The palace slept beneath a veil of frost.
Somewhere far below, the last echoes of music faded into silence, replaced by the sigh of the wind threading through the corridors.
Seraphina sat before her mirror, still in her gown from the ball. The midnight silk clung to her shoulders like the remnants of a dream she hadn't quite escaped. Her hair, half-unpinned, fell in pale tangles over her collarbone. The room smelled faintly of lilacs and melted wax.
On the vanity, her reflection stared back — tired, still, almost lifeless.
She lifted her hand, tracing the outline of her face in the glass. The gesture should have felt harmless, but tonight it didn't.
Because the reflection's breath fogged the glass — before she exhaled.
Seraphina froze.
She leaned closer. The candlelight wavered, and for an instant the reflection's eyes weren't her own — darker, more knowing, watching her instead of mirroring her.
Then the flame guttered, and everything stilled.
From the corner of the room came a soft scratching sound — faint, rhythmic, like fingernails on wood.
Seraphina turned toward the wardrobe.
The sound stopped.
Her heart pounded in her throat. She rose slowly, moving through the dim light until she stood before the carved doors. Her fingers brushed the handle — cold as ice — and for a moment she could almost hear breathing behind it.
She opened the door.
Nothing. Only her gowns, hanging in silence.
She exhaled shakily, about to close it again when she noticed something she hadn't before: a patch of frost on the inner wall of the wardrobe, shaped like a handprint.
Child-sized.
The same size as the ones she'd seen in the nursery glass years ago.
She stepped back, gripping the edge of the bed to steady herself. The room felt smaller somehow — the air thick, the shadows too deep.
Then came the whisper.
VOICE (O.S.)
You saw him first.
Seraphina's head snapped toward the mirror. The surface rippled like disturbed water, her reflection distorting until another face emerged faintly beneath it — hers, but not hers. The same delicate features, but with eyes darker than midnight.
SERAPHINA
Who are you?
The reflection smiled.
VOICE
You know me. You always have.
The glass shuddered once — a deep, low vibration that seemed to hum through the walls. The candle flames bent toward the mirror as if drawn by breath.
Seraphina stumbled back.
SERAPHINA
Stop it—
VOICE
He should have been yours.
Her name formed on the glass in frost — SERA — before the mirror cracked with a soft, clean sound.
The pieces didn't fall. They just… waited.
In the silence that followed, she heard footsteps approaching — measured, calm — from the corridor beyond her chamber door.
A knock.
SELENE (O.S.)
Sera? Are you awake?
Seraphina stared at the shattered mirror, heart still racing. The frost letters began to fade.
SERAPHINA
(steadying herself)
Come in.
Selene entered, her golden hair loose, her face flushed from dancing. The scent of garden roses followed her — the same scent that clung to the boy's hand when he kissed her.
SELENE
You left the ball early. Father noticed.
SERAPHINA
I was tired.
SELENE
(smiling faintly)
You're always tired lately. You should've stayed. You might've enjoyed yourself.
Seraphina said nothing. She glanced toward the mirror. The crack had vanished — as if it had never been there.
SELENE
Are you well?
SERAPHINA
(softly)
I'm… not sure anymore.
Selene tilted her head, studying her. For a moment, her gaze softened — something almost like concern flickering behind her calm blue eyes.
SELENE
Then rest, sister. Tomorrow will be brighter.
She turned to leave, pausing at the door.
SELENE (cont'd)
Oh — and the young lord asked after you before he left. He said you seemed… distant.
She smiled, the kind of smile that could mean anything, and slipped away.
When the door closed, Seraphina looked back at the mirror one last time.
This time, it reflected her perfectly.
Until she blinked — and her reflection didn't.
The first light of dawn filtered through the drapes like pale smoke.
Seraphina woke with a start.
For a moment, she couldn't remember falling asleep — or even lying down. Her hair was still pinned, her gown still wrinkled from last night. The mirror stood across from her bed, unbroken, reflecting the soft gold of morning.
It almost looked ordinary again.
Almost.
She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes. Her throat felt dry, as if she'd been whispering all night. The sound of carriages echoed faintly beyond the courtyard, servants beginning their morning rounds.
A knock sounded at her door — soft, deliberate.
MAID (O.S.)
My lady? Shall I draw your bath?
Seraphina blinked hard, shaking the fog from her mind.
SERAPHINA
Yes… yes, thank you.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and hesitated. The carpet beneath her feet was damp.
She looked down — a faint trail of wet footprints, leading from the window to the mirror.
Small. Bare. Not hers.
Her breath caught. She rose, following them with trembling steps. The footprints stopped right before the mirror — then vanished.
The maid entered, humming softly, unaware.
MAID
His Majesty has requested the princesses join him for breakfast at nine. Shall I press your gown, my lady?
Seraphina forced a nod.
SERAPHINA
Yes. Leave it by the screen.
The maid curtsied and bustled into the adjoining chamber.
Seraphina turned back to the glass — and froze.
There was condensation forming on the mirror's surface again, even though the fire hadn't been lit. Slowly, words appeared as if written by an invisible hand:
"I never sleep."
The letters faded before she could move.
Downstairs, breakfast unfolded in the usual measured elegance — silver clinking, quiet conversation, the faint strain of a violin from the hall.
King Aldric sat at the head of the table, his eyes sharp beneath a crown that gleamed like cold iron. Across from him sat Queen Isolde, pale and composed, pouring tea for Selene.
Seraphina entered last, head bowed slightly.
KING ALDRIC
You're late.
SERAPHINA
Forgive me, Father. I didn't sleep well.
He gave her a single, disapproving glance — then turned to Selene with softened eyes.
KING ALDRIC
I heard you danced beautifully last night.
SELENE
(smiling modestly)
It was a lovely evening.
Seraphina took her seat beside her sister, her fingers tightening around her napkin.
QUEEN ISOLDE
Lord Daven was quite taken with you, Selene. His family is influential. It would be wise to keep their favor.
Selene's gaze flicked toward Seraphina — a flash of something unreadable in her eyes.
SELENE
Of course, Mother.
Seraphina pressed her lips together. The air between them thickened.
Her spoon trembled slightly as she lifted it. The reflection in the silver caught her eye — her own face, pale and tired. But behind her shoulder, in the mirrored curve of the utensil, another figure stood.
A girl.
She spun around — nothing.
Selene frowned slightly.
SELENE
Sera?
SERAPHINA
Nothing. I thought I saw—
QUEEN ISOLDE
Daydreaming again? You mustn't let your imagination run wild, Seraphina. It makes you seem… delicate.
The word delicate burned.
Seraphina forced a smile.
SERAPHINA
Of course, Mother.
But her heart wouldn't still. Every reflective surface — the polished teapot, the goblet, the silver tray — seemed to shimmer faintly, like something beneath was trying to surface.
After breakfast, Selene took her arm.
SELENE
You're trembling.
SERAPHINA
I didn't imagine it, Selene. There was something—
SELENE
(interrupting softly)
You've been anxious since we were children. Mirrors, shadows, whispers… maybe it's time you let go of those ghosts.
Seraphina met her eyes.
SERAPHINA
And if they won't let go of me?
Selene hesitated — then laughed it off, light and melodic.
SELENE
Then perhaps you need sunlight, not shadows. Come to the gardens with me.
She turned to leave, and for a fleeting second, as sunlight flashed through the corridor windows, Seraphina saw two Selene's reflected in the glass — one walking beside her, one still standing, smiling faintly.
When she blinked, only one remained.