The Xaltan village lay subdued beneath the late afternoon sun, the scent of damp earth and fear permeating the air. Hundreds of black-skinned, toad-like prisoners knelt in rows, their vine bindings cutting into rough skin as they awaited judgment.

  Edmon stood beside his daughter’s flaming bone throne, observing with a mixture of pride and unease as she prepared to address the newest subjects of her expanding empire.

  The valley was won, now all that remained was to clean it up. Camellia had reported back about her findings regarding her family and was now working on angles to get into the fortress. They’d claimed a land of their own in this world.

  His gaze remained cool, yet his heart had begun to feel for these intelligent creatures. He saw the next ri’bot child tremble on his path up the flaming bone steps, his tail just receding from his tadpole phase.

  When did I start seeing this as necessary? Edmon wondered, watching his daughter’s imperious gaze sweep over the prisoners. Would you hide your face from our daughter, Tiff? In this world of trouble and violence… Have we forgotten where we came from? No… I suppose this is what lost innocence looks like… When the facade of civilization is stripped away…and it takes brutal, decisive action to bring it back.

  Two days of converting the Xaltan had transformed all but two remaining villages into a processing center for new subjects. Buildings leveled. Normal citizens brought to their knees to understand the position they were in…the world they were now in—the Undying Empire.

  This reminds me of when we were captured and brought to this world… Our entire foundation was broken to pieces. At least it only takes a few examples before they’re willing to join and forsake their old ways, but I can’t blame them when they see someone with the power to bring back the dead and age those who are resistant into dust within seconds. I hope things improve…for everyone. Including you…

  He looked up at his daughter, feeling the weight of guilt for failing to protect her from this responsibility. The revelation that she’d gone down this road seemingly countless times before in previous lives only hurt his soul more.

  You deserve a peaceful life… But I can’t go back and can only look forward to the day there is peace. When you can at least find a little joy in peace.

  “Father,” her voice slid into his mind through the Nexus. “I feel your heart hurting.”

  It’s nothing. Just…noise. I noticed you have been pondering something heavy, though.

  “You could see that, hmm? I suppose I still may have my tells… Yes, well, I’ve discovered something rather unusual…perhaps alarming, when reviewing the army roster. Trying to see if I could find anything new with Butter… There was.”

  What is it? He tightened his grip at his back, watching the young ri’bot boy leave, almost falling down the flaming stairs in his hurry to leave. Does it have something to do with her remaining in the northwest, outside the valley?

  “It could be the reason… Butter is alive.”

  The statement hit him like a physical blow. What do you mean by that? As in living? She managed to completely heal her spirit?

  “I mean exactly what I said.” Her mental tone remained cool, analytical. “It’s curious, though. Butter is still within my Nexus structure, but she’s alive—not undead. And she’s not the only one. White, Adoncia, and presumably Mika had been alive, as well, before her death. It has to be Butter’s doing. Her powers are growing after our confrontation… I should have paid closer attention to when it happened. For some reason, I didn’t get a notification on it. What does that tell us?”

  Edmon’s muscles tightened beneath his black armor. Do…you think she’ll turn on us? Try to challenge you for the throne? Elinor?

  Elinor’s silence stretched for several seconds, the lack of response more concerning than any words could have been.

  “I don’t know, Dad… I don’t know. I hope not. I’ve rather enjoyed our sisterly bonding and friendly rivalry, but…history is not in favor of us being exactly…on the same team. There’s also the concerning part about her powers being closely tied to conquest… I don’t want to be paranoid. I am concerned, though. We will see what comes of it when Quin returns since she should have met up with her by now. At least, that’s the feeling I get from their distance from me.”

  Before he could press further, Elinor rose from her throne, signaling the beginning of her address. Her voice carried across the silent village square as she offered the Xaltan survivors her standard ultimatum: join the Undying Empire willingly or become its foundation through death and resurrection.

  Watching his daughter command with such absolute certainty stirred conflicting emotions in Edmon’s chest. Pride at her strength. Unease at what she had become.

  Suddenly, Carlos’ position interrupted his thoughts—he was in Camellia’s branch, which meant he wasn’t under his command, and therefore could hide his presence. Elinor should have felt him approaching, though.

