The music had long faded.
The ball was over. The masks had been worn, the polite smiles exchanged, and the gazes full of suspicion had followed her long after she stepped out of the ballroom.
Now, alone in her chamber, Seraphina stood before the tall windows, the moonlight spilling across the floor like silver blood.
Her gown lay discarded on the chaise. She had wrapped herself in a loose robe, her dark hair falling over one shoulder like ink. Her hands trembled—not with fear, but with something far more volatile.
Magic.
It pulsed through her veins like wildfire.
It had started on the dance floor, subtle at first—a tingling in her fingertips when she touched Caius's hand. But now, in the quiet solitude of her room, it roared behind her eyes, alive and ancient and waiting.
She closed her eyes and extended her hands over the marble floor.
Breathe. Focus. Let it speak.
A flicker. A spark. Then—flames.
Not visible, but felt. A current that moved with her breath, whispering in a language she hadn't known she remembered. Visions bloomed behind her eyelids: shadowy figures, a throne crumbling to ash, a sword driven into a heart that beat like thunder.
And always—his face.
Caius.
The moment she killed him was etched into her soul like a curse. His blood had stained her hands once.
But not this time.
Not if she could rewrite the story before it reached its end.
⸻
She opened her eyes.
Her palms glowed faintly with ember-like light before fading again. A soft gasp escaped her lips.
It's waking up. And it remembers everything I tried to bury.
Seraphina sat at her desk and pulled out a blank parchment. Her hands moved swiftly—no longer shaking—as she began to write.
Not a letter.
A list.
Enemies. Allies. Hidden players. Weaknesses. Secrets they think I've forgotten.
She paused at one name.
King Alaric.
Her jaw clenched.
He had used her. Manipulated her into becoming a weapon. She had trusted him once, served him without question—and in the end, he let her burn for sins he orchestrated.
Not again.
She drew a small dagger from beneath a drawer and pricked her finger. A drop of blood hit the parchment.
A mark. A promise.
⸻
Later that morning, the palace halls whispered louder than usual.
"Did you see how the Duke avoided her eyes?"
"She danced with the golden boy. Caius. Bold."
"She shouldn't be here. They say she sees the future. That she—"
Seraphina passed them without blinking. The rumors had already begun to fester. Let them. A little fear was useful.
She entered the royal council chamber not as a guest, but as a silent observer. The king had summoned his advisors to discuss the unrest at the borders—but she knew the true reason. They wanted to see what she remembered. How dangerous she might still be.
The room was cold. Stone walls lined with banners. A long table carved from dark wood. She took her seat near the end, far from the king, but close enough to see the tightness in his jaw when their eyes met.
Caius sat near the center, listening, absorbing. He didn't look at her at first.
But she watched him.
His composure. The flicker of discomfort when someone mentioned the Eastern rebellion—he knew more than he said.
A minor lord spoke too confidently. Another hid a scroll beneath his cloak. Two of the noblewomen exchanged coded glances.
The entire room was a stage, and every actor thought they knew their lines.
They don't know I've read the script before.
The king dismissed the council with a wave, and nobles filtered out like smoke. Seraphina stayed seated.
Then—
"Stay," the king said to Caius.
And to her.
A test.
⸻
She met Caius's gaze for the first time since the dance. He looked at her like she was a riddle carved into stone, half-forgotten but not entirely erased.
When they were alone, the king leaned forward. "Lady Seraphina. What do you make of the rebellion's timing?"
She tilted her head slightly. "Suspicious. Unless someone within the court is feeding them information."
A silence followed.
The king's eyes narrowed. "And you'd know about betrayal?"
She didn't flinch. "Better than anyone."
Caius looked between them, tension in his shoulders.
The king stood. "That's enough. You're dismissed."
They both left without another word.
⸻
Outside, in the palace corridor lit by early sunlight, Caius finally stopped and turned to her.
"You shouldn't provoke him like that," he said.
"He deserves worse," Seraphina replied.
"You're playing a dangerous game."
"I always have."
He exhaled, jaw tightening. "Why are you really here?"
She stepped closer. "To change the ending."
He blinked, startled.
Seraphina looked at him, really looked. The scar beneath his eye—the one she gave him. He didn't remember it, but she did. Her heart beat painfully.
"You don't know what they'll do to you," he said softly. "If they fear you."
"They already do."
Their eyes locked. Silence stretched between them.
"You're not the same girl they remember," he whispered.
"No," she said. "I'm not the girl he remembers, either."
For a breathless second, the world narrowed to the space between them. He lifted a hand—almost touched her cheek—but stopped.
"Why do I feel like I've met you before?" he murmured.
Because you have.
Because I killed you.
But she didn't say it.
Instead, Seraphina stepped back, her voice a whisper of smoke.
"Careful, Caius. The more you look, the more you might remember."
And she left him standing there in the hall, with too many questions and not enough time.
⸻
That night, the flames danced for her again.
But this time, she didn't fear them.
She welcomed them