Chapter 47 Blue Eyes Again
BLUE EYES AGAIN
Afew weeks after the cave, the world slipped back into something that passed for ordinary.
The days shortened. The light softened. Life settled into familiar rhythms—bench work, quiet meals where I ate and Baird nursed a single glass of wine, the low hum of the sea beyond the windows.
I held to those small rituals, telling myself the unease lingering under my skin was only the price of fragile peace—not the weight of what being a vessel would one day demand.
Then my phone chimed.
I almost ignored it. Instagram was usually a trickle of likes and the occasional polite inquiry—custom pieces, timelines, budgets. Nothing urgent. Nothing that made my pulse hitch.
This message did.
Hi Mira. I hope this isn't too forward. I came across the ruby ring you posted a while back and I can't stop thinking about it. I'd love to talk about purchasing it, if it's still available.
Her username was unmistakable. Verified. Blue check. An author whose vampire novels had dominated bestseller lists for the better part of the last five years had also secured a new movie franchise. I stared at the screen longer than I meant to.
Of course she wrote vampire novels. I told myself that meant nothing as I typed back, keeping my reply light, professional.
Hi—yes, the ring is still available. I'm happy to answer any questions you have.
Three dots appeared almost immediately.
Perfect—I'd like to buy it.
Just like that. No haggling. I swallowed, fingers hovering, then added the question I always asked—routine, muscle memory.
Before we finalize things, I should check. Would you need the ring resized?
The reply came fast.
No need. I wear a size six.
The room seemed to tilt. Size six. Exactly what I'd made it, just like Sorcha said.
I sat back slowly, the phone warm in my hand, my thoughts skittering in half-formed directions I didn't like.
The ring had never been measured against a client's hand.
I hadn't guessed. I'd simply known. Trusted the quiet insistence that had guided my hands that day I carved the wax.
I closed the message thread without replying and opened my browser instead.
Her press photos were everywhere—publisher sites, interviews, red carpets.
Mid-thirties. Beautiful. Dark hair worn sleek and loose around her shoulders.
Everything about her appearance was polished, deliberate.
And yet—there was something faintly off about the way she held herself, as though she were playing dress-up in a life that didn't quite belong to her.
Physically, she looked so much like Magda it made my chest tighten.
The same sharp cheekbones. The same mouth.
The same effortless grace. But where Magda wore her body with presence—with command—this woman carried hers more carefully, almost apologetically, as if she were inhabiting a form she'd never fully claimed.
The other difference was her eyes.
Where Magda's were dark and unreadable, this woman's were a startling cornflower blue—bright, almost luminous, lit from within.
And yet even they held a searching quality, as if they were always looking for something just out of reach.
I scrolled through image after image, my unease deepening with every swipe.
Different outfits. Different cities. Always the same face.
A reflection—shifted just enough to feel wrong.
I clicked through a few interviews next, then excerpts from her books—blurbs, quoted passages pulled for reviews.
I hadn't read her work before, but I didn't need much.
The themes repeated themselves with quiet insistence.
Characters unmoored from their origins. Immortals who survived centuries without ever quite knowing who they were meant to be.
Lovers bound together by blood or fate, searching not just for each other, but for the missing piece that would make them whole.
It wasn't subtle.
Her vampires didn't fear death so much as they feared being unfinished. Trapped between lives. Between names. Always powerful, always admired—and somehow still lost. Spending lifetimes circling a truth they couldn't quite touch.
The ruby pulsed warm in my thoughts. Not coincidence, my instincts whispered. Not at all. When I finally picked up my phone again, I didn't open Instagram. I opened my messages and scrolled to Magda's name.
I think we found the buyer for the ruby ring. Call me when you can.
I didn't add anything else.
Some things were better said out loud.