I had a plan.
It was not a good plan. But it was a plan.
After last night's soul-shattering call with my grandmother whose romantic advice included "die poetically if you must" I'd decided that maybe, maybe, I would stop avoiding Elyzara like she was made of enchanted lava and social anxiety.
I would say hi.
That was it. One syllable. Simple.
Not a confession. Not a declaration of destiny. Just... hi.
And yet, as I stood outside the main corridor of the eastern wing Elyzara's usual morning route, precisely calculated down to the minute I found myself pinned to the wall like a hunted ghost.
You could do this, I told myself. You are the heir of the Nightthorn bloodline. Your ancestors survived plagues, firestorms, and a duel with a werewolf over a wine dispute. You can say hi.
Footsteps echoed.
Voices. Laughing.
I stiffened.
Elyzara, Riven, and Aria turned the corner, mid-conversation about soone nad Floretta who had apparently tried to enchant a sandwich into a swan and set half the kitchen on fire.
She was laughing.
And her eyes were brighter than daylight.
I bolted into the nearest alcove like a coward.
Attempt #1: Failed.
Attempt #2: Library.
I spotted her across the reading tables. She was leaning over a map, quizzing Aria on regional battle strategy while Riven doodled angry smiley faces in the margins.
I crept closer. Slow. Precise.
One foot behind the other. I even picked up a book as camouflage—an enormous to on fungus-based potion ingredients. Not subtle, but big enough to hide my face.
Closer...
Elyzara laughed again. Sothing about poison mushrooms and incompetent assassins.
My knees betrayed .
I turned sharply into the herbology aisle, hit my shoulder on the bookshelf, and dropped the fungus to directly on my foot.
I hissed.
Riven looked over. Eyes narrowed. Recognition flickered.
I ducked.
Behind ferns.
Like a moron.
Attempt #3: Courtyard.
She was practicing. Spinning through a series of staff maneuvers with Aria while Riven stretched and muttered about sprains and pride.
The sun caught her silver braid as she moved. Her arms were strong, precise. Magic flickered at her fingertips even when she wasn't trying.
I hovered near the practice dummies.
Riven spotted instantly. Like a hawk.
"Are you stalking us?" he asked flatly.
"No," I said. Then, stupidly, "Yes."
He stared.
"Wait. No," I corrected. "I an not you. Her. I an not like that!"
He blinked slowly, in visible emotional pain. "That was painful to watch."
"I hate this," I hissed under my breath, turning away.
Behind , I heard Aria say, "Was that Velka?"
And Elyzara calm, amused, too perceptive murmured, "I think so."
I vanished into the hedge maze.
Like a cryptid.
By the ti battle drills started that afternoon, I was raw with secondhand embarrassnt. My magic was humming with nervous static. I wanted to throw myself off a modest cliff.
We stood in our lines. The instructor barked orders. Pairings shuffled. Aria and Riven were talking nearby, whispering sothing about spell formations.
And Elyzara?
She stood ten feet away.
Back straight. Staff glowing faintly. Entirely unaware that I was falling apart from twenty feet of proximity.
This was it.
No escape routes.
I had one spell left in my ntal spellbook: Blurt.
I inhaled.
And then, as the command to begin rang through the air and swords clashed around us, I turned to her with the grace of a startled bat and shouted:
"HI!"
Silence.
Not from everyone just her.
She froze , I froze , the instructor tripped over his own feet.
Aria dropped her staff.
Riven, from across the field, turned slowly and said, in a voice heavy with grief, "That was the worst timing I have ever witnessed."
I was already walking backward.
Fast then turned and ran.
Behind , I heard Elyzara say, "Did she just—?"
"Yes," Aria said solemnly.
"I liked it," Aria added a beat later.
I disappeared into the changing room and scread into a towel.
Later that evening, after I'd sufficiently humiliated myself into oblivion and yelled at three pillows for existing, I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling.
My grandmother's voice rang in my mory: "Say hi. What's the worst that could happen?"
I'd discovered the worst.
It was .
And yet...
So part of was glad I'd said it.
Even if it ca out like a dying squirrel.
Even if I'd fled.
Because maybe next ti, I'd say more.
Maybe next ti... I wouldn't run.
Maybe I'd speak like a person, not like a broken spell scroll. Maybe I wouldn't shout greetings mid-battle and flee the scene like I was being hunted by regret and ard embarrassnt.
