Aurelia stared at her reflection in the tall, dust-veiled mirror...the only object in the room untouched by cobwebs or gloom.
But there was nothing lovely in what she saw. Her fingers trembled slightly as they brushed over the grotesque ridges of skin running across her face....a scar that had never faded, no matter the salves, no matter the spells.
Once radiant with the beauty of her late mother, now her features were twisted by something darker.
A jagged scar cut down from her temple, curving beneath one eye. Her once-rosy lips were pale and cracked, her nose slightly crooked from where the bones had once shattered.
Her hair, once reddish golden as sunlight, now hung in lifeless strands of ashen blonde, frizzing wildly at the ends.
The curse had come when she turned fourteen. During the siege of Ashmere.
It struck on the night of her mother's death, with a storm of crimson flames and wailing wind. No one spoke of what happened that night.
But she remembered the heat, the pain, the blinding agony that burned her skin...and her fate. When it ended, her mother was gone, and Aurelia Flameborne was no longer beautiful.
The servants stopped looking her in the eyes. Her father, Lord Azarion Flameborne, the great Flame Lord of Emberhold, moved her into a high, shadowed tower far from the central palace.
Out of sight, out of shame.
She was barely fifteen when her stepmother, Isadora, arrived....an elegant woman with eyes as sharp as obsidian glass and a voice like velvet laced with knives. Isadora made it clear where Aurelia belonged: far from the ballrooms, away from the guests, unseen during the seasonal feasts.
Only Gwendolyn remained by her side.
"Milady, you must eat something," Gwen's soft voice coaxed from the doorway as she entered the chamber carrying a silver tray. Her dark auburn curls were tucked under a simple lace cap, and her freckled face bore a warm, patient smile.
Aurelia didn't turn. She traced the outline of her scar in the mirror.
"How long has it been since you ate properly?" Gwen pressed, setting the tray down. The scent of roasted apples and buttered bread filled the small room.
"Three days," Aurelia whispered.
Gwen's voice grew firmer. "You won't grow stronger by starving yourself. Not if you still want to leave this tower one day."
Aurelia gave a bitter laugh. "Leave? And do what? Terrify the Emberhold with my face?"
Gwen crossed the room and gently placed her hands on Aurelia's shoulders. "Your face does not define you. I've told you this. Your heart does. Your mind does."
"You can say that," Aurelia murmured. "But even Father cannot bear to look at me."
Silence lingered.
She didn't hate her father. Not entirely. But his absence spoke louder than words.
Emberhold, their ancestral fortress, was a place of fire and pride. Sprawling crimson towers adorned with black banners, molten rivers carved into the stone walkways, fireplaces that burned without wood. It was the envy of the South, its walls said to be infused with dragonfire from centuries past. Blessed by ignarion himself.
And yet, in this fortress of fire, Aurelia had grown cold.
Gwen stepped back to lift the tray. "Eat a little. Please. For me. I even smuggled some cinnamon on the apples."
Aurelia raised an eyebrow despite herself. "Did you steal again from the palace kitchen?"
"I did not steal," Gwen said with a grin. "I borrowed. For a noble cause."
Aurelia shook her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. She took a seat at the narrow wooden table, letting the warmth of the bread seep into her fingers.
Gwen poured her a cup of cinnamon tea. "You dreamt again, didn't you?"
Aurelia paused. "Yes," she admitted. "The same dream. The one with the red sky... and the man made of storms."
Gwen sat across from her, brows furrowed. "Do you think it means something?"
Aurelia stared into the tea. "I don't know. But it always ends the same way. He's calling me by name. Like he knows me."
The room dimmed as a cloud passed before the morning sun. Far below, Emberhold roared with the sounds of court life: soldiers sparring, servants bustling, voices echoing through stone corridors. But none of it ever reached her tower.
Aurelia's eyes lifted to the small round window.
"Gwen... do you think I was cursed for a reason?"
Gwen's answer was immediate. "You were not cursed. You were punished by a world that feared your mother's power. And yours."
Aurelia looked up sharply. "My power? I have none. The fire won't come for me."
Gwen's gaze was steady. "Yet you keep dreaming of storms. Maybe you're not meant to wield fire. Maybe you're meant to survive it."
A shiver raced down Aurelia's spine. She swallowed the last bite of her apple and rose from the chair.
"Help me dress," she said.
Gwen blinked. "Where are we going?"
Aurelia moved toward the wardrobe, pulling out a modest grey gown. "Nowhere yet. But if I must live in this tower... I won't do it as a ghost."
She didn't say it aloud, but something had changed in her. The dream had grown stronger. The voice more distinct. The red sky closer.
And she doesn't know if would be ready when it comes, or in what form it will.
That evening, as shadows crept along the stone walls, Aurelia sat by the window, watching the twilight paint Emberhold in hues of fire and wine.
Somewhere beyond these walls, the nobility would be gathering in the great hall for the Midmoon Banquet. She could almost hear the laughter, the clinking of goblets, the rustle of silk gowns. It had once been her world, too.
Now, she belonged to silence.
The same dream haunted her that night.
The red sky burned above a shattered world. Thunder cracked across the heavens as lightning danced through ashen clouds. And there he was again...tall, cloaked in silver and smoke, eyes like violent storms. He reached for her.
"Aurelia."
His voice was wind and war and longing.
Her feet sank into the bloodstained ground. Around her, the ruined battlements of Emberhold crumbled into nothing. Fire raged behind her, but she couldn't look back.
"Come to me."
She opened her mouth to answer...but woke up with a gasp, sweat slicking her brow.
Moonlight spilled across her chamber. Her breath trembled. Her pulse thundered like a war drum.
It was not just a dream.
It was a calling.
And in that moment, the girl who had once hidden behind cobwebs and silence stood barefoot before her mirror once more, not knowing what to do, or what to make of her dream.
If her mother was still maybe she'd have answers to her dreams.
She always do... But she isn't here now, and Aurelia like always... Felt lost and didn't know what to do.