My Daughter-in-Law Stole My Face With the Eclipse Mirror and Made Me Serve Her Feast — Now the Mirror Is Screaming My Name
Six months later, the celestial birth-solstice arrived. It was my birthday, a day once marked by elaborate court ceremonies and public adoration.
I sat in my small pantry kitchen, bathed in the soft morning light from the narrow window. The air smelled of fresh rye bread, warm and earthy. I buttered a thick slice, the simple act a luxury I savored.
My life was quiet now. Dignified. Free.
Occasionally, travelers would pass my cottage on the outer road, their faces still subtly blurred by the “Blurring Sickness,” a persistent shadow over the realm. They spoke in hushed tones of the palace.
Across the valley, the high palace stood, a magnificent, empty shell. Most of the remaining staff had fled. The court was in ruins, its noble families still locked in confusion, unable to truly recognize one another.
Every night, as the moon rose, the incessant cries would begin. “Mother! Mother!”
The sound, though distant, carried across the valley on the cool night air. It was a constant, mournful reminder of what lay within those ornate walls.
Seraphina, her face now completely withered, lived out her days in the bedchamber, perpetually haunted by the mirror’s wails. Julian, his hands irrevocably aged, wandered the deserted halls, a ghost in his own grand prison, forever bound to her and the screaming relic.
They waited. They hoped. They prayed. They believed, perhaps, that one day I would relent, that I would return to fix the broken world they had created.
But I was here, in my peaceful pantry, watching the sun rise on my birth-solstice.
They came seeking a mother to fix the world they shattered, forgetting that a mother who gives everything can also choose to walk away.
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