Chapter 105: The Woman Called Seraphine
The morning after the dream, Elara and Ariella prepared to set off before the sun rose, quietly gathering supplies and whispering plans to each other beneath their breath. Their cloaks rustled softly as they moved, breath forming pale mist in the chill air. Hope clung to them like dew.
But just as they reached the forest edge near the village gate, a gentle voice called from behind them.
"Going somewhere so early?"
They turned.
Seraphine stood with her hands folded neatly in front of her, that same serene smile curving her lips. Her cloak, the color of soft dusk, fluttered in the breeze though the air was still. Her eyes—icy blue, always calm—locked onto theirs.
"Traveling at dawn can be… unpredictable," she said softly. "The air carries strange things at such hours. Wouldn't you rather wait until the stars settle?"
The girls exchanged glances.
"We're just exploring," Ariella lied, clutching her satchel tighter, fingers stiff.
Seraphine's gaze flicked down briefly, as though seeing something beneath the fabric of the satchel. But her smile never wavered.
"Even so… let me prepare a charm of protection for you before you go. A small blessing, nothing more."
With no polite way to refuse, they followed her back. Her steps made no sound, yet each one felt like a thread weaving into theirs, binding them to her pace.
---
What was meant to be a brief delay stretched into a day… then two.
The charm-making turned into a long ritual with herbs they'd never seen before and songs in no language they recognized. Then Seraphine insisted on blessing their path with a drawn-out chant spoken beneath moonlight. On the third day, she suddenly claimed there was a "shift in the stars," urging them to wait another night.
Every step they took toward leaving, Seraphine gently stepped in their way.
She never demanded. Never forced. Just redirected. Reassured. Delayed.
"We shouldn't rush what fate hasn't readied," she would murmur, her voice soft as velvet. "You don't want to call forth what waits in the trees before you're meant to meet it."
She brought them honeyed tea in the evenings, laced with something calming. She braided the hair of young girls, sang softly with the elderly, taught a group of boys how to bind twigs into protective wards. No one else seemed to question her.
"She glows when she prays," someone whispered. "Like the air around her listens."
---
By the fourth day, Ariella was pacing in frustration, the soles of her boots worn smoother from the repetition.
"She's too perfect," she hissed. "Too graceful. Too... controlled. Doesn't anything surprise her?"
"She even sings lullabies to crying children," Elara muttered. "I heard her yesterday. And when I asked where she learned it, she said she didn't remember."
"She doesn't sweat," Ariella added.
"That's not a real thing."
"No, but it is! It's warm in the mid-afternoons. Everyone else has damp backs. She just… stays pristine."
They tried questioning the villagers—where Seraphine came from, how long she planned to stay, what she was searching for. No one knew. Most simply said she "appeared when needed."
The uncertainty gnawed at them.
That night, they called on the Queens in dream once more.
The Blue and White Queens appeared… but even they looked perplexed.
"You know her, don't you?" Elara asked.
The White Queen's expression was unreadable. "We… should. But she is veiled to us."
"She hides her intentions beneath layers," the Blue Queen added. "Whoever she is, her magic is old. Deep. The kind even we must approach with caution."
Elara's brows knit. "Then how do we stop her?"
The Queens looked at each other, their robes shimmering with warning light.
"You may not be able to," the White Queen said. "But you must outrun her."
---
Meanwhile, beneath the earth, Albert was unraveling.
His knees stayed folded beneath him, his arms limp at his sides. The colorless world around him blurred into one endless tunnel of grey. Sound became static. Light ceased to matter. He no longer flinched when the shadows circled. He didn't resist when they whispered.
The vision of his mother—once a faint source of light—no longer stirred anything within him. He had stopped trying to hold onto it. His lips stayed still. The chant he once repeated to stay sane remained buried deep in his chest like a rock beneath a frozen lake.
He no longer begged to wake up.
And the Shadow knew it.
It slithered closer each time, gloating softly, circling him like a vulture made of smoke and memory.
"You're learning," it crooned. "You're finally giving in. Isn't this easier, Albert? No guilt. No fighting. Just obedience."
Albert didn't speak.
"You used to scream," the Shadow whispered, almost fondly. "Now you listen. When I ask you to kneel, you kneel. When I say destroy, you destroy."
Still, Albert did nothing.
But when the Shadow asked, once again, "Will you obey me fully and never question my will?"—
Albert looked up.
Slowly. Dully. But he looked.
And he said nothing.
But he did not say yes.
The Shadow's glee paused.
Its smile turned thin, cold.
"Still holding on, are we?" it hissed. "We'll break that last piece soon."
Its voice, once coaxing, curled into threat.
---
The Queens sent their warning.
Elara awoke gasping, a sharp pain slicing behind her eyes. Ariella stirred beside her, already sitting upright, jaw clenched.
"He's fading," Elara breathed. "The Queens said he's hanging by a thread."
"Then we can't waste another day."
---
That morning, they acted.
They slipped past Seraphine's little followers while she led a circle of women in a morning chant, the fire at the center flickering blue instead of gold. For the first time since she arrived, her smile faltered when she looked up and noticed their absence.
Her eyes narrowed just a fraction.
By the time she stood, the girls had already vanished into the woods.
The marsh awaited.
---
Back in the village, Seraphine stood silently by the sacred tree. Her hand traced the bark again, but this time, she didn't heal it. The rot remained, dark veins twisting across the trunk like sickness.
Behind her, villagers waited for her stories. Children tugged her sleeves.
She said nothing.
Later that evening, as twilight stretched across the land, she sat alone outside one of the huts. She took out the sketch again—crescent-shaped, lined with blue.
Her fingers brushed over the lines, tracing its familiar curve with reverence… or regret.
A shadow passed behind her—but this one, unlike the others, bowed to her.
She did not bow back.
Her smile returned.
But this time, it reached her eyes.
And those icy depths gleamed with something far older than kindness.