning light. The air smelled faintly of smoke and something metallic — something like blood. Selene stood by the window, her back turned, her long dark hair cascading over her nightgown. For a moment, she looked so still that Seraphina thought she hadn't heard her enter.
"Selene," Seraphina said again, more firmly this time. "We need to talk."
Her sister turned.
The face that met her wasn't unfamiliar, yet there was something… off. The curve of her lips too stiff, the gleam in her eyes too sharp to be gentle. She smiled — a slow, unsettling smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"Talk about what, dear sister?" Selene asked in a voice so calm it chilled the air further.
"About you," Seraphina said, stepping forward cautiously. "You've changed. You barely eat, you hardly sleep, and the servants are afraid to even knock on your door. What's happening to you?"
Selene tilted her head, amusement flickering across her features. "Change is natural, isn't it? We're not children anymore, Seraphina. Perhaps I've just… outgrown what you expect of me."
Seraphina frowned. "This isn't outgrowing. You speak in riddles, vanish for hours, and Father—" her voice cracked "—Father asked me to find you. Before he fell unconscious. Do you know what that means?"
Selene's expression faltered for a fraction of a second — a flash of something darker passing through her eyes before the smile returned, softer now but edged with something cruel.
"Father is tired," she murmured. "He says things he doesn't mean."
Seraphina took another step closer. "Please, Selene. If something's wrong, tell me. You don't have to hide it. You're scaring me."
For a moment, the silence between them thickened. Then Selene let out a soft, almost pitying laugh. "You should be scared, sister. Fear keeps us awake when the world begins to rot."
The words struck her like a slap. "What are you saying?"
Selene turned back toward the window, staring into the mist beyond. "The time for truth will come," she whispered. "When the reflection shatters, you'll understand why things must break before they can be made whole again."
Seraphina felt a shiver race through her. "Selene, this isn't you."
Selene turned slightly, and for just an instant, her face seemed different — older, harsher, as though a shadow passed behind her eyes. But when Seraphina blinked, it was gone.
"I'm fine," she said lightly, her tone almost cheerful now. "You worry too much."
But as Seraphina turned to leave, defeated and uneasy, she caught sight of something on the vanity — a silver bowl filled with dark, dried petals and a faint trace of crimson smeared along its rim.
Her heart skipped.
When she looked back, Selene was watching her — that same smile on her lips, patient and knowing.
"Goodnight, sister," Selene whispered.
It was morning.
And yet, Seraphina felt the light die behind her as she stepped out of the room.
Far beneath the grand halls of Valemont Manor, where the air was thick with damp stone and silence, another Selene lay motionless. Her body rested on an ancient altar carved from obsidian, its surface etched with forgotten runes that pulsed faintly with a dull red glow. The light flickered like a dying heartbeat — slow, fading, but refusing to stop.
Selene's eyes fluttered beneath her closed lids. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her lips trembled as if caught between whispering and breathing. Around her, candles burned low, their wax running like blood down the cold stone.
In her mind, there was no peace — only endless falling.
She ran through the same corridor again and again, walls twisting like veins, the ceiling breathing. Every door she opened revealed another version of her room — the mirror cracked, her reflection whispering things she couldn't understand.
"Wake up," the voice would murmur. "Wake up before she becomes you."
But she couldn't.
Every time she reached for the light, hands dragged her back — small, cold hands like those of a child. A child's laughter echoed behind her, turning sharp and broken as it merged with the sound of whispers — whispers that sounded almost like chanting.
The nightmare shifted. The floor beneath her became water, black and still. She could see her reflection — her face pale and hollow, eyes rimmed in shadow. Behind her reflection stood another figure — her, yet not her — smiling sweetly, holding a blade dipped in red.
Selene screamed, but no sound came out. The reflection's lips moved.
> "Sleep, little twin. Your time is borrowed."
The world fractured, shattering like glass.
Selene fell again — through darkness, through silence, through her own breath — until she landed back on the cold stone altar. The faint hum of ritual energy filled the chamber. Somewhere nearby, a low, familiar voice spoke in calm assurance:
> "Rest, my child. The bond is sealed. The mirror is no longer whole."
Tears slipped down Selene's face as her hands twitched, as though her soul was fighting to claw its way out of the dream. Her heart hammered against invisible chains.
"Seraphina…" she breathed weakly. "Help me…"
But no one could hear her.
The candles flickered once — then steadied again. The ancient chamber returned to silence, keeping the real Selene locked within her endless nightmare, while above the ground her twin slept uneasily, sensing something she could not name.