Everyone loved Seraphina.
And yet, none of them truly knew her.
They said her smile could stop a storm, that her voice could silence rage, that her presence was like morning after a long, starless night. They whispered her name as if it were sacred—an offering on the lips of the forgotten and the hopeful alike. Teachers, strangers, nobles, even those who didn't believe in much at all… they all looked at her as if she were a promise wrapped in golden light.tu Yh
But Seraphina?
She often felt like a well without wateWr.
Behind the flawless smile and careful grace, she moved through her days as if she were trying to remember something—something just beyond the edge of her dreams. Something important. Something lost.
And every time the wind shifted or a shadow lingered a moment too long, she felt it again: that hollow ache beneath her ribs. That unbearable stillness where warmth should be.
She didn't understand it.
And worse—she couldn't explain it to anyone. Not even Selene.
Especially not Selene.
They were twins, Seraphina and Selene.
Born of the same breath, the same blood. But that was where their similarities ended.
Seraphina had light in her. A glow that the world clung to.
Selene was… quiet shadow. Steady. Observant. The kind of beauty that made you look twice, but never made you stay.
Wherever Seraphina went, the world tilted toward her. Selene walked beside her and watched the tilt. Day after day. Year after year.
It wasn't Seraphina's fault. Selene told herself that a thousand times. She told herself it wasn't jealousy, just… a fact of nature. Some people were made to shine. Others were made to stand beside them and reflect.
But even facts can fester.
Even sisters can drown in silent comparisons.
And in the deepest part of her—beneath the politeness, beneath the practiced smiles—Selene wondered what it would feel like to be chosen instead.
What it would feel like if Seraphina disappeared.
The village was waking slowly. Morning fog clung to the trees like whispered memories, thick and refusing to lift. Crows scattered above the chapel roof as the bell tolled once—faint, low, and unfamiliar.
Seraphina stood at the window, her hands still, her hair loose over her shoulders. Her eyes weren't focused on anything outside. Not really. She was listening.
Not for noise.
But for something she couldn't name.
She had dreamt again.
A field of ash.
A boy with silver eyes.
A sword in his hand and blood on his skin.
And her name—echoing from his mouth like a curse.
She didn't understand it, but the dream never left her. Not fully. It clung to her skin, to her bones, even when she opened her eyes. She didn't tell Selene. She didn't tell anyone.
Because deep down, Seraphina didn't think it was a dream.
She thought it was a memory.
Miles away, in a place untouched by sunlight or mercy, a boy stirred.
His hands were calloused, his breath uneven, and his heartbeat… slow. Too slow for someone still alive.
His name was Riven.
And he had dreamed of her, too.
He saw her the way no one else could. Not with admiration or awe. But with recognition. Like she belonged to a story he had long tried to forget.
A story written in blood.
And bound in flame.