Gregor was waiting at the gate. His brothers stood behind him, silent as stones.
Claudia’s face changed. For the first time, fear flickered behind her eyes. She raised the mirror to see Lilia’s heart—but the mirror showed nothing. No flame. No innocence. No bloom.
Claudia raised the bone brush. “Kneel.”
Gregor nodded. “And now?”
Only darkness. The darkness of a girl who had chosen to become a monster to kill a monster.
That night, Lilia dreamed. She stood in the bone garden, and Claudia stood before her, impossibly tall, her hair writhing like serpents.
“You came back,” Claudia said, delighted. “I knew you would. The weak always do.”
“Leave me,” Claudia said softly. “And send in the scullery maid. The red-haired one.”
“Come, daughter,” Claudia would croon, seated before a mirror framed in blackened silver. “Brush my hair.”
Lilia stood in the silence.
Lilia ran.