Chapter 10 #2
He led me deeper into the room, stopping before a towering, ornate mirror. Its gilded frame was etched with symbols I didn’t recognize—serpents, stars, wings. It pulsed faintly in the dim light, as though it remembered every soul that had stood before it.
He gestured for me to approach. I stepped closer, hesitating for only a moment before facing my reflection.
The afternoon sun filtered through a nearby window, casting a golden glow across my skin. I reached up, threading my fingers through my hair, admiring how it shimmered in the light and framed my face like a crown of fire. But then I saw it—beneath the surface, pulsing softly.
Light.
It was not reflected but originated from within me.
Tiny flickers, like stars igniting behind my eyes, scattered across my skin, invisible to the world but undeniable to me.
I gasped softly.
“This,” Signor Zampa whispered, as if speaking too loudly might ruin the moment, “is what you are. Look at yourself. Look at the power you wield. It will never waver. Never dim. Always remember that.”
I stood transfixed, the mirror showing more than a girl with secrets—it showed a force, a fire.
I thought about Balthazar’s estate—the labyrinth of scrolls, the dark artifacts, the eerie stillness in every shadowed corner. I had walked through his domain like a trespasser in a god’s temple, pulling back the veil on a thousand buried truths.
But now, as I stared at my reflection, something shifted.
I realized—I had just as many secrets, just as much strength. I didn’t want to be his pawn. I wanted to be his equal.
No—his queen.
I thought of Balthazar’s haunting beauty, monstrous tenderness, the nights we tangled in lust, and the days we danced in mystery. I loved him, but I also wanted to know him. Unmake him. Rule beside him.
“I think you’re wrong, Signor Zampa,” I said. “Balthazar is complicated… but he’s good to me.”
Zampa sighed, weary. He turned me away from the mirror to face him fully, his eyes dark and solemn.
“Listen to me, child,” he said, his voice low and as sharp as broken glass. “He’s only good to you because you’re giving him what he wants.”
His words sliced through the candlelight like a blade, sharp enough to bleed the illusions I so desperately clung to.
I turned away, heart pounding in my chest. I didn’t want to hear another word. Not another warning. Not another truth. I knew Signor Zampa spoke from a place of caution, perhaps even care, but his words left me feeling bare and vulnerable.
I didn’t want to believe Balthazar could be anything less than what I’d made him in my mind.
“Thank you for your warning,” I said coolly, keeping my back to him. “I’ll keep it in mind.”
I pivoted with practiced grace, ready to exit with all the poise I could muster. But Signor Zampa caught my arm.
“Balthazar isn’t your only problem,” he said, voice grave. “There are also the Timehunters. They’ve made it their mission to rid the world of all Timebornes. They believe your kind violates the natural order, and they kill without mercy.”
I stared down at his fingers wrapped around my sleeve.
“Unhand me, Signor,” I said coldly. “I don’t believe you. You’re only trying to frighten me.” My voice didn’t waver, but deep inside, the seed of dread had already been planted. “I’ve heard enough. I shall take my leave.”
His eyes softened with something like pity, and he released me without protest. Together, we walked back through the silent house, the soft tap of our footsteps the only sound.
At the door, he paused with one hand resting on the polished brass knob.
“Take care, Lady Tocino,” he said quietly. “And be careful. The world is far darker than it seems.”
I said nothing as I swept across the threshold and into the light.
Outside, a groomsman stood waiting beside my horse. He gave me a roguish smile as he helped me mount, his gaze lingering too long on the slit in my skirts.
I swung my leg over the saddle without hesitation, ignoring propriety and decorum. Let the world stare. I would not ride like a lady today, but like a queen.
The groomsman fumbled with the leather straps, securing the sides of my gown so my legs could sit firmly in the stirrups. He continued to sneak glances at me, but I paid him no mind.
With my gloved hands gripping the reins and the sun warming my back, I gave a swift nudge of my heel. The horse sprang into motion, settling into a smooth canter as I descended the long gravel drive.
The wind teased through my hair. The sky stretched wide and blue above me, endless and unbothered.
But inside, I was a storm.
Frustration.
Confusion.
Fear.
Power.
These past two days had unraveled everything I thought I knew. About Balthazar. About myself. About the dagger.
My foot faltered as I stepped over the threshold of our opulent home.
It was too quiet.
Not the comforting hush of a peaceful morning—but a stifling, ominous stillness wrapped around me. A chill slithered down my spine, and I shivered, my fingers tightening around the folds of my cloak.
I moved toward the living room, every step an echo of dread.
The scene before me stole the breath from my lungs.
My family—my entire family—lay scattered across the floor like broken marionettes, their limbs twisted in grotesque, unnatural angles. Blood soaked the elegant rug, once a cherished gift, now a canvas of horror. Crimson soaked into the fibers, blooming like dark flowers across the pale threads.
Bile surged up my throat. I stumbled back, my hand gripping the doorframe to steady myself.
The cushions were drenched. The ivory settee splashed in arterial red. It looked like a slaughterhouse.
The silence pressed in, broken only by my ragged breathing. My vision blurred. My chest ached. I had lost everything—all in a single, devastating instant.
Tears streamed freely as I fell to my knees on the cold tile, my limbs folding beneath me.
But even as I wept, something began to shift.
Beneath the numbness, beneath the horror, freedom coiled like a serpent. The lack of judgment. The absence of control. No more rules. No more expectations. No more pretending.
I was alone.
And for the first time… I could be anything I wanted.
A noise clattered from upstairs.
My tears vanished in an instant.
I was on my feet before I could think, propelled by something feral. My legs moved instinctively as I charged up the stairs; my breath caught between anticipation and dread.
I reached my bedroom and froze.
The door stood open. And beyond it—chaos.
Blood streaked the walls in violent streaks, slicking the floor. At the center of the carnage stood he.
Balthazar.
A bloodied dagger dangled from his hand. His clothes were torn, his face spattered with red. Across from him lay my sister, eyes wide, unseeing, her mouth still parted in a final, silent plea.
He turned to face me.
There was no remorse in his gaze.
No tenderness.
Just stillness. And something ancient.
I met his eyes, and for a moment, the world narrowed to the space between us.
The sunlight caught the blade in his hand, casting fractured light over the carnage.
And then—something broke inside me.
Not with pain.
But pleasure.
The euphoria came swiftly, like a fever. I should have screamed. Should have wept? Should have run. But instead, I smiled.
A wicked smile that mirrored the one forming on his face.
With my family gone… with blood spilled… we were free.
Bound not by promises, but by something deeper. Darker.
Blood.
We could be anything now. Lovers. Monsters. Rulers.
As I stepped into the room, our eyes locked like conspirators.
We had become eternal.
And I knew—whatever came next—I would never belong to anyone else but him.