The hallway stretched long and empty, cold light from the stained-glass windows painting shifting colors on the floors. Seraphine walked slowly, the hem of her gown brushing the tiles. Her face was unreadable, still flushed from the encounter in the forbidden room—but not with warmth.
Lucien spotted her before she reached the stairs.
"There you are," he called softly, his voice lifting like a note from a song. He approached with a warm smile, arms ready to pull her close. "I was looking for you, Seraph."
But when he reached for her, she took a step back.
"I'm tired," she said without meeting his gaze. "Let's have breakfast tomorrow."
And just like that, she turned away, her hair falling like silk over her shoulders as she disappeared down the hallway.
Lucien stood frozen for a moment, smile fading into a crease of confusion.
He blinked.
"…Okay."
He walked back to his room in silence, the ghost of her cold tone still lingering in his ears. Once inside, he sat at the edge of the bed, notebook open. The candle on the desk flickered, casting shadows that looked too much like her.
He stared at the empty page for a long time, then slowly began to sketch her face.
Not the smiling, dreamy one he'd grown used to—but today's version. Distant. Untouchable.
Beneath the drawing, he wrote:
"What does she know?"
Meanwhile—
In her own room, Seraph stood perfectly still before the mirror. Her eyes were fixed on her own reflection.
The red curtains billowed behind her like blood.
"I'm the most beautiful woman a man could have," she said softly, lifting her chin.
"I have everything. The house. The treasure. Power. Eternity."
She touched the mirror's surface with her fingertips, her nails leaving little fog prints.
"He won't choose the House over me."
Her voice was firm, but her eyes… they were flickering.
"He'll never choose the House," she whispered again, a little softer now.
And then silence.
Only the wind outside answered her.