Seraphine was sitting upright in bed, nightgown draped elegantly over her frame, posture straight as a blade. The lazy grin, the careless sparkle in her eye gone. In their place was the razor-edged composure he remembered all too well.
Her crimson eyes locked on him, unblinking. A slow, deliberate stillness filled the air.
For a heartbeat, Elric didn't move.
"…Good morning, my lady," he said at last, the hesitation threading through his normally calm tone.
Seraphine stood, and even that simple movement carried a different weight than it had for days graceful, deliberate, as though every step was part of a dance only she knew. Gone was the casual, boyish gait; in its place was the sway of a woman who knew the power of every line of her body.
She crossed the room, the faint rustle of silk trailing her steps. Elric stood motionless as she stopped at his side, her lips brushing dangerously close to his ear.
"You're late," she murmured, her voice low and silken. "You're supposed to be here before I wake."
His breath caught for just a moment. "…My apologies," he replied.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn't step away. Instead, she took his hands both of them holding them firmly. Her grip was warm but unyielding.
"Pick my dress for today," she said, the words not a request but an expectation.
Time blurred until she sat before her vanity, dressed in a fitted black gown that traced her figure perfectly. She wore it without fidgeting, without complaint, sitting with perfect poise. Elric, standing behind her, combed her hair in practiced, steady strokes.
Her gaze in the mirror was sharp enough to cut glass.
"I heard the maid left yesterday," she said suddenly.
The comb paused for the briefest second in Elric's hand.
He knew exactly which maid she meant the one who had dared to touch him, the one Seraphine had punished brutally. That had been weeks ago,yeserday? did she forgot what happened this last few days?, but that was a different Seraphine entirely. Now her usual attitude is back,she had no memory from these past few days, its not a reincarnation, this is a split personality.
His thoughts tangled. So when will the other her, be back?…
He was quiet,He didn't answer Seraphine's question immediately. That was his mistake.
Her hand shot up, gripping his wrist not with violence, but with a coiled strength that made the air tighten between them. "Why the delay?" she asked, her tone dropping colder, eyes narrowing like frost forming over red embers. "I asked you a question."
Her nails pressed faintly into his skin, a warning, not yet a wound. Elric's voice remained steady, almost detached. "I've had no recent news of her, my lady."
A pause. Her grip lingered for another breath, and then… softened. She turned, taking his hand gently this time, bringing it to her cheek as though it were the most precious thing in the world. Her lashes lowered, her voice nearly tender.
"…Forgive me," she murmured, brushing her lips against his skin. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Elric's expression didn't change. "It's quite alright, my lady."
---
They dined together not long after, seated at opposite ends of a gleaming mahogany table. Sunlight streamed through the high windows, catching in the dark silk of her dress and the pale gleam of her hair.
Seraphine ate with elegance, but her gaze never left him sharp, unrelenting, as though every move he made was being measured. When he reached for the wine, she was already extending the glass toward him. When he adjusted his collar, she leaned forward slightly, as if to commit the gesture to memory.
"You haven't smiled yet this morning," she remarked suddenly, as though it were a failing on his part. "Smile for me."
He didn't. Instead, he served her another portion of the roasted pheasant.
She took it with a faint smirk. "Still stubborn. I like that."
Halfway through the meal, she rose without warning and walked to his side, ignoring the etiquette of the dining hall entirely. She placed her hand on his shoulder a delicate weight, but the kind that could anchor a man in place.
"You've been keeping your distance," she said softly, her breath brushing the shell of his ear. "Don't."
He glanced up at her, meeting that unwavering gaze. "…As you wish."
She smiled slow, satisfied, like a cat that had cornered its prey and returned to her seat.
And all the while, he kept wondering…
Was the woman from the past days gone entirely? Or was she still in there, somewhere, waiting for her turn again?
The midday sun poured into the Evandale gardens, painting the hedges and flowerbeds in shimmering light. The air was thick with the scent of roses, and in the center of it all sat Seraphine, brush in hand, her black dress a striking shadow among the blooms.
Elric stood at her side, his posture straight and silent, gloved hands folded neatly behind his back. Every now and then, her crimson eyes would flick up from the canvas to study him before returning to her work as if ensuring he was still exactly where she left him.
The quiet was broken by the soft steps of a young maid approaching, silver tray in hand.
"My lady," the girl began, "I have brought your tea"
Seraphine's gaze snapped to her like a whip. Without a word, she reached for the porcelain cup, lifted it… and in one smooth motion, hurled the steaming liquid directly into the maid's face.
The girl flinched, biting back a cry as hot drops slid down her cheeks. She lowered her head quickly, trembling but not daring to move.
Elric's hand twitched toward Seraphine's wrist, the urge to stop her blazing through him but he froze. He knew from experience that interfering now would only fan the flames.
"I did not ask for you," Seraphine said coldly, her voice flat, each syllable deliberate. "Nor do I wish to see any other woman in my presence today."
The maid's breathing hitched. She bowed so low her hair hid her face entirely.
"Yes, my lady," she whispered, retreating without another sound.
Seraphine returned to her painting as though nothing had happened. "Tea," she muttered under her breath, a bitter smirk curling her lips. "I only want you to serve me, Elric."
He gave no reply, but the words settled in the air between them like smoke lingering, inescapable.
---
By late afternoon, the golden light of the setting sun stretched long shadows over the garden. Elric sat beneath the old oak tree, the cool grass a welcome contrast to the day's tension. His eyes were closed, the warmth of the fading sun against his face.
He felt her before he saw her the rustle of fabric, the faint brush of perfume. Then the weight of her body eased onto his lap, her head nestling against his chest as though it had always belonged there.
Seraphine didn't speak. Her breathing slowed, steady and quiet, as her fingers toyed lazily with the fabric of his vest. For anyone else, this might have been a peaceful scene a duchess resting in her loyal butler's arms but for Elric, the moment was anything but simple.
His hand rested lightly at her back, but his mind was elsewhere.
This isn't just reincarnation, he thought. The Seraphine from the past days and the one in my arms now… they're not the same. The real one this one she's here, alive. And the other? She must be something else entirely. A shadow? A second soul?
He had considered the idea of possession, but the changes in manner, in voice, in even the way she looked at him… They were too stark to ignore.
If the true Seraphine was never gone, then perhaps the other woman the laughing, chaotic one was still here too, waiting for her moment.
The thought lingered like the cool breeze through the branches above.
Seraphine shifted slightly, pressing closer against him, her hand finding his and trapping it against her waist. Even in sleep, she didn't release him.
"You're mine," she murmured softly, barely awake. "Always."
Elric didn't answer. His gaze drifted toward the fading horizon, the orange bleeding into crimson, and he wondered how much longer this balance or imbalance could last.
By the time the garden was cloaked in silver moonlight, Seraphine was still curled against him. The night air was cool, cicadas humming softly in the distance.
Elric looked down at her sleeping face calm, almost innocent and for a moment, it was easy to forget the way she had stood over the maid earlier, her voice like a blade.
But only for a moment.
With the care of a man handling the most delicate porcelain, he shifted her into his arms. She stirred faintly, a soft sound escaping her lips, but didn't wake. Carrying her through the quiet halls, his steps were silent, his shadow gliding across the marble.
In her chamber, he laid her gently on the bed. The moonlight spilled across her hair, catching the strands like threads of gold. He adjusted the blanket, letting his gaze linger a second longer than necessary then turned away.
He had no time to stand there. There was something else he had to do.