  The former terrorist spoke to them through their soul link from beyond the river; he was supposed to be managing the human, Wixum Clan, and other civilian ri’bot protection throughout all of this. Something must have happened. Now it made sense why she’d brought up Butter. She knew a report of some kind was coming.

  Yet, Elinor didn’t flinch in her speech, speaking to him at the same time.

  “What is it, Carlos? Has my sister or Quin sent a report?”

  “No, Empress, my report does not have to do with High Queen Butter or the charges you’ve given me. The Wixum and other clans are currently on the move toward Kel’mal’tha, as ordered. It should be no more than five days until they reach the cliffs on the outskirts.”

  Elinor didn’t interrupt, waiting for him to explain himself.

  “Queen Lilya has exited the portal.”

  Edmon's attention snapped fully to the conversation and Elinor paused for a moment in her speech, sparking nervous looks from the ri’bot warriors and Xaltan alike.

  “The gateway to Kaspir is already completed?”

  “According to the maids stationed there, for a full day, Empress.”

  Obviously there would be complications if Lilya exited herself. What about Tiffany? Edmon immediately questioned. Did she go inside?

  “That…is one of the problems,” he gravely muttered. “According to Queen Lilya, the Witch Queen returned to the kingdom, but ever since she did, she has acted…very out of sorts.”

  Edmon felt his jaw tightening. Tiffany is the definition of ‘out of sorts’ so that hardly gives me anything. Tell it plainly. What did she do this time?

  He saw his daughter’s bright green eyes slide to him for a moment before returning to the crowd, continuing with her talk.

  “Queen Tiffany, eh…insists that she is no longer Tiffany…but Evelyn Autumn.”

  “The hag?” Elinor interrupted her speech, fingers curling against her palm and nose twisting.

  What has that creature done to her? Edmon demanded, anger flaring. I thought this wasn’t supposed to happen with that lengthy contract Nungal made.

  “Let’s get the full story, Dad… Go on.”

  “As is obvious,” he reported, “Queen Lilya believes it has something to do with the hag. Tiffany said she’d offered her the position of Countess Evelyn Autumn within the Kaspir Kingdom… To take the power of the Everborne Marshlands. This includes taking over the family affairs of the Autumn House and its many leveraging alliances.”

  Edmon struggled to process what he’d just said. “The position of… How is she supposed to take over as Evelyn when…everyone knows her as the Witch Queen of the Raven Empire? No, why would she, out of everyone, trust the hag, of all creatures? No, how could she make such a decision without consulting us? This smells rotten. Hmm? Elinor?”

  His daughter let out a long, internal sigh that carried a weight of understanding that jabbed at him. “I see… Has she been acting as Evelyn in the capital, Carlos?”

  “That is what Queen Lilya indicated. She’s been preparing for the role for the last few days since the time-frame is much faster on their side than ours. She claims that soon she will no longer be Tiffany at all—as if she’s accepting a completely new identity, even within the empire. The Queen just thought you might want to be aware.”

  “She’s taking over the family affairs, hmm? She’s going to be accepted amongst the nobility and given all the power and resources the hag gathered, strengthening our position…by becoming a hag,” Elinor’s mental voice grew sharp with frustration. “I’d hoped to delay this confrontation…but I don’t think I have a choice anymore. Return to your duties.”

  “Yes, Empress.”

  He cut the connection, leaving Elinor’s anxiety to rise as he watched her glance toward Black, standing opposite her. “Take over for me for a few minutes. If they resist, just make them rapidly starve to death.”

  “Sounds good,” the thin, dark-haired horsewoman muttered, taking her place and snapping the throng into gear. “We’re speeding this up. Which of you refuse to join the empire?”

  Edmon’s attention was swiftly snatched by his daughter as she stood in front of him and looked up at him with a deep scowl.

  Elinor, what do you mean only a few minutes. Are we not going to ride over and handle the hag…or do something to save Tiffany? Clearly she’s brainwashed or…being manipulated. She wouldn’t do anything against you. Nothing. Honey…why are you looking at me like that?

  Her expression showed more emotion than he’d seen in weeks.

  “Why? Because this is your fault, Dad,” she stated flatly and with more heat than she’d shown him since she’d been grounded. “You made her do this!”

