I opened the cursed book again to check its contents. It didn't mention anything about those who wouldn't be affected by Demonia's magic.
Theo was bound, hanging upside down from the ceiling by his legs in my room. I'd tried to shake his principles and loosen his consciousness a bit, just enough for Demonia to fill in the gaps. Like breaking something, then gluing it back together the way you want. But, as I'd suspected from the start, it didn't work.
"Hmmm," I hummed in contemplation, speaking to Demonia. "We can try it on Darius to make sure my theory is right."
So we left Theo in the room for now and went hunting for Darius. Eventually, we found him talking to a few people near the Vault's entrance_people I shouldn't be seeing. When he saw me, he fell silent. A flicker of surprise and confusion crossed his face.
"Elena," he said, trying to sound cheerful, "what are you doing here? And where's Theo?"
"Theo's having a strong moment with the latrine," I said, and he nearly choked on a laugh. "I thought I'd wander around and explore a bit while he finishes his business."
"Alright, that's a great idea. I haven't given you a proper tour yet, nor introduced you to the head of the house—the Dark Sovereign. I know Theo gave you one, but I bet it was excruciatingly boring," he replied, trying to seduce me with his charm and polished tone, masking his concern about the Vault.
Out of the corner of my eye, I glimpsed Lucius. He gave me a small reassurance bow when no one was looking.
And so, Darius began taking me through the house, talking about each room and every object in excruciating detail—I swear, he nearly bored me to death. Meanwhile, Demonia was trying to alter his mind a couple of times. Each time, he looked confused, dazed, and slightly panicked, but he clung to that cool demeanor he wore like armor.
Just like that, I confirmed my theory was right. So I kept playing along, feigning surprise at every useless, weird-looking item he showed me. But along the way, I could feel his eyes watching me in a strange, calculating way.
He stopped in front of a tall, rusted mirror and turned to me. "This is my favorite part of the house. This mirror isn't just junk—it's called the Mirror of No Lies. Anyone who dares to lie while looking into it doesn't just lose their mind... they unravel. Their thoughts twist, their memories bleed into each other, and they forget who they are. It strips you down to the truth—and if you're not ready to face it, it devours you."
He circled around me until he stood behind me, his chest pressed against my back. I could feel every inch of him pressed against me. He placed his hands on my shoulders, and together we stared into the mirror. His grin was a little wild, a little wicked. His eyes glimmered, and he whispered in my ear, "Tell me, Elena... are you fond of games?". His voice was laced with silk, and with every word, my body shivered. But inside, I was fully aware of the trap he'd set for me. I could see the arrogance in his eyes—the kind that thinks it's untouchable. Let him dig his hole. I'll be the one to bury him in it.
I pressed harder against him until I could feel his body shiver. "Maybe," I replied, tilting my head. "Are you?"
This was fun.
"Indeed, I am. Why don't we play a little game?" he said, his grin widening. His fingers drummed lightly on my shoulders . His voice dropped into something velvet-soft, but there was a flicker in his eyes—something feral, almost feverish.
"Hmmm," I said, trying to sound playful. "And what does the winner get?"
"Is this how you want to play it then?" he asked, thrilled, almost drunk on anticipation. "Then the winner gets anything he wants." His voice was laced with confidence, like he'd played this game a thousand times. "But the liar," he continued, leaning closer, "might lose his mind."
"The rules are simple. Just don't look away from the mirror. If you lie, the mirror reacts—it pulses, your reflection distorts, your mind begins to fracture, and you lose. Don't worry," he added with a smirk, "it usually comes back in a couple of days."
He gestured toward the mirror with a slight bow, one hand pressed theatrically to his chest. "You can start, of course. It would be ungentlemanly of me to go first."
Demonia stood between me and the mirror, shielding me from its direct gaze. Her arms were crossed, her posture firm. She gave me a single nod of reassurance, and I smirked.
"Why do you want that relic, Darius?" I asked, voice low and laced with silk.
A flicker of fear flashed in his eyes. He squeezed my shoulders so tightly his fingers bit into my skin. He really hadn't expected that question. As if he thought I'd submit to his every command? That was stupid. But somehow, I noticed from the start he was so focused on a specific goal that he'd overlooked everything else.
"Because I want power," he whispered, voice cracking. But the answer was too short—and now I understood how he plays this game.
It was his turn, and I braced myself for anything he might say. But this?
"What have you done to Theo?"
He knows. But how much did he know?
"Well," I said, tilting my head slightly, "Nothing that I don't plan on doing again. I might have enjoyed it more than I expected." And that wasn't a lie.
I let my voice drip with something suggestive—just enough to sound dirty, just enough to let him fill in the blanks with whatever meaning his twisted little mind preferred.
But with that answer, his body stiffened. He clenched his jaw so hard I heard a faint crack.
"My turn," I continued. "Is power a means or a motive for you? What will you use it for, Darius? What part of you is so empty that only a relic can fill it? Tell me all of the truth."
His eyes widened—but he shut his mouth. His façade was beginning to crack, and the mirror in front of us began to shift.