AELIA REVA
The room had gone quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against my ribs until breathing itself felt like it might break it. Outside, the wind scraped its fingers along the stone walls of the house, carrying the distant creak of trees. I sat curled in the armchair opposite Seraphine, knees pulled close, hands locked together like they were the only anchor I had.
For a long while, Seraphine didn't speak. She sat with her back straight, her fingers worrying the rim of the mug on the table beside her. The steam had faded long ago, leaving the air with nothing but the faint, ghostly smell of herbs.
Finally, I whispered, almost afraid of the sound of my own voice.
"Tell me about her."
Seraphine's head lifted, eyes softening as though she had been expecting this question, dreading it, and preparing for it all the same.
"Your mother?" she asked, though it wasn't really a question.
I nodded.
