The library was quiet, save for the scratch of my quill finishing the final annotations on a basic defensive charm I planned to teach Luna. The parchment was neat, organized, precise—everything I wanted my magic to be. Everything I wanted me to be.
And then… the door creaked.
Instinctively, I snapped my wand up, a low hum of magical energy coalescing at its tip. "Expelliarmus!" I shouted before even looking.
A few sparks fizzed harmlessly at the threshold as the air shimmered with the force of my reaction. My heart raced. Of course—Rowena. Only she could provoke that kind of reflexive aggression.
I gritted my teeth, breathing shallow. Still mad. Still embarrassed. Rejection leaves an aftertaste that lingers longer than fire or blood.
After a moment, my magic cooled, dissipating into the corners of the room. I lowered my wand slowly, still rigid with tension. "Fine," I said, voice sharp. "You may come in."
Rowena stepped inside carefully, her hands raised slightly in a non-threatening gesture. Her eyes flicked to the scattered quills and spell notes, then to me, and she smiled faintly—just faintly enough to make me clench my jaw.
I didn't return the smile. I glared. My ruby-red eyes locked on hers, and I could feel the weight behind that stare. The glare wasn't just annoyance—it was humiliation, frustration, and every awkward, hurt, flustered emotion I'd felt when she'd rejected me.
She froze under it, stepping lightly toward the nearest table. "Seraphina… I just—"
"Don't," I cut her off, my voice cold. "Don't even try. You've already said what you meant. I heard it. I understood it."
Rowena's lips pressed into a thin line. "I didn't mean to hurt you—"
"Save it," I muttered, turning slightly so she wouldn't see the faint blush creeping up my cheeks. "I'm not asking for explanations. And I'm not going to forgive it, either. Not yet."
She took a slow step closer, hesitating. "You're… angry."
"Yes. I am," I said plainly, letting my glare soften just a touch—but not enough to forgive. "You embarrassed me. And now everyone else is giving me that pitying look like I'm some broken little child. So yes. I'm angry. And before you ask… don't make me angrier."
Rowena's gaze softened, her shoulders sagging slightly, but she stayed quiet. I could tell she wanted to speak, to comfort me, maybe even joke the tension away—but I wasn't ready for that. Not yet.
I returned to my parchment, pretending to scribble a note as if I hadn't just spent the last few minutes glaring daggers at the woman I'd once—foolishly—thought I could have.
The library felt smaller somehow, the candlelight flickering over rows of books and half-finished spells. Magic hummed faintly around me, a shield against the chaos of emotion. Rowena didn't move closer, didn't try to touch me, didn't speak—she just waited. Respecting boundaries I hadn't even fully set for myself.
I didn't say anything more. I just let her presence fill the space while I organized my notes, dipped my quill into ink, and worked.
Somewhere deep down, I knew I wanted her here. But the fire in my chest reminded me sharply: Not yet. Not until I decide.
For now, the library was mine. The spells were mine. And the glare? Absolutely mine.