At five, Seraphina Ravenshade was an explosion in pastel.
A walking hurricane of ribbons, glitter boots, and relentless questions. She ran through the manor's gilded halls like they were her personal racetrack, cape flapping, curls bouncing, declaring duels with decorative suits of armor and occasionally interrogating the portraits.
> "Did you SEE me draw that bunny yesterday, Sir Gloomington? No? Well, it had a sword. You missed greatness."
She made the moonflowers bloom out of season once just by yelling "PLEASE BLOOM RIGHT NOW OR I'LL CRY" at them.
The house adored her.
The staff adored her.
The garden gnomes feared her, but that was part of the charm.
****
Every sentence began with a question.
> "Mummy, why does tea taste sad?"
"Papa, if I set a book on fire but it asks for it, is it still wrong?"
"Why does the mirror feel like it's breathing sometimes?"
That last one made the teacup tremble on the saucer.
Isadora and Caelum exchanged a glance over breakfast.
> "it's like she bonds with the mirror , isn't this becoming concerning, she's too young " Caelum said softly.
The veil's thinning." Isadora murmured.
---
The Mirror....
The same mirror, tall and ancient, still sat in her room.
It shimmered faintly now, more often.
She began to whisper to it.
Not nonsense. Not babble.
Names.
She didn't know they were names.
But they slipped from her mouth like they'd always lived there.
> "Mum… Dad… Omo… Mama?"
"Wait—why two Mums? That's silly. Or… not."
The mirror would ripple when she spoke.
Like it knew something.
Like it remembered too.
The First Dream...
It came after her fifth birthday.
She had stuffed herself with too much starlight cake, chased faeries through the hallway, and passed out mid-storybook.
That night, the fire in her bedroom flickered blue.
And she dreamed.
But it wasn't a normal dream.
It was hot.
And loud.
People were screaming.
Someone was holding her hand.
> "Run."
She saw a forest. Flames. A man with a broken cookie in his hand and a horrible smile.
She woke up shaking.
Sweating.
> "Mummy?" she whispered into the dark. "I had a scary dream."
Isadora rushed in, scooping her into velvet arms.
> "Tell me, little flame."
"There was… a man. A bad man. And I think he lied to me. I think… I think he liked cookies."
Isadora froze.
Just for a second.
Then smoothed her daughter's hair and kissed her forehead.
> "Dreams are just memories from places we haven't visited yet," she whispered.
"Or ones we've tried to forget."
---
But by Morning...
Seraphina was bouncing again.
Drawing dragons on the walls with illusion chalk.
Practicing "mirror ballet" with the fireplace tongs.
Telling her parents that she was "probably famous in another universe."
But something in her eyes lingered.
Not fear.
Not yet.
Just… curiosity.
With a sharp edge.
And when she passed the mirror that evening, she paused.
Stared.
Tilted her head.
And whispered,
"You know something, don't you "
The mirror shimmered ever so slightly