Emily Rosewood’s Point of View.
The night the world learned it had two hearts
The air thickened, pulsing with a pressure that felt ancient and wrong.
“I was never just your reflection, Emily,” the voice said again—louder now, clearer, colder.
My breath caught as the wall of the sanctum shimmered and fractured, peeling away like shed skin. A second figure stepped through—not the shadowy echo of dreams or visions, but a body. Flesh and blood. And she looked just like me… but not.
Where my presence was rooted in storm and fire, my twin exuded silence and cold, like still water just before it froze. Her hair fell in the same waves, her eyes mirrored my shape—but they lacked warmth. They shimmered with silver and something beneath it—chains, looped and coiled like sleeping serpents.
“Lyra
