The Crown of Thorns hovered above the altar.
Neither Calis nor Seraphina moved.
Their blood still steamed inside the broken chalice's base, hissing as it dripped down the blackened stone. The fire in the pit had turned blue, licking the air in elegant, silent tongues—as if tasting the past.
Then the crown moved.
It hovered toward Seraphina.
Stopped.
Then pivoted slowly… toward Calis.
Lucien gripped the altar's edge.
Mira, standing behind the chapel doors, whispered, "What does that mean?"
The flame suddenly surged upward.
Both girls were encased in a wall of sapphire fire.
And inside it, the memory began.
But it wasn't Seraphina's.
It wasn't Calis's either.
It belonged to someone older.
The first girl.
She stood alone in a snow-covered courtyard, wearing nothing but ceremonial white. Her arms bled from shallow cuts down her forearms. A bishop stood before her, cloaked in gold. And behind him—
Lucien.
Much younger. With silver eyes like frost, and a chain around his throat.
He didn't speak.
Didn't move.
Only watched.
"You were mine," the girl whispered.
The bishop raised his staff. "You made the vow. The house remembers only obedience."
Flames erupted.
The vision blurred.
Seraphina staggered as the memory ended.
But now she knew something for certain.
Lucien had been bound too.
Not as a lover.
Not as a guardian.
But as the key.
Across from her, Calis gasped.
She had seen it too.
"Then it was never meant to be us," Calis said breathlessly. "We're just echoes."
"No," Seraphina said firmly. "We are the correction."
The flames lowered.
The Crown descended.
It hovered above both of them now—between them.
Then—split.
Right down the center.
Half fell into Calis's lap.
Half into Seraphina's hands.
Lucien's eyes widened.
"That's never happened before," he murmured.
Seraphina stared down at the half-crown in her palm.
Twisted silver. A single ruby.
It pulsed—warm, steady. Alive.
The fire pit died.
The vow, broken… or reborn.
Seraphina looked across the chapel at Calis.
Tears streamed down both their faces.
"We were never enemies," Seraphina said softly.
"No," Calis whispered. "Just survivors."
Outside, lightning split the sky.
But no thunder followed.
The air itself seemed to hold its breath.
Nightspire had made its choice.
And it had chosen balance.
Later that evening, Seraphina sat beside the cracked mirror in her chamber. It no longer shimmered. No longer whispered. It was silent.
She ran her fingers over the frame.
"I'm not you anymore," she said to her reflection. "But I carry you still."
Lucien stood in the doorway.
He didn't speak.
Just watched her with something close to reverence. Or grief. Or both.
She rose and walked toward him.
"Do you remember everything now?" he asked.
"I remember enough," she replied.
"And do you forgive me?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"But I still choose you."
Lucien exhaled, like he'd been holding that breath for centuries.
They stood close.
Too close.
But no fire erupted this time.
No curse reacted.
Only warmth.
Only silence.
Only choice.
And for the first time since she returned, Seraphina leaned in—
And kissed him.
Not as a cursed bride.
Not as a reborn villainess.
But as a girl with a name, a soul, and a future.
One she was ready to write for herself.
.........................................
The curse had ended.But the story had only just begun.Because memory isn't always yours—But the future always is.