René staggered, her vision blurring. Blood poured from the stump where her hand had been, gushing hot and fast, soaking her sleeve. Her face had gone ghostly pale, and the world around her wavered like a dream. Her knees threatened to buckle. Darkness pressed at the edges of her sight—thick, heavy, final.
Somewhere in the haze, she heard it.
'Mother… Come. Let's go, Mother.`
Her eyes snapped open, darting around the ruined hall. No one. Only Alina, standing there with her wand poised, watching like a predator enjoying the last twitch of prey.
Then the voice came again.
'Mother… That's enough pain. That's enough for you in this world.`
René's breath caught. That voice—soft, small, achingly familiar—belonged to Maria. Her youngest daughter.
A tremor rippled through her body. All the years of grief, rage, and stone-faced endurance cracked in an instant. Tears welled up and spilled freely for the first time in decades.
"Maria…" René whispered, her lips trembling. "My beautiful daughter… I'm coming for you. I'm so tired."
The voice urged her again, coaxing her gently: 'Yes, Mother… let's go somewhere beautiful.'
Alina tilted her head. "What's this? Are you hallucinating, René Voclain ?" she taunted.
But René barely heard her. She kept murmuring, "I'm sorry, my daughter… I'm sorry for not being a good mother. I'm sorry for being useless. I'm sorry for all the pain I caused you."
A deeper pain struck her then—a truth she had never faced. On the brink of death, she realized she hadn't once thought of her husband, the man she had spent years mourning while neglecting her children. She had wasted her life grieving a man who betrayed her… and now, in her final moments, the only voice that came for her was her child's.
Her body shook. Her tears fell harder.
"I'm sorry, my dear… ma petite bébé," she said in painful voice.
Alina frowned, confused by the stream of soft, desperate words. Then her lips curled into a cruel smile. "Well… let's not torture you any longer."
She raised her wand, her voice dripping with mockery as she pronounced, with her heavy French accent, "Avada Kedavra."
A flash of blinding green swallowed the room.
René's body crumpled to the ground, her wand still clenched in her remaining hand. Tears still streaked her cheeks. Her lips moved in one last breath, whispering the same words over and over: "I'm sorry, Maria. I'm sorry, Maria."
Alina looked down at her for a moment, exhaling as though a tedious chore was finally done. Then her smirk returned. "Let's see how my little Eira reacts when she hears her not-so-close grandmother is dead."
She laughed—a cold, brittle laugh—and turned away. The echo of her high-heeled footsteps carried through the shattered corridors of Voclain Mansion. Her whistling was low and haunting, weaving into the crackle of distant flames. The mansion lay in ruin. Silence, except for the fire crackle.
*********************************
Back To The next afternoon
Eira stood before Madame Maxime in the headmistress's rooftop garden, still unsure why she had been called.
"My condolences, Miss White," Maxime said softly.
Eira blinked, her stomach tightening. "What… what do you mean?" Her voice wavered.
"I'm sorry, child," Maxime said, her expression grave. "Last night, your grandmother was found dead in the Voclain estate. The family was attacked."
Eira's heart gave a sharp, unexpected pang. She sighed—not in grief, but in the strange, quiet understanding that it wasn't Emma or her aunt Isabella. It was René—a grandmother with whom she had no real bond, no warm memories. The last time they had spoken was a year ago, and it had ended badly.
"What about my aunt?" she asked quickly. "Is she… is she okay?"
Maxime shook her head. "Unfortunately, no. She's still at the Voclain estate, she's devastated."
"Can I go to her?" Eira asked, her voice low but urgent. "She'll be alone…"
"Yes, you can go" Maxime said. "It's only five days until the Christmas holidays. I'll speak to the professors."
Eira nodded. "Thank you, Madame Maxime."
"Don't be sad," Maxime said gently. "I know you weren't close with each other, but she was still a good woman in her way. She had her flaws, her pain. She was a victim—of life, and of those she loved. And for that… unfortunately she died with loads of pain and suffering."
Eira only nodded again, her mind already with her aunt. She turned and left the garden, walking back to her dorm to pack. Whatever complicated feelings she had about René, she knew one thing—her aunt would be devastated, and she wasn't going to let her face that alone.