  My fault? Edmon felt his defenses rise instinctively, feeling the hair rise on the back of his neck from the tone in his daughter’s voice. Tiffany is the witch and hag expert. How is her recklessness my responsibility? Did you want me by her side to babysit her?

  “Don’t be an idiot, Dad. Your distance caused this. Your coldness. Your obsession with returning Mom, which I get. Believe me. But that’s totally different than how you treat her.” Her glowing emerald eyes flashed with uncharacteristic intensity. “How you’ve treated her has been utterly unfair and Mom would slap you, but I can’t do that here or else I’d look unstable!”

  Elinor…

  “No, you listen! Tiffany has tried her very best. Yes, she pokes and has her fun, which you have reciprocated and thrown so many mixed signals! Then, like on the drop of a pin, you became such an ass to her in the Kaspir Kingdom. I don’t know if it was all the couples or because it was a stable civilization, but you’ve completely alienated her… You made her feel like a monster. Of course the hag would have been able to get under her skin! You broke her down!”

  Edmon opened his mouth to object, but the words died in his throat as memories surfaced—the way he’d avoided Tiffany’s gaze, how he’d pulled away from so much as touching her, the constant comments about comparing her to who she’d been…who she wasn’t.

  “Tiffany has rough skin. Mom had a tough skin. But you just…you don’t understand anything! It’s making me want to strangle you, Dad! But…I get it,” Elinor continued, her voice softening slightly. “I don’t want to yell at you. I didn’t want to talk to you about this… I’m your daughter. No one else can tell you this… No one. I know you’re in pain… So am I… But so is she.”

  Frost escaped his lips, anger rising with the guilt that coated him with every word she spoke. Memories boiled up. Memories Elinor wouldn’t know. Discussions. Arguments. Shouting matches… All with Tiffany. His wife… This was how Tiffany acted in the end. It was…her.

  She’s so…stupid! he thought, frustration building. So, she’s doing this because… No, this is exactly like your mother, which makes sense—trying to fix everything herself, not burdening anyone, being strong for everyone else… Not letting me in out of fear of hurting me.

  Without conscious decision, Edmon found himself moving toward the north. Three steps later, he froze, suddenly aware of what he was doing.

  I was leaving Elinor… Leaving my daughter. Why would I do that…for that witch?

  The realization sent a chill through him. As a Death Knight bound to his Empress—mixed with the love for his daughter—such automatic movement toward another shouldn’t be possible. Yet his body had responded to Tiffany’s plight before his conscious mind processed it.

  Elinor watched him with a growing, small smile. “That’s the dad, I know… Impulsive and taking action when Mom gets herself into trouble…before he fully thinks it through. You should go back and handle this,” she said softly. “It is your fault, after all. Even if I don’t see her as my mother anymore, she has all the memories of Mom, and more importantly, she has all the memories of being with you… And that is totally different. She may not feel like she’s a mother…but she does feel like she’s a wife.”

  Edmon took a deep breath before letting it out in a stream of mist. He turned and gave her a sad smile. I might as well be that gothic teen girl on a bus without air conditioning, obsessing over earrings… I’m sorry, Elinor.

  “Nexus hug,” she replied, her voice a gentle coil around his chest. “It’s time you faced your demons, Dad… It’s time you faced Mom. Whatever you and her decide, I support it. Now, go get her.”

  “Empress,” Paola, one of the maids sent to support Klaus in his efforts in the Nalvean Empire came into contact within the Nexus. “Is this a bad time? I have a letter from the ambassador about our progress.”

  “I will read it when you arrive.”

  Edmon hesitated only a moment longer before nodding. Elinor wasn’t really a teenager anymore. She was a ruler, and he had his own responsibilities. Minutes later, he was astride his warhorse, racing northward through the valley.

  As the terrain blurred past, troubling thoughts circled in his mind. If Tiffany truly was the pure evil witch he’d assumed—a monster like the hag—how could his rejection affect her so deeply? Why would she dive headfirst into becoming a hag just to fulfill his perception of her? The answer was clear as day for his beloved wife…

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  To make it easier for him to hate her?

  The questions burned like acid in his chest, mixing with a growing sense of guilt that he refused to fully acknowledge. With each mile that passed beneath his mount’s hooves, his anger shifted—from Tiffany to himself, from frustration at her recklessness to a deeper understanding of his own cruelty.

