“I know you are dear.”
Her shoulders drop, as if physically bowed by the crushing weight of our circumstances.
“There will come a time, my child,” she says softly, “when we will no longer have to suffer.”
I nod, even though I don’t fully know what she means.Yara always speaks like the gods are listening.
“Warm the tincture,” she adds.“It’ll help him sleep and keep the blood at bay.”
I lay the coins carefully on the countertop near her hand, their soft clinking seeming loud in the quiet.“Thank you.”
Her voice softens, tinged with sadness.“You’re welcome, girl.”
I turn to leave, my hand caressing the iron door knob, but she calls after me.“You should come by tonight.It’s the Veil Rite.”
My nose wrinkles—a sight I’m glad she can’t see.“Thank you, but—” I search to find the right words.“—I don’t go to those.”
“You should,” her fingers move stiffly over the wood, a habit I’ve watched countless times over the years I’ve known her.“Things are stirring.”
“I can’t risk getting caught.There’s—” wrinkles deepen over my brow.“—there’s too much to lose.”
“I understand, child.If you change your mind, you know where it is.”
I mutter words of thanks, and leave.The cold air rushes in, clearing the cobwebs forming in my mind.
The sky over the Hollow is black, starless—a sight that never changes.
Without thought, my legs carry me along the well-trodden route towards home, towards Sylas.But a vision forms in the corner of my eye, drawing me closer.
A mirror leans against an old, abandoned cart.My reflection stares back—still, unblinking.
I lift my hand.The surface is cold as tiny droplets cling to the edge.
She doesn’t move when I do.
And then, she smiles.
3
SEREN
The last deals whisper into the shadows as the Lantern Market draws to a close.One by one, lights dim until all that’s left are the faint, flickering glows of a few stubborn vendors, desperately trying to drain buyers’ last coin.
My reflection flashes through the dark glass of shopfronts and ripples through puddles.She’s always still.Always watching.
I take the long way home, opting for a moment of reflection in the quiet confines of the shadows.
My fingers itch for the familiar feel of the coal stylus, the smooth paper.I need to get this image out of my mind, to add physical form to something that seems so ephemeral.
I should be haunted by the unnatural way her smile—my smile—curves, distorting her smooth features.
But it doesn’t.It’s almost comforting—like I’m no longer alone.
My fingers curl tighter around the satchel strap, knuckles aching.
It’s not the first time it’s happened.There’s always been a strange, sentient being occupying the deepest parts of my mind.Always quiet—watching.
The Hollow at night feels different—quieter, sharper, like it’s waiting to expose my hidden truths.
