Jane stood outside the nursery, her palm still resting against the oak door. She lingered there for a long moment before finally turning and walking down the shadowed corridor. The portraits watched her pass in silence. Each step felt heavier than the last.
The sitting room was quiet when she entered. Aldric and Seraphina sat close to the hearth, their faces drawn in the flickering firelight. Celestine and Lucien occupied the armchairs by the window, while Elara stood rigidly beside the bookcase, her eyes fixed on the floorboards.
Viviane perched on the arm of the sofa with her legs crossed. Sylvaine had taken a straight-backed chair near the door. Raphaël and Luelle shared a small settee, their shoulders pressed together, while Saoirse leaned against the stone wall with her arms folded tightly across her chest.
Jack stood beside the mantelpiece, exhaustion etched into his features. Roxane sat in the center of the room. She claimed no obvious authority, yet her stillness seemed to command everyone's attention.
Jane crossed the room and took the empty seat beside Jack.
For a long moment, the only sound was the crackling fire.
Jack spoke first.
"The preparations. Are they really complete?"
Aldric leaned forward, his voice low and measured.
"The blood ritual will increase from fifteen runes to twenty-five. Based on her performance last year, we could push it to thirty or even more. However, this time she isn't facing the blood ritual alone. It would be better to keep the number below thirty."
Saoirse shifted against the wall, her brow furrowing.
"Twenty-five is still a lot for a five-year-old."
"She can handle it," Seraphina replied. Her voice was thin, but firm. "She handled fifteen and remained conscious both times. Morwenna is stronger than she looks."
Roxane unfolded her hands, drawing every eye toward her.
"On the LeFay side, the preparations are also complete," she said. Her voice remained level, offering no particular comfort. "Unlike the previous rituals, this one primarily affects the soul's connection to the bloodline rather than the physical body or the magical core. The soul is far more difficult to heal than the body, and much harder to stabilize. That's what makes this ritual more dangerous than an ordinary bath."
No one spoke. A log popped in the hearth, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney.
"I'm the best healer the LeFay line has, and physical healing is my specialty," Roxane continued, looking around at the gathered family. "However, we also have someone who specializes in the soul. It will be fine."
Jack's hands tightened into fists at his sides.
"Who is it?"
Roxane didn't answer directly. Instead, she turned her gaze toward the window, where the night pressed heavily against the glass.
"They will be here when they are needed."
Celestine shifted in her chair, her green eyes narrowing slightly.
"The heart blood."
Roxane nodded.
"Unlike the previous bath, this time we need one drop of heart blood from each parent and both sets of grandparents for the base mixture. The god-grandparents will provide additional anchoring, while the godparents will serve as extra links." She counted them off on her fingers. "Seven drops of heart blood in total."
Jane's hand instinctively moved to her chest. Jack reached over and covered it with his own, his grip offering a quiet reassurance.
"Everything has already been collected," Roxane said. "It's safely stored and ready for tomorrow."
Aldric straightened, his expression solemn.
"The positions."
Roxane rose from her chair and walked slowly toward the center of the room. She turned to face each of them in turn.
"You will all stand at fixed distances. The inner circle, four meters away, will consist of Aldric, Seraphina, Jack, Jane, Celestine, and Lucien."
She moved her gaze to the next group.
"The middle circle, six meters away, will consist of Elara, Viviane, and Sylvaine."
Finally, she gestured toward the outermost edge of the room.
"The rest of you will remain at the outer line, seven meters away. No one leaves their assigned position. No one moves, regardless of what happens."
Her voice dropped to a chilling whisper.
"If anyone moves, we could face the worst possible outcome."
Luelle reached for Raphaël's hand. He immediately clasped hers, holding it tightly.
Roxane returned her attention to the center of the room.
"Because this ritual focuses on the soul, the fire beneath the bath will be connected directly to her heartbeat and life force. As long as the flames continue burning, they will tell us that she is alive."
She paused, allowing the words to settle.
