My Daughter-in-Law Stole My Face With the Eclipse Mirror and Made Me Serve Her Feast — Now the Mirror Is Screaming My Name
The air in the palace felt thick, heavy with the unending, agonizing cries from Seraphina’s bedchamber. The sound, a constant, chilling echo of “Mother,” had driven away most of the remaining staff.
Only a handful of loyalists remained, their faces pale, their eyes hollow with sleepless nights.
Seraphina herself looked like a ghastly parody of her former self. The silver cracks had deepened into deep, dark fissures. Her once-smooth skin was now a roadmap of wrinkles, her hair dull and thin.
In just days, she had aged to appear eighty years old. Her beauty, her obsession, had withered to dust.
Julian, haggard and defeated, stood beside her. He still clutched the same leather satchel, the treasury bonds untouched.
“She won’t help us,” he murmured, his voice flat with despair. “She just… turned away.”
Seraphina swayed on her feet, leaning heavily against the wall. The mirror’s cries seemed to pierce her very soul.
“Then we bring it to her,” she rasped, her voice thin, papery. Her eyes held a desperate, animal cunning. “If she will not come to us, we will force her hand.”
Julian stared at her, then at the black velvet bundle occupying the center of the bedchamber, vibrating with the ceaseless wails. The Eclipse Mirror was heavy, made of solid, ancient materials.
They wrapped the mirror completely in black velvet, securing it with thick ropes. It was an awkward, massive burden. They had dismissed the last remaining guards, too humiliated to let anyone witness their downfall.
Seraphina, weak and frail, struggled to lift her end. Julian grunted with effort, hoisting the larger share of the weight.
They stumbled out of the bedchamber, down the grand, deserted staircases, the velvet-wrapped mirror a screaming, vibrating presence between them. Its muffled cries still resonated, but now they moved with it, a personal torment.
The palace grounds were dark and muddy from a recent rain. Seraphina’s silken slippers sank into the earth, but she pressed on, driven by a raw, desperate need.
Julian cursed under his breath, his expensive robes dragging through the mud, but he held his grip. The pride, the arrogance, the glamour of their former lives had been stripped away.
They were two desperate figures, reduced to hauling their own self-created curse through the cold, pre-dawn mud.
They reached my pantry door as the first hint of light touched the eastern sky. The mirror, still screaming, sat heavily between them, a dark, pulsing monument to their desperation.
More Stories
+ There are no comments
Add yours