Serenya's POv
The magic ring, a cold, smooth circumference of metal that was both my anchor and my curse, began its insidious work long before my conscious mind permitted acknowledgment. At first, it was merely a faint, subtle vibration—a strange, resonant pulse that felt alien, as if a second, frantic heartbeat were thrumming just beneath my own skin. But as I performed the simple, necessary motion of crossing the small room, the ethereal rhythm sharpened, becoming more insistent, tapping out a frantic, unmistakable message against the bone structure of my hand and wrist in a way that was impossible to rationally dismiss.
I immediately attempted the familiar ritual of self-deception. I told myself it was nothing. Simple fatigue, the inevitable drain of relentless effort. The residual, s
