"The dormant bond is killing her slowly," Oberon continues. "Draining her life force without providing sustaining connection. Ingenious cruelty."
"She'll adapt. Humans are resilient."
"She's not human anymore. You made sure of that." His voice carries centuries of disappointment. "When she dies—and she will die, Aratus—the prophecy dies with her. Six hundred years of planning, destroyed by your need to prove ownership."
The vision fades, leaving me staring at my own reflection in the dark glass.
Day four brings a physician's report Edgar includes with his letter.
Patient presents with symptoms consistent with wasting sickness of unknown origin. Refuses most food, speaks little, exhibits signs of severe melancholia. Pulse weak and irregular. Recommend immediate consultation with specialists from the capital.
Dr. William Harrows
Edgar's accompanying letter is barely legible.
She collapsed in the garden today. Simply... fell. As if her strength had left her all at once. She asked if the bond could be reactivated, then wept when I said I didn't know.
Please. If you have any humanity left, help her. Or let me bring her back to you. I cannot watch my daughter die by inches.
Edgar
I crumple the letter, then smooth it out again.Let me bring her back to you.
The admission of defeat should please me. Should prove the thoroughness of my conditioning, the impossibility of escape.
Instead, something cold and unfamiliar settles in my chest. Something that might be shame.
Day five. The hours crawl past like wounded animals. I find myself standing at windows, staring south toward lands I can't see. The palace feels wrong without her—too cold, too quiet, too empty of the life that made these ancient stones sing.
A new letter arrives near sunset, Edgar's handwriting shakier than before.
Lord Aratus,
She spoke today. First words in two days. Asked if I thought you missed her. When I couldn't answer, she smiled—the saddest expression I've ever seen.
"He doesn't miss me," she said. "He misses what he made me into. There's a difference."
She understands, perhaps better than either of us, what has been done to her. What choices remain.
I will not beg again. But I will say this—whatever you decide, decide quickly. I don't think she has many days left.
Edgar
I read the letter three times before the words truly sink in. She understands. She knows the difference between missing her and missing what I shaped her into.
The scrying glass flares to life again, and this time Oberon's image is sharp with urgency.
"You're running out of time," he says without greeting.
"She's stronger than she appears."
"Is she? Look again."
The vision that fills the crystal makes my breath catch. Elise sits by a window, her profile ethereal in moonlight. But it's not beauty—it's the translucence of someone fading from the world. She's speaking to someone just out of view.
"I'm not afraid of dying," her voice drifts through the magical connection. "I'm afraid of what I'll become if I don't."
"She's choosing death over returning to you," Oberon's voice cuts through my shock. "Choosing the same path your sister took, rather than accept a life without choice."