  I treated her like a placeholder, a monster wearing my wife’s skin, he realized, the thought bitter as bile. And now she’s making herself into exactly that…for me.

  The afternoon sun dipped toward the horizon as he pushed his mount harder, determined to reach the cave before it was too late. Before Tiffany sacrificed herself yet again—this time to become the monster he had driven her toward.

  I’m sorry.

  * — * — *

  The musty scent of ancient tomes mingled with flickering witchfire as Tiffany tapped her fingers against the weathered oak table. One of the back basement rooms of the House of Ravens hummed with subtle magic—a converted wine cellar now housing their most valuable asset.

  A rippling portal of ethereal energy rotated against the far wall, casting twisted shadows across the stone floor.

  Relocating it was the right move, she mused, admiring how the arcane gateway complemented the estate’s more gothic architecture. Much more convenient than those shifting halls that could trap us at inopportune times.

  The House of Ravens itself was a magnificent gift from the House of Tarnish, its warm, wooden walls and ample space more than welcome compared to their jungle home. It also happened to be in Lumina’s Noble District and allowed them accessibility to the rest of the city.

  Her witchfire orbs danced overhead, illuminating Queen Lilya’s poised features and Castria’s youthful exuberance as they discussed the latest kingdom gossip. Nearly every room in the estate now bustled with activity—students, serving staff, and visitors, all evidence of their growing influence. It had only been a few days.

  I’m surprised the mirrors are working so well, Tiffany smirked, watching Lilya’s careful composure. I imagine the king appreciates having a…private channel to his formerly dead wife. What mischief must you have gotten up to last night?

  Lilya’s lips thinned. “The communication artifacts serve their purpose well, nothing more. It will certainly help me organize enough support behind the opposing faction to soothe tensions.”

  Oh, please, don’t be so diplomatic! Tiffany rolled her eyes. You’re telling me you two aren’t having long midnight, ahem, conversations through that full body length enchanted glass? What’s the point of magic if not for a little forbidden romance?

  “What happens when a woman retires to bed remains in bed.”

  There it is! Tiffany snickered, giving her a wink. I didn’t work so hard to get the largest mirror we had to work for you for ‘diplomatic’ purposes. At least, not the ‘safe’ kind of diplomacy.

  “Queen Tiff—eh, Evelyn! That’s dirty talk…” Castria blushed, the young woman coughed; this culture was far too innocent. “Anyway, uh…yeah, the rumors about your return—about the Empress maybe coming back—are everywhere!” she burst out, practically vibrating with excitement.

  “Heather and I were talking about it and Jessie heard, who told Drake at school, who told Anala, who told her big sister, who told her friend, who told practically half the academy! Half the court thinks you’re planning to use dark magic to broadcast a giant image again of the Empress over the city!”

  Only half? Tiffany chuckled. How disappointing. And how did they figure out my evil plan? Kids have the wildest imaginations. Adults…have fears.

  Her fingers unconsciously drifted to the silk pouch hanging at her waist—the preserved skin of Evelyn Autumn nestled inside. The leather bag beside the portal contained the bones Arshol had retrieved from the hag’s hidden storerooms. Soon, these grotesque components would fashion her new identity.

  Soon I’ll become what Edmon thinks I am—a true monster. It can’t happen soon enough.

  “I should return to the academy for some negotiations on the introduction of the Hunter Class that Queen Camellia introduced to our ranks,” Lilya said, gracefully breaking away with precision. “It isn’t only the students who require supervision, especially with the current political…instability.”

  Yes, we wouldn’t want them getting caught up in any rebellions, Tiffany waved dismissively. Give my regards to your husband. Through the mirror, of course. I’ll be back soon enough.

  “Safe trip!” Castria chimed, dancing after the alchemist.

  They’d lock the door on the way out; students didn’t need to find themselves in a hostile jungle in another world.

  After they departed, she ventured deeper into the room. The chill air carried whispers of ancient secrets as she made her way past the hag’s many ritualistic items she’d collected here over the last few days—hers now.

  Stepping through the gateway, she encountered the hag—though wearing an entirely different skin than before, olive-toned with deceptively human features.

  The spunky-looking young woman was overlooking the most complex ritual Tiffany had ever seen, and, to her mild surprise, she wasn’t alone.

