Seraphina didn't leave her chambers that morning.
She remained by the window, fingers absently brushing the blood ruby at her throat. The necklace Lucien sent hummed faintly with heat, almost as if it had fused to her skin overnight. The sensation was unsettling—but oddly comforting.
A warning.
A ward.
Or both.
She didn't know anymore.
Nothing in Nightspire could be trusted. Not the mirrors. Not the history books. And certainly not the man who haunted her dreams as much as the curse itself.
Lucien Nightbane.
The man who had claimed to see her before.
In other lives.
The thought turned her stomach and thrilled her in equal measure.
Was it madness?
Or had she finally stepped into a truth the empire had long buried?
A knock on her door pulled her from thought.
Mira entered with a silver tray, carefully balanced. "His Grace invites you to dine in the greenhouse this evening."
"The greenhouse?" Seraphina echoed.
"Yes, my lady. It's… rarely used. But he said you'd prefer it over the main hall."
Seraphina arched a brow. Lucien was many things—cold, enigmatic, cursed—but he had never struck her as sentimental.
And yet, the request didn't feel like an order.
It felt like an offering.
She nodded. "Tell him I'll come."
The greenhouse was tucked behind the western wing, half-swallowed by ivy and shaded by the looming walls of Nightspire. Its glass panels were smudged, its iron framework bent in places—but inside, it was alive.
Wild roses bloomed beside black thistle. Silver moss crept up the walls, glowing faintly in the dim light. Strange, crimson-petaled orchids hung upside down from iron hooks.
It was haunting.
And beautiful.
Lucien stood near the far end of a long stone table, setting down two wine goblets. His coat was gone, sleeves rolled up, hair damp as if he'd just bathed. Without his usual armor of formality, he looked… human.
Even tired.
"You came," he said without looking.
"You invited me," she replied.
He gestured to the seat across from him. "Sit. We won't be disturbed."
She sat.
The wine was dark and spiced. The food was simple—grilled pheasant, roasted vegetables, and warm bread. Nothing extravagant.
For once, it felt less like a trap.
And more like a conversation waiting to happen.
"I want to know the truth," she said after a moment. "No riddles. No cryptic warnings."
Lucien leaned back, swirling his wine. "The truth is dangerous, Seraphina."
"So is silence."
He studied her, eyes unreadable.
Finally, he said, "You asked why I believe I've seen you before. I'll tell you. But only if you promise not to run."
She frowned. "Why would I run?"
"Because once you know… you'll never unsee it."
She hesitated.
Then nodded. "I want the truth."
Lucien stood and walked to a small chest in the corner. From it, he retrieved an old leather-bound book.
He laid it on the table before her.
A journal.
"I found this in my father's study after his death," he said. "It belonged to Evelyne D'Ambrose—my mother."
Seraphina opened the book, carefully flipping through the delicate pages.
Drawings. Symbols. Mirror diagrams. Words in languages she didn't recognize.
But what stopped her was a sketch.
Of a woman.
Her face.
Her hair.
Even the necklace.
"This is me," she whispered.
Lucien nodded. "She wrote about a woman who appeared in her dreams. A woman who burned. Then returned. Again and again. Always with a different name. Always drawn to Nightspire. Always the same face."
Seraphina's mouth went dry.
"She believed you were a soul tethered to this place," he said. "A soul the curse was built around."
Seraphina stared at the drawing, her own heart pounding in her ears.
"How is this possible?" she asked.
"I don't know," he admitted. "But the mirror—the one in the chapel—it's older than Nightspire. Older than the empire. My mother believed it was a gate. And that the curse is a chain connected to it. You may not have broken the curse by coming here, Seraphina…"
He paused.
"You may have awakened it."
She pushed the journal back and stood. "No. That's not fair. I didn't choose this."
Lucien rose slowly. "Neither did I. But we're both here. And the castle… it's starting to remember."
A silence settled between them.
Then Seraphina asked the one question she feared most.
"If I die here again—will I come back?"
Lucien's gaze darkened. "You might. But you won't be the same."
Her hand instinctively found the ruby at her neck.
He stepped closer. "That necklace was made for Evelyne. She claimed it kept her grounded—to this life. But she stopped wearing it the night she disappeared."
Seraphina looked up at him.
His eyes weren't cold tonight.
They were haunted.
"You knew this was coming," she said. "And you married me anyway."
"I had to," he said. "I couldn't fight it alone."
As they stood there, surrounded by living plants in a dead castle, something ancient stirred in the glass panes above them.
A reflection.
A shape.
Watching.
Waiting.
...........
In the greenhouse of forgotten dreams, the past took root.And this time, Seraphina wasn't sure which life she was truly living.