"You know," she said softly, circling me again with slow, deliberate steps, "it wasn't supposed to be you."
My breathing slowed instinctively — careful, guarded.
She stopped directly behind me, voice dropping lower, stripped of every soft pretense:
"He was supposed to be mine."
No volume needed. The words carried absolute weight — spoken like a truth merely delayed by petty inconvenience.
I turned my head just slightly, trying to catch sight of her shadow. "What are you talking about?"
Matilda let out a quiet laugh — dry… weary… entirely without amusement.
"You really don't understand, do you?" she murmured. "Draven Everfrost didn't simply appear fully‑formed. The South never just 'received' him like some gift."
Her tone sharpened, edge turning cold as steel.
"I was there long before you ever even learned his name."
A pause stretched heavy and telling.
"We trained side‑by‑side. Grew within the same rigid systems. Bound by the same harsh expectations and iron discipline. I knew his habits… his silences… the way he calculated every breath… before he spoke in sentences that weren't measured and planned."
Her fingers tightened almost imperceptibly at her side — old resentment coiled tight there.
"I understood him."
Then she stepped round, lifting her eyes straight to mine — and something shifted deep in how she spoke: softer now… but far more dangerous in its quiet certainty.
"You didn't."
"Do you truly imagine what you hold is love?" she asked gently, almost pitying. "Or perhaps fate written in stone?"
A thin, bitter smile touched her mouth.
"It is nothing more than interruption."
My hands curled tight at my sides. "I want no part of this conversation," I said firmly, stepping back just enough to claim space. "Whatever fantasy you believe—"
"Oh no," she cut in smoothly, stepping closer again — and this time the distance she closed felt deliberate and wrong. "You do need to hear it."
"You know what strikes me as funny?" she went on, tone light and lethal all at once. "He was never meant to harden into something this cold… this distant."
Her eyes narrowed.
"That change began the moment the South remade him into nothing but a weapon."
Another beat of silence.
"And later… when people exactly like you started calling him a monster."
My chest squeezed tight, breath catching. "I never spoke that word against him."
Matilda's gaze flickered — sharp and instant, catching every flicker of truth or weakness.
"Is that so?" she breathed soft. "Then what exactly did you say… right there in the great hall… during the ball?"
Silence fell heavy between us. Before I could build defense — memory crashed hard: the crowded room, the heavy tension, the sharpness I had let slip into my voice… and how every watching ear had turned it instantly against him.
Matilda's smile sharpened as she read every trace of guilt plain across my face.
"There it is," she purred. "You did insult him."
I swallowed hard, throat dry. "That isn't how it was meant—"
"You openly questioned his authority," she continued smoothly, cutting straight through my words. "In front of nobles already hunting for cracks in his power… desperate for reasons to doubt or defy him."
Voice dipped lower, venom sweetened soft.
"And then — you smiled so freely at Ephraim… standing right beside the man every soul here fears to cross."
My throat locked shut.
Matilda tilted her head, studying me like a puzzle solved long ago.
"Did you truly not notice?" she asked. "How fast everything shifted after that single night?"
A pause — heavy and accusing.
"Or perhaps… you did notice… and simply didn't care enough."
Her tone softened again — cruelest turn of all.
"Because you believed rules didn't apply… since he follows you like some loyal shadow."
Cold meaning slid sharp into every word she spoke next:
"He does not follow you, Seraphina. He monitors you."
That single word dropped like ice straight through my gut.
She pressed even closer now — breath light against my ear.
"And even knowing that… you still ignored every warning I gave."
My brows drew tight in confusion. "Warning?"
Slow, deliberate nod.
"Yes." Her smile returned — thin and triumphant. "I told you plainly once: do not push him past breaking point. I said you walked upon ground you could never truly understand… power older and sharper than you guessed."
Gaze hardened again to flint.
"But you kept stepping forward anyway… certain you were safe."
Her hand lifted slightly — hovering in empty air near my shoulder, never touching… yet carrying threat enough to raise gooseflesh everywhere.
"So now… we finish what must be done… properly."
"Matilda—" I breathed, stepping back fast.
She cut me off instantly — voice dropping from softness into sudden, biting frost:
"Do you imagine I do this out of hatred for you?"
One beat of dead silence.
Then low, cold laughter:
"No."
"Only because you stand directly in the path of what belongs to me."
The air itself altered around us — no open violence yet… but clear, sharp intent coiling tight everywhere.
"You should have stayed neatly inside the place you belonged," she murmured. Her eyes darkened deep as storm‑clouds. "But you chose instead to wander where you never fit."
A faint breeze stirred soft through rose branches… and for first time — deep instinct flared sharp: Wrong. Everything is very wrong indeed.
Deep in the background of thought, the System flickered once… faint and unsteady.
"And now we stop pretending you didn't choose this end yourself."
Matilda's tone remained gentle… almost polite. But the instant the last word left her mouth — the whole garden shifted. Not loud… not visible… yet undeniable: skin prickled first, senses screaming before reason caught up.
I stumbled instinctively backward. "…Matilda — tell me plainly — what is happening?"
She offered no answer. That silence was worse than any threat. Only watched — calm, steady… as if observing an outcome already written and sealed.
Slowly she lifted one hand — simple, unhurried gesture.
That was all it took.
