“My dear,” he said, his tone unexpectedly gentle, “you are young. Beautiful. Clever. You have so much to offer. Don’t be too hard on yourself. Even the darkest men can be captivated—for a time.”
I didn’t answer.
I held his gaze in silence, refusing to show weakness. But behind my eyes, questions curled like smoke. I didn’t trust him—not fully. But he knew something—many things.
And I needed answers more than I needed pride.
Perhaps sensing this, Zampa gave me a warmer smile and rose from his chair.
“Come,” he said, extending a hand. “Let me show you something.”
And though every instinct told me to run, I rose and followed.
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 atthe 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 torid the world of all Timebornes. They believe your kind violates the natural order, and they kill without mercy.”
