CH. 64 When the Sun Sets, Secrets Refuse to Stay Hidden
“The moment my curse stops being theoretical.”
The Resanarum empties slowly after the Trial of Truth.
Sorien stays sitting on the cold stone steps, elbows on his knees, staring at the horizon like it might finally explain why life is so needlessly dramatic.
I sit beside him — in my ugly form, maskless, tired, absolutely done with destiny.
The light is fading. Which is… bad.
Very bad.
I try to distract myself. I fail.
Sorien glances at me, expression steady, calm.
Of course he’s calm.
He’s seen the curse already — the witch attack, the gargoyle, the broad daylight transformation when everything went to hell.
This is familiar to him.
Unfortunately, it won’t be for the two idiots walking toward us.
---
The sun dips lower.
My heart tries to evacuate my body.
I squeeze my hands into fists.
“You don’t look well,” Sorien murmurs.
“I’m fine,” I lie.
“You’re vibrating.”
“It’s called anticipation,” I hiss.
His lips twitch. Just a little.
---
Bootsteps echo behind us.
Gavin and Farro approach mid-argument.
“I’m just saying,” Farro complains, “if the Trial of Truth wanted my trauma, it could’ve written a polite letter instead—”
He stops.
So does Gavin.
Both stare at me.
The sun touches the horizon.
“No,” I whisper. “Not now—”
Too late.
---
The shift hits.
Heat flares under my skin.
Bones slide.
Hair lengthens.
My reflection rewrites itself from monster → moonlight.
Up, up, up until the world sharpens into color, and the air tastes different, and—
I am beautiful.
The kind of beautiful that feels like a lie skin-deep.
I open my eyes.
Sorien is watching with that same steady acceptance — quiet, grounded, like he’s bracing for me, not from me.
Gavin and Farro?
Different story.
Farro stumbles backward. “WHAT—what is— WHAT—”
Gavin’s jaw falls open. He actually chokes. “She was—she was—she was—AND NOW SHE’S—?!”
Farro points at me in horror. “YOU’RE THE PARADE GIRL?!”
I glare. “…Yes?”
“BUT—BUT—BUT—”
He gestures at my entire pre-sunset existence.
“YOU WERE ALL— AND NOW YOU’RE ALL—”
He makes vague shapes with his hands like he’s sculpting a confused potato.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, calm down, Farro. Your face changes depending on humidity.”
Sorien coughs — hiding a smile.
Gavin drags a hand down his face.
“This is… this is absurd. Illogical. Impossible.”
“Welcome to my life,” I say cheerfully.
Farro looks between me and Sorien. “Wait—YOU KNEW?!”
Sorien lifts a brow. “Yes.”
“How long?!”
“Long enough.”
Farro gasps dramatically. “BETRAYAL!”
Gavin shakes his head slowly. “…I need wine.”
---
The panic slowly fades from their faces, replaced by baffled processing.
Sorien steps close, voice gentler than anything he said all day.
“You don’t have to be afraid of the change,” he murmurs. “I’ve seen both. You’re still you.”
My chest does a stupid flip.
I look away.
“…You weren’t surprised.”
“No,” he says. “But I was… relieved.”
“Relieved?”
“That you’re still here. Still fighting. Curse or not.”
I swallow. Hard.
Farro and Gavin stand awkwardly behind us, still mentally short-circuiting.
“So,” Farro says, scratching his head, “does this mean the pretty one is the fake one or the real one? I’m so confused.”
I sigh. “Farro, I’m the real one.”
“Oh.”
He blinks.
“…That’s a lot of responsibility.”
Gavin elbows him. “Idiot.”
---
The sun is gone.
Night settles.
And for the first time since this curse began…
I’m not hiding.
Not explaining.
Not terrified.
Just standing here — between three princes, one of whom sees all of me.
And doesn’t look away.