Before I could even bring myself to ask Cordelia about my mother, a striking woman entered the room. She wore a graceful, baby blue dress that clung delicately to her figure, the skirt flowing softly with each step as though it were made of air. Her eyes were a serene shade of blue, calm and deep like a still lake, and her long, blonde hair cascaded down to her waist in silken waves. I couldn't help but stare—she was breathtaking.
"Alice! Thank goodness you're here. We have a problem," Cordelia said urgently.
Without another word, we followed her into a room that looked like a private study. Shelves lined the walls, not with novels or poetry, but with thick tomes about magic and witchcraft—ancient, arcane knowledge filled every corner.
"A white witch came to the house today. She was searching for Sera," Cordelia said, her tone heavy with concern. "I think Genevieve's spell has worn off. They've found her."
My breath caught. A spell? Genevieve? My mother?
"She cast a spell to protect me?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Even though she's been gone for ten years? How could she have known I'd be hunted?"
The questions poured out of me faster than I could think. My chest tightened, and a knot formed in my throat. Everything felt surreal, like the ground beneath me had shifted and I was no longer sure where I stood. My world, once so stable, had flipped completely—within mere hours.
"Sera, the spell only broke because your mother just died," Alice said flatly, her voice devoid of feeling.
I turned to Cordelia, hoping for some kind of contradiction, some reassurance—but her eyes were downcast, her expression clouded with sorrow.
My thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind. Just died? That couldn't be right. My mother had died ten years ago. I was there—I held her in my arms as life faded from her eyes. I watched her body dissolve into nothingness, into the very air. I remembered the silence. The emptiness.
"No," I whispered, shaking my head as panic rose in my chest. "No, my mother died when I was fourteen. I saw her—she was gone. She died right in front of me. That was ten years ago. What are you saying? This… this doesn't make sense."
It felt like the ground was splitting open beneath me.
I staggered backward, grasping for reason in a storm of impossible truths. If my mother had been alive all this time—if she had truly only just died—then why had she let me believe she was gone? Why had she left me to struggle, to survive alone in a world that never once showed me mercy?
The confusion twisted into something darker. Betrayal. Grief, blooming all over again.
"Sera," Cordelia said gently, taking my hand in hers. Her touch was warm, but it did little to settle the storm inside me. "Listen to me. Once this situation is under control—once I've made sure you're safe—I'll tell you everything. I promise. But for now, you have to trust me. Stay with me, and we'll get through this. Together."
But her words couldn't reach me—not through the chaos unraveling inside my chest. The betrayal, the grief, the unbearable confusion—they all surged at once, a wave crashing through the fragile walls I had left.
"No!" I shouted, pulling my hand away. "I can't accept this!"
Tears burned in my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. My voice cracked with rage. "You took me away from everything! From the life I was finally building—from my job, from my friend—and now you're telling me my mother just died? That there's still more you're keeping from me?"
I shook my head violently. "No. I need to go home. I need to get out of here."
I spun around, reaching for the door—but before my hand even touched the handle, it slammed shut with a sharp thud. I lunged forward, twisting the knob again and again, but it wouldn't budge. The lock held firm, unmoved by my desperation.
"You don't have a choice, Sera," came Alice's voice—cold, sharp, and unyielding. I turned to face her, and what I saw in her eyes wasn't compassion. It was frustration. Command.
"We will not tolerate this tantrum," she said, stepping closer. "You are no longer a child. You're a witch now—a grown woman. Start acting like one."
My breath caught. Her words stung deeper than I expected. I could see it in her—the way she looked at me, the way her jaw tightened. She wasn't just disappointed.
She might have hated me.
"We took you in," she went on, her voice like steel. "The very least you can do is live. Your mother gave everything—everything—to keep you safe, to give you a future. If you're so determined to throw that away, then leave. But know this…"
She stepped back, her tone darkening like a sky before a storm.
"The moment you walk out that door, you are no longer welcome here."
Cordelia guided me gently toward the chair, her hands firm but careful, as though afraid I might shatter. I sank into the seat in the study, heart pounding, thoughts a tangled mess. Across from us, Alice sat poised at the center of the room, her posture rigid and composed—like a principal about to scold a misbehaving student. And judging by recent events, that student was definitely me.
It felt absurd. And yet, not.
"Alright," Cordelia began, her voice calm but laced with urgency. "Let's all take a breath and think this through."
Alice's eyes narrowed, but she gave a small nod, allowing her to continue.
"We know now that Genevieve's spell has broken," Cordelia said. "Sera is no longer hidden. She's vulnerable—and we can't change that. What we can do is prepare her. Teach her to protect herself, especially from the white witches. That much, at least, is within our power."
Alice gave another nod, this time more resolute. The agreement between them was clear—unspoken but solid.
"Yes," she said. "That's our only real option. Everyone else is too busy scrambling to save their own skin. Sera needs to learn to defend hers."
The way she said it—sharp, dismissive—made my chest tighten. There it was again: the cold edge in her tone, like I was nothing more than a burden she hadn't asked for.
I swallowed hard, biting back the retort rising in my throat. She might not have said the words outright, but I could feel them beneath her every sentence. She doesn't want me here. She blames me for being a problem she didn't sign up for.
Well, fine.
I wasn't particularly fond of her either—her clipped words, her lack of empathy, the way she seemed to expect me to simply snap into shape after having my world shattered in a single day. My mother's death, my stolen past, my strange future—none of it mattered to her.
And still, they expected me to train, to fight, to survive.
As if any of this were normal.
"I'll have Tera train her," Alice said, her voice carrying the finality of a decision already made. "Mirabel, too. And Cordelia—you need to rest. We can't afford to lose another witch. We need you at full strength. Your magic is vital, and you know that as well as I do. We won't survive what's coming without it."
I turned my gaze to Cordelia, and for the first time, I saw it clearly—the weariness in her eyes, the way her shoulders sagged under the weight of too many years, too much grief. She wasn't just a guardian anymore. She was needed—desperately—in a world teetering on the edge.
Cordelia gave a solemn nod. "Yes… you're right. I'll rest. But only because I must. I've already lost my daughter—I won't lose my granddaughter, too."
She turned to me, her expression firm with conviction. "After I recover, I'll train Sera myself. But until then, she can work with Tera and Mirabel—for one week only. After that, she's mine."
Alice acknowledged the decision with a curt nod, then rose from her chair. She crossed the room to a towering bookshelf and pulled a worn, leather-bound volume from the top shelf. The book looked ancient—its spine cracked, its pages yellowed with age. She handed it to me with care, as though it carried more than just words.
"I want you to read this," she said. "It's our history—your history. Maybe once you know where you come from, you'll begin to understand your place in all this."
Her gaze sharpened slightly.
"And I want you to see the mistakes your mother made—mistakes that cost more than you know. My hope is that you never follow the same path."
I took the book, its weight settling in my hands like a burden I hadn't asked for—but perhaps one I needed to bear.