The Scarlet Promise

The evening sky painted the stained-glass windows of Elira's bedroom in hues of fading blood. Crimson light crept across the marble floor and brushed the hem of her nightgown. Still. Silent. As if the entire world was holding its breath.

But her heart wasn't.

Elira's hand trembled as she held a small envelope, sealed with deep red wax and embossed with a thorned rose. It had appeared on her pillow, replacing the mysterious red flower she had burned in the hearth last night.

"Another one..." she whispered.

Inside, the ink—dark red and dangerously close to dried blood—spilled across the page in elegant calligraphy too perfect for any human hand.

You're beginning to wilt, little lily.

But worry not.

A garden must be tended—by someone who knows how to bleed for it.

I see your roots, even when others only see petals.

Soon, you'll understand how much I truly see you.

—S.

Elira swallowed hard. That initial... it could only mean one person. Isolde Virellith.

"She sent this... directly into my room?" she muttered. "Without anyone seeing?"

Her body trembled—not from fear alone, but from something more primal and foreign blooming within her. Terror, yes, but also the feeling of being seen. Acknowledged.

And that was far more terrifying than death.

Far across the academy, Celestienne Raventelle stood upon the eastern balcony, watching the same crimson sky. The last rays of dusk shimmered in her silver hair, casting an eerie glow on the shard of truth-mirror she held in her hand.

"It cracked after she looked into it," she murmured. "How curious..."

Behind her, a servant knelt in the shadows. "Lady D'Arvenne, our investigation on the red letter is complete. No traces of delivery magic. No signs of forced entry."

"No signs, yet someone got in," Celestienne replied coldly. Her silver eyes narrowed. "Isolde."

In her hand, she held a single strand of Elira's hair—collected discreetly from the mirror earlier. She tightened her grip, then tossed it into the flame of the candle before her

"I warned you, Vellarte. Don't move too quickly."

That night, Elira couldn't sleep.

The ticking of the wall clock echoed louder than it should have. She felt watched—not by human eyes, but by something patient and unseen in the dark.

If I open my eyes, will she be there again?

But it wasn't Isolde who came.

It was a knock—soft, deliberate—at her door.

Elira hesitated. Her fingers hovered over the doorknob. She opened it just a sliver, only to find a tall figure cloaked in midnight-blue silk standing at the threshold. Silver eyes met hers. Unmistakable.

"Still awake, Elira?" Celestienne's voice was calm, but there was an edge beneath it.

"Did you... need something, Lady D'Arvenne?"

Her eyebrow lifted slightly. "You're trembling. But not because of me, right?"

Elira said nothing. Words felt like glass in her throat.

"I came to give you this," Celestienne said softly, producing a small velvet box. Inside lay a delicate bracelet, strung with pale blue crystals that shimmered like frost.

"It detects incoming magic. If someone like... say, Vellarte, tries to sneak in again, you'll know."

Elira stared at it. A gift. No, a message.

They knew. Each other. And now they were moving.

She hesitated, then slowly slipped the bracelet onto her wrist. It felt cold—too cold.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Celestienne didn't leave immediately. She lingered at the doorway, her gaze steady and unreadable.

"You belong to no one, Elira. Not even to me... yet."

And then she turned and walked away.

Elira sank onto her bed, the bracelet pressing against her skin like ice.

Outside her window, where shadows stretched beneath the magnolia tree, a pair of crimson eyes watched.

Isolde stood in the darkness, a faint smile playing on her lips.

"Protection crystals?" she murmured. "Cute. But you forgot something, Celestienne—"

She stepped back into the shadows.

"I don't come with magic. I come with the truth."

And the night devoured the world once more.