"We do not bloom in sunlight, Seraphina. Some of us grow only in shadow."– Lady Miren
***
The east wing of Everfell Estate—the ancestral seat of House Dorne—had been sealed for six years—an unspoken tomb for Seraphina, who was declared mad before her fall from grace. Her family pretended it was a renovation zone. But everyone knew.
Today, it reopened for her return.
Lady Miren, the stern old matron who once served as Seraphina's personal maid, waited in silence by the door, key in hand. Her once-black hair had gone silver, her spine bent—but her eyes, those steel-gray sentinels, missed nothing.
"Your things were untouched," she said. "Per your father's orders. But not everyone agreed with him."
As Seraphina stepped into the musty room, a wave of forgotten scent and silence hit her. Dust-veiled furniture. Wilted curtains. An untouched tea set still sitting on the window ledge.
"Why did he keep it locked?" Seraphina asked, voice low.
Lady Miren didn't meet her gaze. "Guilt," she said simply. "Or fear. Maybe both."
Seraphina touched the edge of her writing desk. A glint of gold caught her eye. A corner of something — parchment, curled and blackened.
She pulled it free.It was a torn diary page. Charred around the edges. Written in her own handwriting.
But… she had never written this.
They say I am mad. That I mutter curses in my sleep. But I swear I saw Kael in the fire. And he was smiling. If this page is found, know this: I did not fall by accident. I was pushed.
Her breath caught.
She stared at the ink, at the eerily familiar slant of her letters. She had no memory of writing these words.
"You alright, my lady?" asked Lady Miren softly.
Seraphina folded the paper, tucking it into her sleeve. "Yes," she lied. "Just… memories."
Miren's eyes didn't budge. "Be careful. Some memories don't want to stay buried."
As the old woman turned to leave, she paused at the door. "Your return… it was foretold, you know."
Seraphina frowned. "By whom?"
Lady Miren gave her a strange, haunted smile. "By you."
That night, long after the moon painted her room in pale silver, Seraphina awoke to a whisper.
A voice — too familiar to be forgotten — breathing from the shadows.
"Liora."
She froze.
No one knew that name.
It was her true name, from her old life as the Saintess.
And someone had just spoken it.