  It seemed the three primary covens under her—Gray, White, and Black—had answered the hag’s call while she was away, their leaders positioned at strategic points around the ritual space.

  Tiffany gave the hag a slight frown. “Who said you could pluck my little birds away and have them sing to your tune?”

  Dozens of mirrors were being placed at the center of the ritual circles by the several maids in the cave system. It seemed they’d taken her charge to accelerate the process in mass producing these communication devices to heart…and the hag had been guiding them.

  The black-haired creature gave her an innocent grin. “Oh, let’s not be picky about the process. Results are what matter. Are they not, Evelyn?”

  Tiffany snorted and shook her head, noticing the girls hadn’t even realized she’d arrived with how focused they were in their craft. “You aren’t wrong…”

  It didn’t take long for them to see she was back and swarm her. Feeling a little warmth in her chest, she shooed them off to their positions, reading for another practice run.

  The witches’ hushed, chanting filled the chamber as they arranged themselves in concentric circles. Tiffany stood at the center, feeling their collective power ripple through the stone floor beneath her feet. They’d improved significantly.

  Esmeralda’s dark magic pulsed strongest, her advancement to the Third Circle evident in the density of her aura. Riley’s controlled rage at her Scarlet Hand branding fueled her spells, while Alyssa’s connection to Sal gave her incantations a unique empathic quality. Together, they formed a perfect trinity of witchcraft.

  “The foundations are almost complete,” Tiffany murmured, examining the intricate patterns they'd etched into the stone and mirrors they’d practiced on. “Here, be a dear, Natalia, and take this into the other chamber,” she directed at the 19-year-old woman.

  Unaware of what she was handling, she took the sack filled with her future skin and bones—the hag’s twisted offering—while the other awaited her.

  In between stood a series of enchanted mirrors—normal ones would work but why waste the opportunity to also obtain more communication mirrors? They were positioned to reflect magical energy and their reflections back and forth into infinity, amplifying it with each cycle. The maids hovered nervously at the perimeter, their faces pale in the dancing witchfire she sparked into existence.

  The hag glided toward her, brown eyes flashing yellow in the magical light. “Impressive, isn’t it? The ritual framework for splitting a soul. Even I don’t attempt such things lightly, sweetheart.”

  “A soul is more complex than a universe, as you told me before,” Tiffany repeated, unable to entirely mask her unease as she surveyed the elaborate preparation. “The book you gave me was…enlightening.”

  “Oh, darling, that is only scratching the surface. And a universe? No, far more intricate than that,” the hag replied, her voice silky with delight. “Galaxies can be charted. Dimensions can be mapped. But a soul?” She shook her head. “Even masters of the beautiful and the elegant form of reality must tread with the utmost caution when dividing something so fundamentally…divine. Every layer you peel away only delivers more complexity.”

  A cold shiver ran down Tiffany’s spine as the implications settled into her bones. This was beyond any magic she’d attempted—even resurrection seemed simple by comparison. After all, it was only binding the soul itself into a physical form that could accept its…unusual properties. The Empress’ power was curious for how successful she was.

  “And when it’s done?” she asked quietly, crossing her arms and trying not to let a quake run through her bones. “The connection between…us. Can it be blocked? I don’t want—”

  “Ah, having second thoughts?” The hag’s smile widened. “Fear not, my dear. Additional surgeries could be…arranged, if necessary. Though I must ask…” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Are you afraid of feeling a warm touch again…perhaps on your lips…caressing your thighs?”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes, ignoring the flutter in her chest. “I'm concerned about maintaining distinct identities. Nothing more.”

  “Of course.” The hag’s knowing smirk made her want to slap it off her face. That would be a mistake, though. At least, until she outstripped this creature and became what she was meant to be…a real monster. “We should begin soon. Edmon is almost within range anyway. The alignment is… No, it’s fine. He’s coming,” she muttered, muscles tensing. “We need to do this now.”

  The witches glanced up, sensing her urgency. Esmeralda stepped forward, concern etching her features. “My Queen, we haven’t triple checked the eastern binding. If we rush—”

  “Then hurry,” Tiffany snapped, trying to keep her voice even. “I can feel him approaching and… He wants to see his wife. Not me.”

  The hag chuckled softly. “So the Death Knight rides to the rescue. How deliciously dramatic. Do you think he’s coming to stop you from making a mistake?”

