They came quietly on the thirty-first morning.
Three priestesses, clothed in the soft gray of temple servitude—not quite acolytes, not quite guards. Their steps were careful, practiced, their eyes gentle but distant. When they entered, they bowed low in unison and did not speak until she acknowledged them.
Seraphina stood barefoot by the window, arms wrapped around herself as the cold dawn filtered through the stained glass. She didn't turn to face them.
"You can speak," she said.
The tallest of the three stepped forward and offered a voice that was soft but steady. "We've been assigned to your care, Lady Seraphina."
"We've been trained by High Priestess Aveline to attend to your needs, your comfort, your rituals."
"Aveline." She whispered softly. Even in her last years, always thinking of her and now she left this people to her. To take care of her.
The first girl who talked was young. Nineteen, maybe twenty. She had warm brown eyes and black curls tucked into a braid that fell down her back. Her name was Naia.
The second priestess was slighter, with pale skin and hair the color of snow. Her name was Imara, and her voice rarely rose above a whisper.
The third was only a few years older than Seraphina appeared to be. A girl with round cheeks and a nervous smile named Lina. She looked too soft for a temple like this, but her hands didn't tremble when she brought in the incense.
Seraphina stared at them for a long time. Not with suspicion—but with the heavy weight of hope, twisted by loss.
They were kind.
But they were not Aveline.
And they were not Kael.
Rituals began again on the thirty-third morning.
They were gentle at first—cleansing prayers at dawn, saltwater washes, whispered chants meant to "harmonize" her spirit with the Divine.
Naia recited the prayers.
Imara prepared the oils.
Lina combed her hair in silence, careful not to tug the knots too hard.
The temple had changed since the alley incident.
The guards no longer looked at her.
They avoided her.
The priests bowed lower. Spoke slower. Walked quieter. The way people did when lightning slept in the next room.
Seraphina allowed the rituals. She stood in the center of sacred circles, let the oils drip onto her shoulders, let the mantras pour over her like a veil.
But her eyes were always somewhere else.
Searching.
She liked Naia best.
Naia spoke to her like she was a person.
Not a god. Not a prophecy. Not a warning.
A girl.
On the thirty-fifth night, Naia stayed behind longer than usual after the others had gone.
Seraphina sat by the fire, knees drawn to her chest. Naia set down the tray of steamed milk and lingered near the edge of the rug.
"You don't have to bow," Seraphina said softly.
Naia straightened. "Force of habit."
"You can sit, too."
Naia hesitated, then slowly lowered herself onto the edge of the cushion.
For a long time, they sat in silence.
Then Seraphina whispered, "Did they tell you about Kael?"
Naia's throat worked before she nodded. "Only that he protected you. That he was… loyal."
Seraphina's eyes shimmered. "He was everything."
Naia didn't reach out. Didn't offer sympathy. Just nodded again.
"I miss him," Seraphina said.
"I know."
"And Aveline."
"I know that, too."
Seraphina looked into the fire. "Do you think it's wrong that I still want to play? Even after… all of it?"
Naia's answer came with no hesitation. "No. I think it means you're still you."
The silence after was thick with meaning.
But a gentler kind.
A safer kind.
She still wasn't allowed beyond the inner temple walls.
The gardens were off-limits unless supervised.
Visitors came only in silence—always watching her through silk curtains, never daring to speak.
Seraphina didn't ask to leave anymore.
She followed the rituals.
She let them dress her in robes that shimmered like sunlight.
She memorized every sacred passage, recited every vow.
But inside, a part of her had curled into a corner and stopped reaching.
That part only stirred when Naia smiled.
When Lina sneaked her dried berries after dinner.
When Imara, without being asked, placed her chair beside Seraphina's during long chants, just so she didn't sit alone.
It wasn't family.
But it was something.
On the fortieth day, she had another dream.
Kael wasn't in it.
Neither was Aveline.
It was her—walking through a hallway of mirrors, each one reflecting a different version of herself. In one, she was a warrior in gleaming armor. In another, a girl made entirely of light. In the third, a broken statue. Cracked. Hollow.
But the last mirror held no image.
Just darkness.
She woke gasping, her hands glowing with a soft pulse that didn't stop until Naia placed her palm over them and whispered, "You're safe."
And in that moment, Seraphina believed her.
Even if it was only for a heartbeat.
She wasn't happy.
But she was surviving.
And sometimes, in quiet moments, when Lina braided flowers into her hair, or when Imara hummed lullabies older than the temple itself, Seraphina would smile.
Small.
Quick.
Gone in an instant.
But real.
They never said it aloud.
But the three priestesses noticed.
Naia told the others later, when Seraphina was asleep:
"She smiled today."
And in that dim room, where the Divine slept behind golden eyes and swirling starlight—
That smile meant everything.