Seraphine’s Plea
The oppressive silence of the stronghold was broken only by the distant hum of the runes etched into the stone. Isla sat on the cold floor of her chamber, her back pressed against the wall as she traced faint patterns on the damp stone with her fingers.
Across the hall, Seraphine’s cell door creaked open slightly, but the bars remained locked. She leaned against them, her crescent mark dim in the flickering torchlight. “He’s going to leave me here, you know,” she said softly, her voice lacking its usual venom. “Malrik doesn’t need me anymore.”
Isla didn’t look at her. “Good,” she said flatly. “You’ve earned it.”
Seraphine’s smirk faltered, replaced by a shadow of desperation. “You think I’m lying, don’t you?” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m not. His obsession with you—it’s eating him alive. When he gets what he wants, I’ll be discarded like the others. I’ll rot here, or worse.”
The raw fear in her tone made Isla glance up, her silver eyes narrowing. “Worse?”
“You have no idea what he’s capable of,” Seraphine whispered, stepping closer to the bars. Her voice dropped to a trembling murmur. “I’ve seen it. The things he does to those who disappoint him… I can’t stay here, Isla. He won’t just let me rot. He’ll make me wish I had.”
For the first time, the bravado Seraphine wore like armor cracked, and Isla saw the stark vulnerability beneath it. “You’re afraid,” Isla said, her voice steady but cold.
Seraphine laughed bitterly. “I’m smart, Isla. Fear has kept me alive this long.” She hesitated, gripping the bars so tightly her knuckles turned white. “You don’t owe me anything. I know that. But if you don’t help me, I’m as good as dead.”
Isla’s jaw tightened, her gaze dropping to her hands. The memory of Seraphine’s past betrayals weighed heavy on her heart, her sister’s venomous words and actions replaying like echoes in her mind. “Why should I help you?” she said finally, her voice low and measured. “After everything you’ve done to me—to Draven—why should I risk anything for you?”
Seraphine’s silence stretched long and heavy before she spoke again, her voice trembling. “Because you’re better than me,” she said quietly. “You always have been.”
The confession hung in the air, unexpected and raw. For a fleeting moment, Isla thought she saw regret flicker in Seraphine’s eyes, a glimmer of humanity buried beneath years of bitterness and pride.
Isla turned away, her hands trembling as she clenched them into fists. “You don’t deserve my help,” she said, her voice shaking with suppressed anger. “Not after everything you’ve done.”
From behind the bars, Seraphine watched her sister, her expression unreadable. “I know,” she said softly, her tone almost resigned. “But you’re the only one who can save me.”