"If the flames go out, she is gone. They can't be relit."
The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence.
Roxane returned to her chair and folded her hands in her lap, as though the matter had been settled.
"Rest tonight. Tomorrow, we begin."
. . .
The family dispersed slowly, but Roxane's words seemed to follow them out of the room.
Celestine and Lucien went upstairs together, their footsteps soft against the old wooden staircase. Raphaël and Luelle followed shortly afterward. Elara paused at the doorway and glanced back at Jane, her gaze lingering for a moment. Viviane briefly touched Jane's shoulder in a quiet gesture of solidarity, while Sylvaine offered a curt nod before disappearing into the shadows of the corridor.
Saoirse remained beside the wall for a little longer, her arms still folded tightly across her chest. Eventually, she pushed herself away from the stone and left without saying a word.
Aldric and Seraphina were the last to go. Before leaving, Aldric paused at the doorway.
"Jane."
She looked up, her eyes weary.
"Rest," he said gently.
She nodded.
Aldric gave her one last look before leaving with Seraphina.
The sitting room was empty now. The fire had burned low, casting long, flickering shadows across the furniture.
Jane rose and walked toward the small desk in the corner. She pulled out her baby-blue journal and opened it to a blank page. Her quill hovered above the paper, trembling slightly before finally touching down.
May 1, 1985.
Tomorrow is the ritual. The real one. L'Éveil du Sang (The Awakening of the Blood).
She paused. A bead of ink gathered at the tip of her quill.
Seven drops of heart blood. Twenty-five runes. Four meters, six meters, seven meters. No one moves.
Grand-mère says the soul is harder to heal than the body. She says the fire will show us whether she is still alive. If it goes out, she is dead.
Jane stared at the words. The dark ink looked painfully sharp against the cream-colored paper.
I have to believe she will survive.
She lowered the quill.
The words remained on the page, heavy and unmoving. She didn't close the journal. Instead, she sat there in silence until Jack crossed the room and rested a hand on her shoulder.
"Come to bed," he said quietly.
Jane stood, leaving the journal open on the desk.
Together, they walked upstairs through the darkened halls. The portraits had fallen silent, their painted occupants resting inside their frames.
Jane stopped outside the nursery. She placed her palm flat against the wooden door.
She didn't knock. She simply stood there, listening to the quiet breathing on the other side, until Jack gently guided her away.
She turned and followed him to their bedroom. The door closed behind them, and the house settled into a deep, uneasy silence.
. . .
The light was a flat, uninspiring gray when Jane finally opened her eyes.
She hadn't slept at all. Instead, she had lain in the darkness with Jack's arm resting across her waist, listening to the clock steadily count away the seconds. At some point, the gray morning light had begun creeping through the curtains, but she had barely noticed the change.
She slowly sat up, and Jack's arm slipped away.
He was already awake, staring at the ceiling with a vacant expression.
Neither of them spoke.
They dressed in complete silence.
. . .
The morning room was full.
Steaming food had been laid out across the table, but hardly anyone had touched their plates.
Morwenna sat between Jane and Seraphina. Her hair was almost entirely black now, with only the tips retaining their snowy white color. The silver streak near her temple caught the pale morning light.
The green velvet snake rested in her lap, its long body coiled around her legs. Beneath the table, Cinder lay with his chin resting against her knee.
The atmosphere felt heavy, almost suffocating.
Morwenna watched the steam rise from her tea before slowly disappearing into the air. Her gaze shifted to Jane's trembling fingers, then to the tight line of Aldric's jaw.
No one spoke.
The silence seemed to press down on her from every direction.
A cold, hollow dread settled in the pit of her stomach. It was a fear without a name or shape, something she could feel but couldn't understand. She suddenly felt very small, much smaller than she had the day before, as though the world around her had grown larger and more dangerous overnight.
She picked up her fork, held it for a moment, then quietly placed it back on the table.
Her eyes moved around the table, taking in each familiar face.