  Oh, you are the worst! she internally snorted, hating how good this witch was at getting beneath her skin. Edmon would want to make this faster, not stop—

  Edmon’s voice crashed through her mind like a thunderstorm. “Tiffany, stop immediately! Elinor commanded it.”

  The command carried such force that several of the maids practically jumped out of their skins as if he were in the room. Tiffany’s hand flew to her temple as the mental barrage continued.

  “Tiffany, don’t ignore me! Are you going to defy Elinor’s order?”

  Why? So you can be here to welcome her back and be the first thing your wife sees? You want me to wait for that? Or…does the Empress want to be here too? Because she seems to be busy in the south. Tiffany fired back, anger rising to mask her confusion.

  Don’t worry. Your wife is waiting for you, and soon, you’ll be rid of me. Why are you trying to stop me? We both know you could just say I already finished… You want this more than anyone.

  “That’s not—wait there. Don’t move.”

  Rylee approached cautiously. “My Queen, you look…flustered? Should we continue the preparations? You always said we need to be of sound mind when doing our rituals. Is…something wrong?”

  Tiffany hesitated, conflict raging within her. Part of her wanted to rush the ritual before Edmon arrived, but something in his mental tone gave her pause.

  “Continue to get it ready,” she said finally. “But…slowly. Edmon will be here soon, and then we’ll continue…”

  She shot the hag a glare who seemed to be ignoring her. You told me he’d come for his queen… It’s just not me.

  The minutes stretched like hours as the witches resumed their work. Tiffany paced the ritual circle, anxiety growing with each passing moment.

  Edmon didn’t respond again.

  She didn’t reach out.

  When heavy footsteps finally echoed from the entrance tunnel, every witch in the chamber turned toward the sound.

  Edmon strode in like a storm, his black armor gleaming in the witchfire light. He’d removed his helmet, revealing a face taut with emotion she couldn’t quite read. Naturally, he’d have a lot of pent-up emotions about this day.

  He pushed through the outer circle of witches, ignoring their startled protests, trying to keep everything in proper order.

  “Who are you?” he demanded without preamble, stopping just short of the central circle.

  Tiffany blinked. “Who am I? I…don’t follow. You can’t just come in here and—”

  “Are you Tiffany or Evelyn?” His voice was strained, his gaze intense as it locked with hers, putting a quake through her.

  What is he talking about? Right now, I’m neither! That’s the problem, idiot.

  “Does it matter? I…I’m stepping aside so you can have your true wife back,” she responded, confusion swirling inside her. “Isn’t that what you want? What’s with this energy… Like you’re mad at—”

  “That’s not what I asked,” he snapped, making her shrink a little, eyes going big.

  That lasted about two seconds.

  His clipped tone ignited her frustration.

  “Why are you angry?! I am so fed up with—what do you want from me?! I’m giving you everything you want! Your real wife—your true love! Why are you yelling at me?”

  “Dammit, Tiffany—”

  “Dammit what?! Are you—do you want me to do this or not? I am so lost, Edmon! What do you want from me?! I’m just a monster wearing your wife’s skin!” Her voice rose, what felt like years of pent-up anguish breaking through at how infuriating this man could be. “That’s what you think, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve shown me every day since we came to this world!”

  The coven members exchanged nervous glances, backing away from the escalating confrontation. The hag observed from the shadows, yellow eyes gleaming with amusement.

  Edmon moved with unexpected swiftness. His hand shot out, fingers tangling in her hair, pulling her head back.

  “Edmon?!”

  Tiffany froze, shock replacing anger as his intent became clear.

  “Tiffany…”

  He kissed her.

  Not gently, not hesitantly, but with all the force of something long suppressed. His lips claimed hers with a desperate hunger that stole her breath and scattered her thoughts.

  For a heartbeat, time stopped. This wasn’t like the dutiful, distant kisses they’d shared before she’d become…this. No, this was raw. Something they’d shared in rare moments when on Earth… When he’d hold her down and kiss his wife with a passion that blurred all thoughts together. This was something else entirely. This wasn’t his image of her…but really her he was kissing.

  When he finally pulled back, her world had tilted on its axis. Her fingers trembled against the cold metal of his breastplate, her mind struggling to process what had just happened.

