"That can't be," Stas shouted, leaping from the bed and pacing back and forth blindly. "He would have noticed! He would have realized he was killing her and stopped, right?"
Max slumped helplessly against the wall, the back of his head thudding dully. Diana, like the brothers, seemed drained of all color; her alabaster skin had faded to a deathly pallor, bereft of any living hue. Only Viola remained outwardly composed—recent experience had taught her not to leap to conclusions about what their adoptive father might have done.
Stas raced past me once more, shaking the air. I reached for his arm to steady him, but my fingers slid over smooth skin.
Unlike those who had lived under Vladimir's roof, I found it easy to believe Kaandor's words. Perhaps it was the bond between spirit and host, but I knew it was more than that. My mind, with some effort, sought to shield me from the unbearable memories. Deep inside, in the darkest and most inaccessible corners of my soul, I kept a Pandora's box. Everything unbearable, everything that terrified me, everything that poisoned my life, was tucked away there.
This was where the most painful and horrifying images from my old school were hidden: the memory of someone shoving my backpack into a toilet in the boys' restroom; the moment when a classmate, sitting behind me at his desk, quietly snipped away lock after lock of my hair with a pair of scissors. It was after that that I began wearing my hair in a ponytail, hoping it might offer at least some small protection.
And here, too, lived the memory of the kidnapping—of sitting in a cold, dark van while my future executioners stood outside, arguing over what to do next.
Everything I could not bear was packed into that small box and locked away, sealed tight so the pain would not seep through. My memories of meeting Kaandor were stored there as well, and they had overfilled the already crammed space so completely that some moments began to spill out. Even now, I had no idea how to cope with the emotions tied to them. At times it seemed easier to pretend that none of it had happened to me at all. Only that illusion allowed me to keep moving forward. To freeze in place would have meant certain death—just as it would have meant admitting that what truly frightened me during my time in the Darkness was not the Darkness itself, but my own feelings: destructive, forbidden emotions I had never allowed myself to feel.
I remember exactly how that place felt. The Darkness wrapped around me like a soft blanket, promising a fairy tale with a happy ending. It beckoned, swearing it would care for me in the way I deserved. It tempted me with the rest I so desperately needed, and I wanted nothing more than to close my eyes and sink into those gentle arms, to lose myself in an eternal sleep. But curiosity prevailed. A small light flickered at the far end, urging me forward, calling me closer—and I surrendered to that fleeting desire.
As I approached, the deceptive glow thinned and faded, revealing not a fairy tale, but endless horror: a nightmare filled with Nick's pleas and his blood; the aching realization that my feelings for Nikita had been real, not the result of vampiric hypnosis.
The worst thing is to find your love and discover that it is not meant for you. The heart does not choose whom to love or why. It cannot be commanded or reasoned with.
It can only be broken. Shattered. Reduced to tiny fragments. And then, painstakingly, pieced together again—just to give yourself a chance to one day meet another love, one that will stop destroying you from within.
And I made my choice. I chose myself.
"The Darkness was preparing to accept me," I finally said aloud, piecing the memories together. "Probably in the same way it accepted Kaandor. I understand what he means. It showed me strange things, and even now I don't know whether they truly happened or not. Through a mirror in the Darkness, I saw that strange room of Vladimir's—the one where he kept your mother and Nikita."
"You saw the hidden room I found that same evening?" Viola asked, and I nodded.
"Yes, most likely. At least the mirror looked exactly the same. I only realized it later."
"And you didn't say anything?" Even weakened, Viola still had enough strength left for anger.
"Would you have told anyone something like that? 'Hey, guys, I just dreamed that your father was performing bloodletting and God knows what else right here behind the wall.' Would you have believed me?"
Viola turned sharply toward the window, lips pressed tight together. She hated being wrong—especially having to admit it.
"And back then, I was sure it was just a nightmare or the effect of some drug. Looking back, so many things become distorted."
"Or their true meaning finally comes into focus," Stas let out a nervous laugh, still pacing the room.
"What's even stranger," I continued, recalling the sensations of that ephemeral place, "is that at some point the Darkness seemed to stop wanting to merge with me. As if I wasn't what it was searching for—and so it gave me a choice. I saw two mirrors, and in each one a different reflection of a new version of myself. And in one of them, I looked…"
I hesitated, unsure whether I should describe the details and let my friends piece it together themselves, or just say it outright.
"Well…" I looked down, trying not to meet anyone's gaze directly, and waved my hand vaguely. "Like all of you."
Viola snorted."And what's that supposed to mean?"
Kaandor could not resist, and translated my words for Max into something more comprehensible:"In one of the reflections, Asya saw her vampire aspect, and in the other—her original, werewolf self."