The package came without a name.
Just a folded square of parchment left on Elara's pillow, sealed in violet wax with a symbol she didn't recognize—two crescents overlapping like mirrored eyes.
She broke the seal.
Inside: aged, brittle paper scrawled in looping ink.
Familiar handwriting.
Too familiar.
It was a diary page.
Kael's sister's diary.
The heading read:
"To the boy who always chose blood before breath."
Elara read the first few lines.
Then stopped.
Then started again.
He watched me burn, and still calls it mercy.
He tells me the fire took the wrong one. But every night I hear my name in the walls.
And sometimes… I think he stitched my shadow into someone else's skin.
A girl with my face. My scent. My scream.
Elara's hands shook.
She flipped the page.
On the back, a faint sketch.
A girl.
Smiling.
Wearing a crown of thorns.
Eyes wide.
Gold.
The drawing was unfinished—but the features…
They were hers.
"Elara."
She turned.
Lysandra stood at the open doorway, all elegance and smug serenity.
"Elara," she said again, softly. "He never meant to love you. Only to recover her."
Elara didn't answer.
Lysandra smiled.
"He thinks you don't see it. But your face cracks in the same places hers did."
Still, Elara stayed silent.
Lysandra stepped inside.
"He stitched his guilt into your spine. Wrote her name where yours should be."
Then she leaned close.
"And when he kisses you, Elara, he's only trying to shut her voice up."
That night, Elara didn't eat.
Didn't dress for council.
Didn't sleep.
She paced.
And waited.
Until Kael returned.
He came to her chamber just before dawn.
Dark circles under his eyes.
Blood on his cuffs.
But no wounds.
"Lysandra," he said, voice sharp. "She's crossed a line."
Elara held the parchment out.
Kael stopped.
Stared.
Didn't reach for it.
"She gave me this," Elara said.
Silence.
Kael didn't move.
"She told me I'm a vessel."
"She's lying."
"She said I'm her shadow."
"You're not."
"She said when you look at me, you see her."
Kael's jaw tensed.
Elara stepped forward.
Thrust the page into his hands.
"Then tell me that isn't your sister's handwriting."
Kael closed his eyes.
Didn't deny it.
Elara's voice cracked. "Tell me you didn't draw this. Tell me you didn't bring me back from the fire just to repaint her face."
"I didn't."
"Then why won't you look at me?"
He did, then.
And it hurt more than if he hadn't.
Because his eyes weren't afraid.
They were guilty.
"You were a child," he said. "You don't remember the fire. But I do."
"What are you saying?"
"You were there," he whispered. "With her. That night."
Elara's breath hitched.
"No."
"I pulled one of you out. Not both."
"No."
"I thought it was her. But it wasn't."
Her knees nearly gave out.
Kael moved to steady her.
She shoved him away.
"You thought I was her?"
"You were a child—"
"You bonded with me thinking I was your sister?"
"No—"
"You kissed me with her memory in your mouth?"
Kael flinched.
"Do you know what that makes me?" Elara spat.
"Stop—"
"A mirror. A replica. A tool to undo your sins."
"I didn't know."
"But you didn't stop when you did."
Kael's voice dropped.
"I tried."
She laughed—hollow, bitter.
"You say you love me, but I think you just needed me to survive you."
"I love you because you refused to become her."
"Then say it."
"What?"
"Say that I am not her. That I never was. That you don't want her back."
Kael's throat worked.
But no sound came.
Elara's voice trembled. "You can't."
He stepped forward.
"I love you."
She turned away.
"You don't even know me."
"I know what your blood tastes like when you cry."
"That's not love."
"I know what your voice sounds like when you lie and call yourself weak."
"That's not love."
"I know what it feels like to want to tear the world apart just to keep you from disappearing."
Elara turned back.
Her eyes wet.
Her voice shaking.
"That's still not love."
Kael walked to her slowly.
Held her arms.
Tight.
And said:
"Then let it be obsession. Let it be madness. Let it be anything that keeps you mine."
She stared at him.
Then whispered:
"You don't get to keep what you never truly chose."
Kael let her go.
His hands fell away.
He stepped back.
"You don't belong to me," he said.
"No," she whispered.
"But gods help me," he said, "I'm going to fall for you like you do."