“No, it didn’t. I could never get closer to her.”
“Looking back on it, she probably built walls to protect me and you, sure, but also to protect a version of herself that couldn’t exist in the present. She left a husband she loved and a place she knew to start a life that was completely foreign,” I said softly. “She could never utter a word about magic or who she was or the place she came from.”
Celeste’s eyes lifted to mine. “Brutal.”
The words settled between us, heavy and undeniable.
“Yes,” I said.
“And her mother, my grandmother, was…”
“Is the Priestess.”
Celeste didn’t gasp. She didn’t recoil. She just went very still. She knew this information, but hearing it this way meant something different.
“That’s… a lot,” she said finally.
“It is,” I agreed. “And I didn’t know. Not until recently. I grew up thinking my grandmother was just… gone. Or irrelevant. Or someone my mom never wanted to talk about.”
Celeste nodded slowly. “That tracks.”
I blinked. “It does?”
She shrugged. “My grandmother—your mom—always acted like her parents didn’t exist. No stories. No pictures. No ‘when I was a kid’ moments. It was like there was nothing before her marriage to my step-grandpa.”
“Soon to be ex-grandpa.”
Celeste nodded. “What’s funny is she did all this shielding and protecting to wind back up in the village with not one but two magical offspring.”
Something in my chest loosened at that, a quiet ache easing into something like understanding.
Stella made a small, approving sound. “Smart girl.”
“Celeste, you’re incredible.”
She chuckled. “Mom.”
“No, it’s true.”
“Does that mean I should drop out of school and start learning about my history, about what I’m expected to do, and…”
“Nice try,” I said, chuckling. “Real smooth.”
“Fate wants what fate wants,” she teased.
“Truer words…”
I smiled faintly.
“My mom tried to cut the line,” I said. “To end the inheritance. Not just the magic, but the expectations. The reach. The control. History shows that’s not possible.”
Celeste leaned back, absorbing that. “No, it didn’t work.”
“Because magic doesn’t disappear just because you don’t name it.”
Stella slid into the seat beside me without asking, crossing one elegant leg over the other.
“Magic is like mold,” she said cheerfully. “Ignore it long enough, and it grows in interesting places.”
