Moira
Moira watched the young couples from her armchair, smiling gently, but the runes' warning still pressed like a weight behind her eyes. She excused herself early, citing fatigue—but the tightness in her chest had nothing to do with age. Something was coming. And if the old signs were right... Lila might be the key.
She curled under the quilt in her small upstairs room, the sound of laughter still faint through the floorboards. But as sleep began to pull her under, the unease she’d been pushing aside all day surged forward—and the dream took her.
She was standing in front of the old mirror, the one she’d inherited from Octavia, draped in the familiar heavy velvet cloth. In the dream, the mirror was uncovered, flickering with candlelight that danced without flame. She knew what this