  “This is the first time I’ve kissed you,” he said roughly. “Not my wife’s memory. You.”

  Stunned silence hung between them, broken only by the soft crackle of witchfire.

  When he spoke, it was low and intense, she lost herself in his bright blue eyes. His words meant for her… For only her.

  “The more I thought about it on the way here…the more I realized our daughter was right. Everything about you—the way you act, the way you think, how you’d hate yourself, hate your circumstances, but never me… It’s exactly how my Tiffany would behave. How you’d behave.”

  His grip tightened slightly in her hair. “It makes me so frustrated—you make me so frustrated, because it’s so…you. You’re you, Tiffany…past all the witch bullshit. It’s you.”

  Tiffany stared at him, speechless for perhaps the first time since her resurrection. Around them, the witches watched in stunned silence. Esmeralda’s mouth hung open slightly, while Riley and Alyssa exchanged shocked glances.

  “I don’t know anymore,” Edmon admitted, his voice dropping lower. “I don’t know if I need the old Tiffany back or if…if the two of you could merge, become one. That I can even be that selfish…because I know my daughters…our daughters need you both.”

  A small, sad smile curved Tiffany’s lips as she reached up to brush away a tear that had escaped down her cheek. “I…would want that almost more than anything,” she whispered. “But that is the problem… My Empress needs both of us. And I must do what is best for her.”

  She placed a hand against his chest plate, directly over where his heart would beat if he were still alive. “This tears me apart and makes me happier than anything, but I have to split myself. Just like I sacrificed before for our daughter, I’ll sacrifice myself again for…you.”

  Her voice grew steadier, more resolved. “I’ll take on the role of Evelyn, and I’ll move on. You and Elinor will have your wife and mother back, and still have a Witch Queen that can do the hard things she wouldn’t be able to do otherwise.”

  A small, pained laugh escaped her. “The Empire will have two witches for the price of one monarch slot. Isn’t that a loophole worth exploring?”

  “Tiffany—”

  She shook her head, the tears flowing freely now despite her smile. “I’ll be the Black Witch, the former wife, looking on from afar. And your Tiffany will be the White Witch, standing in the light.”

  Edmon pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her as she buried her face against the cold armor.

  “Now you dig that dagger attached to your thigh into my own chest… If that’s what you’ve decided… I can understand that,” he said after a long moment, “but that being said…does this have to be decided now?”

  Tiffany’s chest felt like a dagger had plunged into it, electricity sparking through her veins. The words repeated in her mind like wildfire. Did he mean it? Was this real? Was he willing to wait to see his wife…for her feelings?

  She let out a watery laugh against his chest. “You mean…until the Empress makes the decision? I suppose that might be for the best. Wouldn’t it?”

  Edmon’s grip tightened around her waist, strong and unyielding.

  Then, he slowly left a little slack before his fingers, rough but somehow gentle, lifted her chin to swim in her eyes. “No, Tiffany… Not for me. Not for you…but for us.”

  Tiffany stared up at him, her witchfire reflecting like stars in her tear-filled eyes. The words “for us” reverberated through her undead heart, striking a chord she’d thought long since silenced. Her fingers trembled against his armor, feeling the ghost of a heartbeat that should’ve been there. Not something physical, but in the words that played like a symphony in her soul.

  “For us” she whispered back, the concept almost foreign to her lips.

  She’d become so accustomed to sacrifice—for Elinor, for the empire, for everyone but herself—that Edmon’s simple declaration left her momentarily speechless.

  Around them, the ritual circle’s energy dimmed, mirrors catching their reflection in endless repetition. The hag watched from the shadows, her expression unreadable, while the witches exchanged breathless glances.

  Slowly, Tiffany’s hand moved to cover his, her decision crystallizing in that single touch.

  The ritual could wait.

  Perhaps there was space in this broken world for both versions of herself—not separated by magic, but integrated through choice.

  Not a White Witch and a Black Witch, but simply…Tiffany. As broken as she was. In all her glorious, frustrating, complicated wholeness.

  “If that’s what you want…Okay.”

  Her throat constricted as his arms drew her in like a honey-coated vice, his voice low and surprisingly hot against her ear. Yet, it was his words that sent fireworks through her belly.

  “No, if that’s what you want… Okay?”

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