I groaned into my pillow.
And then, against my better judgnt—because clearly, I never learned—I opened the enchanted mirror again and muttered, "Initiate bloodline link. Grand Matron Lysbeth Nightthorn."
The mirror pulsed.
A swirl of dark mist.
"Well, well," said a voice like amused thunder wrapped in silk. "Calling twice in the sa week? Should I alert the family elders? Are you finally cursed or did soone propose?"
I stared, dead-eyed. "I yelled hi at her mid-battle drill."
There was a pause.
A long one.
Then Grandmother Lysbeth burst out laughing.
It wasn't a ladylike laugh. No soft chuckle. This was the full, delighted howl of a woman who had witnessed centuries of disasters and had just found a new favorite.
"You what?" she wheezed. "You didn't just speak you shouted?"
"Mid-drill," I confird, face buried in my palm.
"Oh stars, Velka." She wiped at invisible tears. "What kind of dramatic vampire debutante are you? What happened to composure?"
"She was standing there! Glowing and smug and gorgeous! And it just ca out!"
Lysbeth cackled harder. "Did she run away?"
"No. I did."
"Oh no."
"I didn't even wait for her to respond!"
"Oh Velka." She leaned forward, grinning. "You poor, socially shattered bat."
"I'm hanging up."
"No, no don't you dare. You ca to for guidance. This is the price you pay."
"I was hoping for wisdom."
"And I'm giving you reality," she said smugly. "Which is better. Now, let's assess the damage. How much eye contact was made?"
"Roughly 1.3 seconds."
"Excellent. Did she laugh?"
"She blinked."
"Promising."
"She was probably in shock."
"Still counts."
"She probably thinks I'm hexed."
"Well, you are, but not magically."
I growled softly.
"Velka," she said after a beat, her tone softening. "Sweetheart. You're not broken. You're not cursed. You're experiencing... mortal awkwardness. Welco to the worst part of being young and full of inconvenient feelings."
"I hate it."
"I know." She sipped from a dark glass that absolutely did not contain wine and absolutely did. "But you did sothing brave."
I raised a brow. "I shouted 'hi' like a possessed raccoon."
"Yes. And you didn't combust. Which ans there's hope."
I sighed and flopped back on my bed, arms splayed dramatically. "I'm never going to live this down."
"Probably not," she agreed cheerfully. "But maybe next ti, you won't run , and you'll say sothing else. And one day gods willing you'll manage a conversation."
"A revolutionary concept."
She raised her glass. "To emotional growth. And whatever disaster you cause next."
"Thanks, Grandmother," I said flatly.
She grinned, fangs flashing. "Anyti, darling. Now go light a candle, journal about your feelings, and don't scream next ti."
The mirror went dark.
I stared at my ceiling in silence.
The warmth of embarrassnt still lingered beneath my skin like a slow-burning fever. My mind replayed the mont over and over her face, the startled look in her eyes, the way I bolted as if I'd declared war instead of offered a greeting. It was absurd. I was absurd.
I closed my eyes, drew a deep breath, and forced my thoughts into order.
I had not always been like this.
Before that dream, before the corridor and the strange pull of recognition, I had been composed. Cold when necessary. Sharp as a blade in conversation. I never fumbled over words. I never tripped over glances. I didn't panic.
So what had changed?
The girl hadn't. Not really. Elyzara was still too loud, too bold, too powerful for her own good. But sothing in had shifted. The way I saw her the way I felt her presence it didn't match the tiline. It didn't match logic.
I refused to let that unravel .
I sat up, straightened my spine, and placed both hands flat on my lap. There was still ti to reset things. Reclaim control. I would speak to her again. Not shout. Not flee. I would be... Velka Nightthorn. Not a stamring shadow.
The candles flickered gently across the stone walls, casting pale reflections in the glass of my window. I stood and crossed the room, pressing a hand to the cold surface, watching the stars stretch across the night like a map I couldn't yet read. Sowhere, Elyzara was likely laughing in her sleep, dreaming of swords and chaos and things I didn't understand.
I clenched my jaw, steadying the beat of my thoughts. I would speak to her. Not as a girl caught in sothing unexplainable but as Velka Nightthorn. Noble-born. Composed. Unshakeable. Tomorrow, I'd look her in the eyes. And I wouldn't flinch.
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