Seraphina couldn't sleep.
The mirror in her chamber remained covered with a dark velvet cloth, but she still felt its presence—like eyes watching her from behind silk.
She told herself it was exhaustion. Imagination.
But deep down, she wasn't so sure.
The longer she stayed in Nightspire, the more she began to understand that this was no ordinary place.
And Lucien Nightbane… was no ordinary man.
Morning in Ravenhollow brought no sunshine. Only thick clouds, gray and unyielding, hanging over the towers like shrouds. Even the birds seemed to avoid the skies.
Seraphina entered the vast, domed library as instructed.
It took her breath away.
Books stretched from floor to ceiling, ancient tomes chained to metal rods, scrolls bound in crimson silk, ink so old it had faded to the color of dried blood. Strange maps, alchemical diagrams, and records older than the Empire itself lined the walls.
Lucien was already there, reading beside a candle despite the daylight.
"I was beginning to think you'd fled in the night," he murmured without looking up.
"I considered it," she replied, "but the gates were locked."
"Wise."
He closed the book and gestured to a pile. "These are the journals of my ancestors. If you're still intent on understanding the curse, this is where you begin."
Seraphina sat across from him. "You truly believe it's a curse?"
"I believe every woman painted in that gallery died too young. I believe my mother vanished without a trace. And I believe this place… feeds on something."
She frowned. "Feeds?"
He met her gaze. "You'll see."
That wasn't comforting.
Still, Seraphina opened the top journal. The script was elegant and feminine—Lady Isolde Nightbane, wife of the third Duke. Dated nearly 120 years ago.
She read aloud:
"The mirror in the east wing spoke again. I heard my name whispered while I slept. When I awoke, there was blood on the glass."
A chill crept up her spine.
Lucien said nothing. He didn't need to.
She flipped the page.
"The servants have changed. They do not age. They do not blink."
Seraphina glanced at the steward who had silently delivered tea just moments ago.
No footsteps. No eye contact.
The exact same calm, distant expression.
Were they…?
She shook the thought away. "This is madness."
Lucien only replied, "This is Nightspire."
Later that day, Seraphina wandered alone to clear her thoughts.
She found herself in the east wing.
The air was different here—warmer, yet heavy, like a sealed room untouched by time.
A long hallway of mirrors lined the walls.
Not ordinary mirrors.
They were older than any she'd seen. Framed in tarnished gold. The glass fogged slightly, as though someone had recently breathed on them.
She stood before one and stared at herself.
No movement. No tricks.
Until she turned to leave—
A whisper.
Faint, and unmistakable.
"…Seraphina…"
She froze.
Slowly, she turned back.
The mirror was still.
But her reflection was smiling.
She wasn't.
Panic surged through her.
She backed away, heart racing, and fled the hall.
Lucien found her in the drawing room later, pale and trembling.
"You found the east wing," he said.
"You knew what would happen," she snapped.
"I told you to read."
"Why do you keep this place open if it's haunted?"
Lucien's eyes darkened. "Because the moment we pretend it's not real is the moment we fall prey to it."
She sat heavily on the chaise, her hands shaking. "Why me?"
He was quiet for a moment. Then he said:
"Because you saw the world turn its back on you—and you didn't break."
Their eyes locked.
And for the first time, she saw it.
Not just coldness in his gaze.
But familiarity.
Pain. Fire. Iron forged through suffering.
Lucien Nightbane wasn't just a cursed Duke.
He was a survivor.
Like her.
That night, Seraphina dreamed.
She stood before the mirror again, but this time, the glass was gone. Only a void remained. A whisper echoed from the darkness:
"Break the chain… or become the next."
She reached out.
And a pale hand reached back.
She woke up screaming.
Mira rushed in, startled. "My lady, what happened?"
Seraphina clutched her blanket, breath ragged. "Nothing. Just… a dream."
But she knew it wasn't.
It was a warning.