"Irrys, my dear sister!" Fatima's voice broke with unrestrained joy, her steps quickening as though every ounce of her longing propelled her forward. A radiant smile bloomed across her face, softening the traces of weariness that had clung to her during the long, agonizing wait. Her arms stretched wide, eager to close the distance, heedless of the cool, unreadable mask her sister wore.
At last. At long, aching last her sister had finally come for her. Relief and elation crashed over her in waves so strong her chest tightened, her heart hammering against her ribs as if it might burst with happiness. She had known Irrys would eventually show up; she had clung to that certainty like a candle flame in the dark, even when Raul's sly words and restless movements filled her with dread.
Fatima paid no mind to the frown gathering on Irrys's face. Swept away by her joy, she flung her arms around her elder sister, clutching her tightly as though afraid she might vanish. "I've missed you so terribly," she breathed, her voice quivering with the
force of her emotions. "I feared we'd never see one another again." The words spilled out like a confession, unpolished but raw with truth. She knew Irrys hated to be touched without permission, but in that moment, Fatima couldn't help herself.
The sight of her sister crossing the threshold had unraveled her restraint completely. She pulled back only enough to drink in Irrys' face, cradling it between her trembling palms as if she held something precious and fragile. Her
thumbs brushed over her sister's cheekbones, and she tilted Irrys' head gently
left, then right, her tear-streaked eyes searching every line and curve, as though to reassure herself that this was no dream. A giggle, light and trembling, almost childlike, escaped her lips. "You're even more beautiful than before," she whispered, awe softening her tone.
Irrys did not return the warmth. Her gaze, sharp and unyielding, fixed on Fatima like the tip of an arrow poised to strike. The silence between them was heavy, stifling, and yet
Fatima clung to her joy, unwilling to let it falter. Home. She was home now, in her sister's presence. No longer under the duchess' lash, no longer sleeping on a hay bed in the stables.
"Why on earth are you wearing a black dress, Rys?" Fatima asked softly, the question slipping out before she could think. A nervous laugh bubbled up in her throat, brittle and out of place, and she took several steps backward, her pulse quickening under her sister's cold and unyielding stare. "You look rather frightening in it," she added, trying to
turn her unease into playfulness, her smile trembling but genuine. Fatima's face beamed with relief and joy, but Irrys' expression remained eerily still, stripped of the warmth and love she remembered. There was no glimmer of familiarity in her sister's expression.
Irrys drew in a long, deliberate breath and spoke to Raul over her shoulder, her voice, low and heavy, cut through the air like a vicious blade, "Put out the lights, Raul." The chamber instantly sank into darkness, save for the pallid wash of moonlight seeping through the window.
Shadows stretched across the walls as Irrys' icy stare on Fatima slowly shifted to something else. A vicious sneer that instantly sent a forewarning shiver through Fatima's body, and she flinched, her mind reeling with confusion. This is my beloved sister, my own blood, the person I love the most in this world.
There is no need for me to feel alarmed or scared. She thought, trying to appease the fear that was starting to creep into her heart. Yet some deep, primal part of her soul whispered otherwise, urging her to flee. I'm safe. I am safe with Irrys. My sister would never hurt me.
The thought had barely taken hold before pain erupted in her gut, sharp, merciless, tearing the breath from her lungs. Fatima staggered, a strangled cry breaking from her lips as her hands flew to her stomach. Her fingers met the hilt of a dagger, its blade
buried deep. She lifted her head, her eyes wide with disbelief, her face crumpling into a painful wince as she stared into Irrys' cold eyes. Her elder sister stood before her, the dagger steady in her grasp, her expression still and lifeless.
Fatima's heart broke beneath the weight of the moment, her mind refusing to accept it, clinging desperately to the sister she once knew. Tears blurred her vision as she choked out, her voice cracking, "Sister, why?" But
the stillness on Irrys' face gave no answer. Only silence.