Chapter 2 The Festival of First Light ‎

Chapter Two: The Festival of First Light

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‎Seraphina liked mornings best before the world had time to be noisy.

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‎She padded barefoot across the stone floor of her small dormitory, her breath ghosting in the cool air. The wind outside sang through the narrow window, fluttering the white lace curtain like a sigh. She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, pulled her journal close to her chest, and tiptoed down the corridor, avoiding the creaky tile near Sister Marrow's door.

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‎The academy was still asleep. Even the crows were quiet.

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‎She reached the chapel just as the sun slipped over the cliff's edge, turning the stained-glass windows into walls of living color. Reds. Golds. Blues that shimmered like memory.

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‎Seraphina sat at the last pew, the one near the cracked ruby pane. Her fingers brushed the wooden seat out of habit, finding the groove where she'd scratched her name years ago.

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‎S.E.

‎The E was shaped like a flower. Or maybe a flame.

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‎---

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‎Most mornings, she came here to sketch. Not prayers, not poems. Just shapes.

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‎Today, her pencil moved without thought. A half-moon. A woman in a mask. Trees with faces. And beneath it all, a phrase she didn't remember learning, in a language she didn't speak:

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‎"Non omnis moriar."

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‎She stared at it for a long time.

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‎Something about it made her heart slow... like the lull before lightning.

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‎---

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‎By breakfast, the school had come alive.

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‎Girls in blue sashes rushed through the hallways with arms full of ribbons and fabric. Sister Calvera scolded two of them for trying to hang lanterns on the library staircase. Chatter filled the air like birdsong, all giddy excitement.

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‎The Festival of First Light was only two days away - Saint Morwen's most sacred tradition, celebrating the spring solstice, the rebirth of the world, and light's triumph over shadow.

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‎Seraphina didn't dislike it... she just never felt like she quite belonged in the celebration.

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‎"What will you wear this year?" Nora asked, twirling a pale pink flower crown between her fingers as they sat on the lawn later that afternoon.

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‎Seraphina shrugged. "Probably just my old white dress. The one with the lace sleeves?"

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‎Nora sighed dramatically. "Fina, you've worn that since you were fifteen. One day you're going to die a mysterious death in it and haunt the bell tower, I swear."

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‎Seraphina laughed. "At least I'll be comfortable."

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‎Nora tilted her head. "You ever feel like this place forgets things?"

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‎Seraphina blinked. "What do you mean?"

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‎"The walls. The teachers. Us. I feel like... we forget things here. All the time." Nora's voice dropped to a whisper. "Like time folds over itself. Like dreams that vanish before you wake."

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‎A chill curled around Seraphina's spine.

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‎She wanted to say no. To laugh. To call it nonsense.

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‎But she couldn't.

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‎---

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‎That night, Seraphina dreamt again.

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‎Only this time, she remembered.

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‎---

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‎[FLASHBACK - Uncertain Time, Unknown Place]

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‎She stood in a red forest. The leaves hung like torn silk. Above her, the moon pulsed - bleeding across the sky like an opened vein.

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‎Someone called her name. Not "Seraphina." Something older.

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‎"Liora."

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‎She turned.

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‎A man stood beneath a bone-white tree, cloaked in shadows, face obscured by a mask of silver and thorns.

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‎His voice was velvet. Cold. Sad.

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‎"You said you'd wait."

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‎She felt her heart twist. "I waited."

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‎His hand reached for hers. When their fingers brushed, the forest caught fire.

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‎Seraphina woke gasping, her sheets damp, her fingers marked with something symbols? Scratches?

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‎But when she looked, they were gone.

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‎The candle beside her bed flickered once, then died.

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‎The next day, a letter arrived at the academy gate. No name. No seal. Only an envelope of pale ivory, tied with red string and pressed with a smear of wax that looked almost like blood.

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‎Inside was a folded parchment, scrawled in elegant script.

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‎> **You are cordially invited to the Midwinter Masquerade

‎at Castle Veyrath where all masks are welcome.

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‎Wear red. And come alone.

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‎- D.V.**

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‎Seraphina stared at the letter until her fingers trembled.

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‎She had never heard of Castle Veyrath.

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‎And yet...

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‎Some part of her already knew the way.

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