The wedding had ended in a blur of whispered gasps, scandalized stares, and Prince Adam's unshakable warmth as he wrapped his white fur cloak around Salira—no, around her.
Now, hours later, the mansion stood silent.
Moonlight filtered through the large crystal windows of the Hasrima estate, casting long silvery lines on the marble floor. Iris sat alone in the study—one she hadn't dared enter before—resting in an oversized velvet chair, staring blankly at a dusty mechanical schematic on the desk.
A strange tingling feeling had nestled at the base of her skull ever since she stepped inside. She should've gone to bed hours ago—she wanted to—but something tugged at her mind, persistent and cold like icy fingertips pulling her deeper into thoughts that weren't hers.
She blinked at the paper. A blueprint?
Diagrams. Formulas. Gear mechanisms. Pressure calculations.
She stared harder.
"I… understand this?"
Her own voice sounded foreign in the quiet. She lifted the paper, her fingers tracing the mechanical parts. Her head tilted unconsciously, analyzing angles, metal flow paths, stress resistance. Her thoughts moved faster than she could speak.
Wait—I hated physics. I nearly failed in my second year! I never even passed a proper math exam in my life. What is this? Why do I feel like I could build this with my eyes closed?
She opened one of the drawers, dust puffing out in a silent cloud. Inside—more diagrams. Notebooks. Sketches of weapons. Schematics of small machines. She flipped through them quickly. Each one was signed in elegant, sharp handwriting:
> Salira H.
Her breath caught.
Salira… was a genius?
"I thought she was just a jealous noble with no real power," Iris whispered, more to herself than anyone else. "Why… why would the story not mention this?"
Suddenly, the air in the room changed. A soft mechanical click echoed from behind her. She froze. Slowly, she turned.
The door remained shut.
But her reflection in the dark glass of the cabinet—wasn't hers. The girl in the mirror smiled slightly.
A bitter, tired smile.
Iris turned around again. Nothing.
"Okay… maybe I'm just tired," she muttered.
She glanced back at the schematic, and before she knew it, her hand was moving, sketching additions to the machine—automatically. Her wrist worked like she was possessed.
But the scariest part?
She understood exactly what she was drawing.
These aren't Iris's thoughts. But they're mine now, aren't they?
The air shimmered faintly. Somewhere, far in the background, a whisper—not in words, but like static trying to form syllables—faded into silence before Iris could register it.
She blinked hard. "What...?"
But the silence returned, and the study remained still.
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