Seraphielle cut them off, her tone turning icy. "Why would a father not want his daughter to see her mother, who is his wife? If you want to lie then do it well. Under whose command are you?"
The guards bristled, asserting that they were guards of the Marquis Manor, then cleared their throats. "Miss Seraphielle, you shouldn't be here at this time of morning. The Marquis gave strict orders…"
"You are not the Marquis Manor's guards, at least not before." Both guards were surprised by not only Seraphielle's words being true but also how she knew it. Seraphielle sneered at their expressions; of course, she knew—after all, in her last life, her dearest stepmother had shed all pretenses after her mother's death. Her voice dropped to a cutting whisper that forced both men rigid. "And you will not call me 'Miss.' I might not have had my ceremony yet, but I am the eldest daughter of this house. You will use my proper title: 'Lady.'"
"As a guard, I'm sure you know the rules of the Marquis manor, and I remember one of them is to follow every one of your master's wishes, never defying them nor lying to them, but you have broken all three." By now, the guards were speechless and nervous, realizing that she was right, but Seraphielle wasn't in the mood to deal with them right now. She just wanted to see her mother, then she would think about everything else later.
"Or am I not your Master? Even if I'm not, if I report this to the butler or my father, you wouldn't like that would you? Now, get your arm out of my face before I decide to punish you after all."
As if being burned, the guard placed his arm down and stepped to the side, bowing his head slightly, the other guard doing the same. Seraphielle didn't glance at them for a second more and immediately hurried to the double doors, slowly pushing them open as if afraid to disturb her unconscious mother.
Stepping into her mother's chamber, she closed the door just as slowly. The spacious living room was a monument to wealth and neglect: it was richly appointed with obsidianwood furniture, but the surfaces were dusted, the velvet curtains remained drawn tight, and the massive crystal chandelier—designed to glow softly with captured mana—was completely dark.
A permanent stillness permeated the air, thick with the scent of dried medicinal herbs and disuse. It was less a sanctuary than an opulent prison.
Seraphielle moved across the chilling silence of the room, her eyes fixed on the heavy oak door of the sleeping quarters. At the threshold, she paused, taking two shallow breaths before slowly turning the handle. Inside, her gaze immediately locked onto her mother's frail form lying in the middle of a large bed. Seraphielle swallowed the raw cry that tore at her throat, but the tears came anyway—hot, immediate streams she couldn't stop.
Swallowing, she wiped her face with both her hands and stepped forward, her gaze never leaving her mother.
When she stopped by the bed, her mother's state became clearer to her. She was not only pale but emaciated, her chest barely rising and falling. The surge of rage she felt as she looked down at her was overwhelming; the hatred she now felt towards her father, his wife, and his daughter was immeasurable.
But she held herself, closing her eyes before opening them, and tentatively sat by the edge of the bed. "Mom…" A tear fell from her eyes.
"Mom…" She stretched her hand and took her mother's hand from beneath the cover and held it in both her hands, the tears falling freely. "Mom, forgive your daughter. Please forgive me… Forgive me… I was unfilial…" She sniffled, "Ignorant, stupid, a perfect example of a fool." She chuckled, but the sound was strangled and wet.
She spent the next half hour pouring out everything.
"Kaelen… Kaelen Veyrith, that bastard," she began, the name a venomous hiss against her lips. "The devotion… the love… It was a farce. A filthy, calculated lie for a piece of paper, Mom. A lie you paid for with almost six years in this prison, and I paid for with my life. And a hundred deaths." Her voice broke, raw with anguish. "I was so stupid… I handed over your key, the only precious thing you ever left me, thinking I was buying my freedom—our future—with that monster. I was a puppet, dancing for their approval, their crumbs of affection!"
She buried her face into Liora's shoulder, shaking with silent sobs.
"The pain, Mom… it never ended. They showed me my life ending again and again, just to see me break. Flayed, crushed, burning, drowning… and then the ice—the corrupted shard—dissolving my core, my soul essence… It was Kaelen's cold sneer I saw last. The pain in my body, my soul, my mind… it was agonizing, Mom."
She choked back a sob that felt like gravel in her throat. "But I came back, Mom. I got a second chance and I remember everything. Every slight, every grave mistake I made, every step they took to kill us both. I won't be ignorant this time. I won't be a fool. I swear to you, I will make them pay… every single one of them… they will regret the day they thought they could use Seraphielle Caelthorn."
When her voice finally failed, she lay down on the bed next to her mother, pulling the covers around them both, her eyes wide open, staring at her mother's side profile.
Seraphielle wished she knew more about poisons, curses, and mana corruption. This was going to be her first priority; she didn't want to dwell on the ceremony that was approaching in a few days. Instead, researching her mother's illness seemed like the perfect thing to do.
Then she sat up with a start and pulled down the cover. She reached for her mother's wrist. She pressed her fingers against the faint, thready pulse for a long, terrifying moment.
Her heart leaped to her throat.
"Mom," she whispered, her voice rough with agony, "You are not going to leave me again, okay? Not now. Not when I'm here. Hold on, please, just hold on."
The pulse beneath her fingers was fragile, like a tether about to snap, but it was there—a weak, steady beat, confirming Liora was still hanging on, exactly as she remembered before the accelerated decline.
Seraphielle forced herself to pull her hand away. She then placed her own hand over her chest, taking deep, measured breaths, feeling the strong, steady thump of her own heart. 'My health is fine. I am whole. I am strong. I have time.'
With her tears wiped dry and her thoughts singularly focused, she rose from the bed, the sheer determination in her soul replacing the ache of grief. She kissed her mother's pale temple, the contact cold beneath her lips. "I promise you, Mom. I will send someone I trust to clean and care for this chamber, and I will take care of you every day until you wake up."