Everyone was waiting.
She could feel their attention, the weight of their unspoken worries and the things they were trying so desperately not to show her.
Morwenna straightened her back.
"I will be fine."
Her voice was clear and steady. She said it as though it were a simple fact, something that didn't need to be questioned.
Saoirse's mouth twitched slightly. Beneath the table, Jane reached over and squeezed her daughter's hand.
No one contradicted her.
. . .
After breakfast, Jane helped Morwenna change into a simple pair of cotton shorts and a gray shirt.
Morwenna sat on the edge of her bed, looking around the nursery. Somehow, it felt like a place she had already begun to leave behind.
Cinder pressed his warm body against her legs. The green velvet snake lay across the pillow, its small glass eyes staring blankly ahead.
She waited.
. . .
By midmorning, Jane walked beside her while Jack followed close behind.
The stone stairs felt freezing beneath Morwenna's bare feet.
At the bottom waited the ritual chamber, its torches burning low and blue runes pulsing across the floor.
The chamber looked exactly as she remembered it. Stone walls surrounded the room, while the torchlight cast wavering shadows across the ancient carvings. The runes beneath her feet glowed with a soft, rhythmic blue light.
At the center stood the altar, its gray cloth smooth and neatly arranged.
The blood ritual always came first. It was the foundation upon which everything else would be built.
Morwenna climbed onto the altar and lay down.
The cold stone pressed against her back. She stared at the ceiling, watching the torchlight flicker across its uneven surface.
Then the carving began.
Twenty-five marks.
Each rune flared against her skin, bringing a sharp bite of frost followed by a heavy, creeping warmth.
The runes pulsed in time with the low chanting. She could feel them sinking into her flesh, taking root beneath her skin as though demanding space within her body.
Morwenna focused on the shadows overhead, using them to keep her thoughts from scattering.
One.
Two.
Three.
The air gradually grew heavier. Breathing became difficult, each breath requiring more effort than the last. The pain spread through her body, becoming a dull, relentless pressure that threatened to drag her beneath its weight.
She didn't scream.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the cloth until her knuckles turned white. She forced her eyes to remain open and continued counting.
At some point, she lost track of the numbers.
Then she found her place again.
And lost it once more.
The pressure continued to build until it felt as though something was pressing down on her from every direction.
Then, slowly, it began to ease.
The runes dimmed one after another. The chanting faded, and the chamber fell silent.
Morwenna was still lying on the stone altar.
She was still conscious.
And she was still breathing.
Jack lifted her from the altar. Her arms hung limply at her sides, and her head rested against his shoulder. She was too exhausted to move, barely able to make sense of the voices around her.
Everything sounded distant and blurred.
Then Jane's hand touched her cheek.
"It's done," her mother whispered.
"Done," Morwenna repeated faintly.
The ceiling blurred above her. The shadows slipped away, and her consciousness gradually faded.
Then there was nothing.
. . .
Warmth slowly drew her back.
Morwenna opened her eyes, blinking against the familiar surroundings. The nursery fire was burning low and steadily in the hearth. Cinder lay curled at her feet, his breathing slow and even. The green velvet snake rested heavily against her side, its familiar softness anchoring her to the mattress.
She didn't remember climbing the stairs.
She didn't remember walking through the corridors.
All she could recall was the cold stone beneath her back and the chanting that had filled the chamber.
Jane sat in the chair beside the window, her hands folded in her lap. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but clear.
"The blood ritual is over," Jane said softly. "It worked."
Morwenna gave a small nod.
Her body felt hollow, as though everything had been drained from it. Still, the sharp ache was gone. Only a lingering heaviness remained, along with the irresistible pull of sleep weighing down her eyelids.
"Sleep, baby. Rest now," Jane whispered.
Morwenna slowly closed her eyes.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth. Beside her, Cinder's tail gave a single thump against the blanket.
She let the quiet surround her, allowing sleep to pull her under once more.
This time, she sank into a deep, dreamless darkness.