A hush spreads.
“You… did it on purpose?” someone splutters.
“Of course.” The smile slips away, leaving something harder behind.
I let the lie burn. If I am here to protect them, I cannot hide behind their cover story.
“I lied to the team. I lied to Councillor Kane. The coven was preparing unwilling soul transfer magic, a spell that rips souls from their bodies. A spell I first saw one hundred and sixty-two years ago.”
Vampires lean forward.
“It existed in cruder forms long before. I could not let that spell loose in the world; it would be anarchy. So I stripped that knowledge out,” I add quietly. “Cleanly. Like tearing a single chapter from a book before it can be copied and passed around.”
Murmurs ripple through the seats.
“What do you mean, yousawit one hundred and sixty-two years ago?”
I swallow. The light is too bright; it makes every blink feel slow. “I was born Hestia Howard, two hundred and five years ago. That spell turned me into a sentient house.”
The hall erupts.
Vampires shout.
The Alpha Prime pinches his nose as if he has a headache brewing.
Lander buries his face in his hands. Dayna stares as though she has never seen me before.
“I think we need a recess,” someone mutters.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
When they callus back in after the recess, Unity Hall feels different. No one is talking now. They are all waiting to see what the monster will say.
At least they have calmed enough to listen.
The only way I survive is by becoming the monster. By embracing the bogeywoman paper mage narrative and turning it into something sharper, something that makes them keep their distance.
If they fear me, they leave me—and those I love—alone.
There is something fundamentally wrong in a world where I have to hide my softness and my rage. Because the moment I lose my temper and show too much feeling, I lose credibility.
But if I let them dim my light, I become the samewoman I was all those years ago—shaped by society, moulded into something smaller.
And we all know how that ends.
I can embrace being a monster.
I tell my story. I speak of becoming a sentient house, of survival, of helping others—names I will not give. When I finish, the silence lands like a slab.
No one shuffles. No one coughs.
“We should destroy this abomination,” Councillor Reep says at last. His voice is polite, which somehow makes it worse. “This creature is not a paper mage. She’s something else—born of pure magic. We don’t know whether she will remain sane, and if she doesn’t, she’ll be uncontrollable. We should act pre-emptively.”
“You mean murder her?” Lander snarls. The word slices through the hall. “Kill her in cold blood because you don’t understand her magic?”
Murmurs ripple through the chamber; the first neat lines of protocol start to fray. These sector hearings always start like trials and end like brawls. The rules only matter until someone powerful decides they do not.
He leans forward, shoulders tight, fury barely contained.
