POV: Seraphine
The silence felt different.
Not empty.
Full.
Heavy, like the air before rain. But warmer. Alive.
Seraphine stirred, her body slow to obey. The ache in her bones whispered of punishment, of the house's hold—but it was quieter now. As if something had broken. As if something had changed.
She opened her eyes.
He was there.
Sitting in the chair across from her, his elbows on his knees, head bowed like he was afraid to breathe too loudly. His coat was damp from the field, his hands smudged with soil. But his eyes—when they lifted and met hers—
He looked at her like she mattered.
Neither of them spoke.
She blinked once. Twice. Her throat felt too tight for words. She sat up slowly, the velvet beneath her unfamiliar after so many years of glass and shadow.
Lucien straightened, as if unsure whether to help her or stay away. His voice, when it came, was rough-edged.
"...You're real."
Seraphine let out a shaky breath. "So are you."
That made something flicker in his gaze—almost a smile. Almost.
More silence. Not awkward, but tender. Like the space between notes in a song.
She looked at his hands. "You came all this way."
"I didn't know I would find you," he said. "I just… couldn't stop looking."
Her heart fluttered. Stupidly. Loudly.
He stood, hesitated, then sat back down. The chair creaked softly beneath him.
"I don't know your name," he said finally.
She should've lied. Should've stayed quiet.But her voice was soft, almost broken when she answered—
"Seraphine."
Lucien breathed it in like a secret.
And the house didn't punish her for it.
She folded her hands in her lap. "You shouldn't be here."
"I know."
"I tried to warn you."
"I know," he said again. "But I still came."
Seraphine looked around. The house was quiet. Waiting. For what, she didn't know.
"I don't know what happens next," she whispered.
Lucien leaned back, resting his head against the wall. "Then we'll find out together."