The Ravenshade Manor did not welcome ordinary.
Its walls were lined with whispering books, its chandeliers glowed with bottled starlight, and its gardens bloomed with flowers that only opened when spoken to sweetly.
So when Seraphina was born beneath a blood moon — silent, unblinking, and wrapped in a strange warmth that melted the frost off the windowpanes — the entire estate seemed to pause.
And then… exhale.
As if it had been waiting for her.
---
She didn't cry.
Not on the first night.
Not on the second.
Not when the midwife poked her foot or when the peacock outside screamed at 3 a.m. (again).
She only stared — wide-eyed, golden-amber orbs glowing faintly in the candlelight. Like tiny suns trying to remember how to burn.
> "She's… watching me," the midwife whispered.
"She's a baby," Lady Isadora huffed, swaddling Seraphina tighter in violet silk.
"A very fashionable, brilliant, possibly ancient baby.
---
Lady Isadora Ravenshade
If drama were a person, it would be her.
She spoke in monologues, slept in perfume, and once declared war on tea that steeped too bitterly.
But when it came to Seraphina?
She was gentle. Fierce. Obsessively loving in that "yes I had a throne custom-built for her nursery" kind of way.
She didn't flinch when the fireplace flared the first time Seraphina giggled.
She simply said,
> "Ah. My little flame has good taste in comedy."
---
Lord Caelum Ravenshade
Reserved. Mysterious. Probably friends with ghosts.
He didn't do baby talk.
But he did enchant her bedtime books to read themselves aloud in seven languages.
And once, when Seraphina sneezed and the entire east wing flickered with fire magic, he merely sipped his tea and muttered,
"Noted."
---
Late One Night...
Rain tapped the windowpanes. The nursery glowed in soft amber from firefly lamps floating gently above her crib.
Lady Isadora stood near the door, arms folded in her silk robe. Caelum leaned beside the window, watching the storm.
Seraphina was asleep. Peaceful. Dreaming with her little fist curled around a glowing charm that had not been in the crib earlier.
> "Caelum," Isadora said, voice low.
"You saw it too, didn't you? The way the flames bend near her? How the mirrors... respond?"
Caelum nodded once.
> "I've run the calculations. Her birth fell on the mirrored eclipse."
"And?"
"The same one that hasn't appeared since the Fall of the Kharkans ."
"…The one that opened the first mirror gate?"
"Exactly."
Isadora exhaled slowly, like the room had gotten heavier.
> "She's not just magical," she said quietly. "She's... connected. To something old. Something forgotten."
> "She's a key," Caelum replied. "Or a curse. Possibly both."
They stood in silence for a moment, staring at their daughter.
And then Lady Isadora, ever the flaming heart of the house, squared her shoulders.
> "Well. Then we raise her to be strong."
"And careful."
"And loved. Every day. No matter what's behind that mirror."
Caelum finally smiled, faintly.
"Agreed."
---
By Age 2...
Seraphina had never cried.
She rarely laughed.
But she listened.
To the wind. To the whispers. To the mirror.
Her nursery was filled with gifts: enchanted dolls that bowed, picture books with moving stories, a plush dragon that breathed actual glitter.
But her favorite thing?
The mirror on the far wall.
She'd sit in front of it for hours, tracing it with chubby fingers, tilting her head as if listening to someone just beyond the glass.
---
One night, Isadora peeked in.
Seraphina was humming again.
And the mirror?
It shimmered.
For just a moment — a blink — the reflection didn't match.
It was older. Stronger. Wearing flames like they were part of her skin.
Isadora gasped.
But when she blinked again, it was gone.
Just her baby.
Still staring.
> "Mummy," Seraphina whispered, tilting her head,
"Why is she on fire "
Isadora swallowed.
Smiled.
And said,
"Because greatness always remembers its shape,Darling "