The wind died instantly. Not fading gradual… but snuffed out. Every rose‑bloom and leaf hung frozen stiff… as if the living garden itself had forgotten how to breathe or sway. Her hand remained raised — controlled, effortless… waiting like one who holds command over things no ordinary soul touches.
Then — pressure: cold, invisible weight sliding slow down my spine. Not pain… but pure alarm screaming through bone and blood.
A flash burned bright behind my eyes:
[WARNING: HOSTILE INTENT DETECTED]
Not guidance. No aid. Only raw, urgent alarm. My stomach twisted hard.
"…What is this power?" I whispered, voice cracking.
Matilda smiled faintly — unimpressed… bored almost.
"You are far too slow to catch on," she said softly. "That has always been your fatal flaw."
My fingers dug into palms hard. "This isn't funny."
"I am not laughing."
Her absolute calm chilled me deeper than rage ever could. I understood clearly now: this was no fit of anger… no simple jealousy. This was preparation.
Step back. One. Then another.
But as my heel shifted ground — sound rose from deep within shadowed hedges: too quiet for footfall… too matched and rhythmic for chance.
Head snapped sharp round. Movement again… and again… shapes rising dark and still between thick stems… waiting like they had grown there from the earth itself.
"No…" I breathed out — thin and broken.
Slowly she lowered her hand… exactly like closing a heavy bolted door forever.
"I told you clearly: you should never have strayed so far from safety."
Air changed completely — warning vanished… replaced by cold, undeniable certainty: it begins now.
Body moved before mind decided — I spun… and ran.
Something lunged fast from greenery: hand reaching hard. I twisted aside just barely in time — fabric tearing loud at my sleeve, not enough to catch… yet close enough to taste death. Stumbled forward onto open path… and found another rising straight before me: masked, silent, blocking every way out.
Heart hammered violent against ribs. Behind — footsteps followed: slow… unhurried… Matilda walking in no rush at all.
"I truly did hope it need not turn messy," she called after me, sounding almost genuinely disappointed.
Breath came sharp and ragged. "You are completely insane!" I gasped.
She tilted head with maddening composure.
"Not insane," she corrected soft and terrible. "Only consistent."
Strong fingers clamped hard around my arm — iron grip stopping all momentum instantly. I wrenched back… fought wild… only for second hand to crush tight against my shoulder… third locking firm at waist. Too many. Too fast. Too perfectly coordinated.
"Let go — let me GO!"
System screamed again — blinding red flare:
[WARNING: CRITICAL HOSTILE ENGAGEMENT]
Still no help arrived. Only alarm. Pulse thundered until it hurt behind eyes. Kicked backward hard — struck solid flesh… earned only muffled grunt… no release.
Then heavy arm locked round throat from behind — not crushing air fully… but forcing head down, dragging weight toward earth. Knees struck hard stone and dirt — pain shooting sharp upward. Gasped for breath… garden spinning blurred round me.
Matilda stepped into my lowered sight… crouching slow until her face hovered level with mine. For first time ever — that careful, practiced control slipped. Her smile was no longer polished… it looked openly relieved.
"There at last," she whispered. "Now we can drop every false game."
Panic sharpened every fading sense.
"Hit her," Matilda commanded — voice snapping clear and cold as whip‑crack.
Blow landed square against cheek: blinding burst of white‑hot pain exploding outward. Head snapped back hard… stars bursting wild behind vision. Iron taste flooded mouth — blood thick and warm spilling fast from split lip. Before I could recover — heavy kick drove deep between ribs: breath torn completely away into choked, useless gasp.
I folded inward like cloth cut loose from frame — limbs heavy… useless.
"Where is your mighty Duke now, Seraphina?" Matilda hissed above me — venom dripping thick. "Did he abandon you? Or did he never truly care what became of you at all?"
Tried to lift myself… to claw or strike… but iron hands held me pinned fast. Second blow — heavy against temple — sent shockwaves of agony straight through skull.
Vision swam… masked faces merging into one shifting nightmare shadow. Cold damp earth pressed rough against skin… soil seeping through torn gown. Every nerve screamed raw protest.
Draven… The name shaped itself silent in throat — final desperate prayer fading fast. I clung hard to memory: his sleepy, rough‑edged tone… solid warmth of arm… steady beat of heart I had rested against. It felt now like something belonging to another life entirely.
"Finish her!" Matilda shrieked — voice rising into shrill, manic delight. "Make her pay fully for every moment she stole!"
Heavy boot ground down hard between shoulder‑blades — forcing face deep into dirt until air could not enter lungs at all. Chest burned… starving… world tilting wildly off balance. Blows rained steady and merciless — hammer‑strokes driving consciousness further and further away… toward dark edge no return from.
This is it. Cold knowledge settled heavy and final. This is exactly how it ends.
Limbs turned lead‑heavy… unanswering. Pain dulled into distant throbbing fog… senses dissolving one by one. Shapes blurred into single towering darkness. Matilda's wild triumph‑laughter echoed last — cruel music leading me down.
Just as blackness reached to swallow everything whole… faint sound rose far away: deep, vibrating roar — like thunder tearing upward from beneath the earth itself.
But it came too late. Eyes drifted shut… body went limp… and everything dissolved into thick, silent, suffocating night.