Third Point of view
She couldn't move.
She couldn't breathe.
The thing in front of her looked exactly like her—same height, same wild red curls, same storm-gray eyes—but everything was wrong.
This version of Aveline glowed with corruption.
Her skin shimmered like glass veined with smoke. Her smile was cold. Cruel. The blood-magic swirling around her body pulsed with raw hunger.
Lucien raised his dagger.
The mirror-witch cocked her head, eyes glinting like obsidian.
"Still pretending you can save her?" she purred. "How adorable."
Lucien lunged.
She flicked her wrist.
He froze mid-air, suspended by invisible force, dagger inches from her throat.
Then she twisted her hand—and Lucien screamed as the blade plunged into his own thigh.
Aveline's paralysis broke.
"Let him go!"
The witch turned slowly to face her. "Oh, darling. Don't you recognize me yet?"
Aveline stepped back.
This wasn't just a demon.
It wasn't a clone.
It was a fragment.
Her.
The magic she'd been born with—ripped out, cursed, and locked away as a child—had grown in the dark like a second soul.
And now it wanted to be free.
---
Flame Wakes
Lucien collapsed, gasping, blood pooling around him.
The mirror-witch smiled and whispered, "Say the word, and I'll end him. You felt what he planned. The altar. The chains. You saw what he did to Seraphina."
Aveline's hands trembled.
"You're not real," she said.
"I'm everything you buried. Everything they told you was dangerous. The flame. The fury. The truth." The witch stepped closer. "You don't need him. You don't need anyone. Just take my hand."
She reached out.
Aveline stared at it.
It shimmered, ringed in hellfire.
Behind her, Lucien groaned. "Don't…"
She turned her head slightly. "You lied to me. You let me believe I had a choice."
"I didn't lie," Lucien rasped. "I hoped you wouldn't choose this."
"I didn't," she said flatly. "You pushed me to it."
Her hand rose slowly, reaching—
Then she grabbed the witch's wrist—
—and shoved her straight into the rift.
The mirror-witch screamed as flame exploded around them. Reality folded inward. Aveline's hair snapped behind her like a banner as power surged through her chest.
The witch grabbed her by the neck, dragging her down into the rift.
Lucien roared, limping forward—
And then Aveline vanished in a blaze of white fire.
---
Elsewhere – The Wasting World
She landed hard on stone.
The sky was bleeding.
Aveline coughed, choking on sulfur and ash. The world around her was wrong—gravity shifted, ruins floated in the air, and the sun pulsed black.
The mirror-witch stood above her, smirking.
"Welcome home."
Aveline rose, staggering. "Where am I?"
"The part of your soul they buried. Where they locked away your fire." The witch walked a circle around her. "You were born to burn empires, Aveline. But they broke your fire-blood and turned you into a priestess."
"I chose that path."
"No," the witch hissed. "They forced it on you. Stripped your gifts. Fed you lies."
Aveline clenched her fists. Magic surged under her skin, struggling to ignite.
"But you still believe them," the witch said softly. "You think love will save you. You think Lucien is a victim."
"He is."
"Then watch."
She raised a hand—and the air shimmered.
A memory unfolded.
Aveline saw Lucien—years ago—standing over Seraphina.
She wasn't fighting.
She was begging.
And Lucien drove the dagger into her chest anyway.
The ritual lit the room in red.
The curse swirled into him like a starving beast.
He didn't cry.
He didn't hesitate.
He smiled.
Aveline gasped. "No…"
The witch stepped beside her, whispering: "This is the man you're dying to protect?"
The vision faded.
Aveline stared at the ground, shaking. Her fingernails bit into her palms.
Then—flames erupted around her.
Not red. Not gold.
White.
The purest fire she'd ever seen.
The witch's smile faded. "What—?"
"You're right," Aveline said. "They buried my fire."
She stepped forward, flames licking her shoulders.
"But you made one mistake."
The witch backed away, eyes narrowing. "What?"
"I'm not just the flame. I'm the weapon."
Aveline raised her hands—and the fire exploded outward, incinerating her mirror-self.
The rift collapsed.
And she fell into blackness—
---
Lucien's Chamber – Hours Later
Lucien sat on the edge of the bed, shirt discarded, thigh bandaged.
He hadn't moved in hours.
He hadn't spoken.
He was sure she was gone.
Then—
Boom.
A ripple shook the castle.
The torches flared blue.
And the air split open.
Aveline stepped through the rift.
Clothes torn, hair wild, flames crackling at her fingertips.
Lucien rose fast, eyes wide. "You—how did you—?"
"I killed her," Aveline said. "I saw what you did. To Seraphina."
Lucien flinched.
"And I'm still here."
She stepped closer, magic burning brighter. "You don't get to decide how I die. You don't get to lie to me again."
"I didn't lie," he whispered. "I hid the truth because it's monstrous. Because I'm monstrous."
"Maybe," she said. "But now you're mine."
Lucien blinked. "What?"
She leaned in close, breath hot against his neck. "You said the ritual needed a sacrifice."
Her hand pressed to his chest.
"You didn't say who'd be in control afterward."
The mark flared beneath his skin.
Lucien staggered, gripping the bedpost. "What did you do?"
"I rewrote the ritual," Aveline said coldly.
"You can't—"
"I just did."
Power flared between them—half fire, half blood.
And in that moment, Lucien realized:
The curse didn't belong to him anymore.
It belonged to her.
---
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