Her Hybrid Mate

Conflicting Emotions

"This will help soothe the pain and make you feel better," Seraphina said kindly, gently applying the soothing green potion to Lysandra's injured palm.

"Why are you suddenly helping me? Do you believe this act will earn my forgiveness?" Lysandra's anger burned fiercely as she confronted Seraphina. With a swift pull, Lysandra retracted her hands from Seraphina's grasp, causing the red-haired woman to flinch in surprise.

Seraphina, having known Lysandra for a significant period, had never seen her behave with such hostility. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she braced herself before responding, "You wouldn't understand,I acted out of loyalty to Damien. I have known and loved him for over 6,000 years."

"6,000 years?" Lysandra's eyes widened in disbelief. "Who exactly are you?"

"I am a witch and a demoness. Born over 7,000 years ago, my parents were a demon and a powerful witch. My mother, Elena, is revered as the most formidable witch to have graced this world,"

"What about the Silvers?" she asked, still in shock.

"It's a lengthy and complicated story to explain," Said seraphina letting a deep sigh, "I was cursed by my mother 5,000 years ago to endure an eternal cycle of death and reincarnation. I have lived through countless lifetimes, aging and dying only to be reborn soon after, be it as a demoness, witch, or vampire. Yet, I always recover my memories at just six months in the womb. So, yes, the Silvers are technically still my parents," Seraphina explained, her expression carrying a hint of sadness.

Lysandra was rendered speechless. How could a mother be so heartless as to condemn her own daughter to such a torturous fate? She glanced at Seraphina and noticed the sorrowful expression on her face. Despite her current anger towards her, Lysandra heart ached for her.

"Where is your mother Elena?" She inquired after a moment of silence.

"She is still alive. An immortal witch and the goddess of curses. She wants nothing to do with me," Seraphina uttered through gritted teeth, holding back tears.

"Why did she curse you?" Lysandra cautiously inquired.

"Enough!" Seraphina screamed. She massaged her temples, frowning, before staring coldly at Lysandra

"Your hand should be fine in a few hours. Get some rest. You'll be have breakfast with Damien tomorrow. He has something important to discuss with you," Seraphina added before storming out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Seraphina's sudden change in behavior left Lysandra utterly bewildered. Just moments ago, the red-haired witch had shown kindness and affection, offering solace to Lysandra's wounded palm. But now, her demeanor had become frigid and distant. Lysandra couldn't make sense of the sudden shift.

Determined to find some semblance of understanding, Lysandra rose from the bed and slowly made her way to the window. Peering out, her gaze fell upon a vast expanse of darkness, which stretched endlessly in the form of an imposing forest.

A deep sigh escaped her lips, carrying the weight of frustration that settled within her. The sight of the unending forest seemed to mock her, reinforcing the sense of hopelessness that pervaded her thoughts.

To exacerbate matters, Lysandra noticed that the castle itself stood perched atop a formidable mountain, owing to the land's topography. The daunting presence of the terrain seemed to reinforce Lysandra's feelings of confinement, as if escape were a mere fantasy.

As Lysandra scanned the surroundings of the castle, her eyes were drawn to the formidable features guarding the fortress. Enormous pitch black gates loomed before her, acting as an impenetrable barrier that separated the castle from the surrounding forest.

Groups of armed guards diligently patrolled the area, their weapons glinting under the moonlight. Their presence served as a reminder of Lysandra's captivity, further contributing to her despair. Amidst the guardians of the castle, a few gardeners tended to the striking red flowers that adorned the castle's exterior.

The vibrant hues reminded Lysandra of Seraphina, igniting a flicker of recognition within her. It seemed highly probable that Seraphina herself had requested the planting of these blossoms, an unexpected contrast to her current aloofness.

Overwhelmed by conflicting emotions and the sheer weight of her circumstances, Lysandra felt a wave of dizziness wash over her. Weary, she crawled back into bed, the chill of the night exacerbating her discomfort.

The absence of blankets only added to her physical and emotional distress. Clutching her tear-stained pillow, Lysandra shivered as she nestled into her meager sanctuary. Sleep beckoned, its embrace providing some respite from the harsh reality that enveloped her.

As her eyelids grew heavy, Lysandra surrendered to the solace of dreams, hoping that within their ethereal realms, she might find a glimmer of hope and a sense of escape from her current plight.