Seraphine sat alone in the chamber of mirrors.
The candles burned low, their flames casting flickering shadows that danced like ghosts across the polished silver walls. The air was thick with incense—burned myrrh and dried mandrake root, meant to open the mind and blur the veil between worlds.
She had not told Nyxara what she was about to do.
This was not a ritual sanctioned by the old texts or recorded in The Womb Codex . This was something older. Something darker.
Forbidden blood magic.
Her hands trembled as she traced the sigil onto the stone floor with a mixture of crushed obsidian and menstrual blood—both potent sources of life and death. She whispered the words passed down through vampire queens long forgotten, invoking the Sight of the Hollow Womb.
A final breath.
Then, she cut herself.
A thin line across her palm, just enough to draw blood without weakening her too much. She let the crimson drops fall onto the sigil, one by one.
The room shuddered.
The mirrors rippled like disturbed water.
And then—
"Mother?"
Seraphine gasped.
The voice was different now. Closer. As if it were standing behind her.
She turned.
But there was no one there.
Only her reflection.
Except—it wasn't hers.
It was twisted. Her face was pale, her eyes sunken and glowing faintly red. Her belly was grotesquely swollen, pulsing with a slow, rhythmic beat.
And inside her womb…
Something moved.
"You shouldn't have looked," the voice whispered.
Seraphine pressed a hand to the mirror, staring at the image within.
Inside her body, the creature stirred again.
She saw it clearly now.
Tiny limbs, curled and clawed. A mouth stretched wide, filled with rows of needle-like teeth. Its eyes—glowing, intelligent, ancient—locked onto hers.
It smiled.
"Hello, Mother."
Seraphine stumbled back with a scream, but the vision did not fade.
Instead, it grew stronger.
The mirror cracked.
And from within, the child reached out.
Not physically—but mentally.
A cold sensation slithered through Seraphine's veins like ice water. Her thoughts blurred, her vision darkened, and suddenly she was somewhere else entirely.
***
She stood in darkness.
Not the absence of light, but a living void—thick, heavy, pressing against her skin like wet earth.
Before her, floating in the abyss, was a cradle made of bone.
Inside it lay the child.
No longer a fetus, but a small girl—no more than six years old. Her skin was deathly pale, her hair black as pitch, and her eyes… oh gods, her eyes.
They were hollow pits of starlight.
"You wanted to see me," the girl said softly. "So I showed you."
Seraphine took an unsteady step forward. "What are you?"
The girl tilted her head. "I am your daughter."
"No," Seraphine whispered. "My daughter would be human."
"I was never meant to be born," the girl said simply. "I was summoned."
Seraphine's heart pounded. "By who?"
The girl smiled.
"By you."
The memory surfaced before she could stop it.
A battlefield. Blood-soaked armor. A dying king. Her own wounds, deep and mortal.
A whispering voice offering her survival in exchange for something she wouldn't understand until years later.
A pact sealed with blood.
She had begged for another chance.
And this—this was the price.
The girl watched her silently as the realization settled over her like a funeral shroud.
"You're not real," Seraphine said weakly.
The girl giggled.
"Oh, Mother. You gave me life. How can I not be real?"
Seraphine screamed.
***
She woke on the cold stone floor, her cheek pressed against the shattered remains of the central mirror.
Nyxara knelt beside her, gripping her shoulders.
"Seraphine!" she called urgently. "Breathe!"
Seraphine gasped for air, coughing violently as if trying to expel something trapped in her throat.
Kael stood nearby, his sword drawn, scanning the room for unseen threats.
"She saw it," Nyxara murmured, half to herself. "She saw her."
Seraphine clutched her stomach, trembling.
"She's real," she whispered hoarsely. "She's really there."
Nyxara nodded grimly. "Then we don't have much time."
Kael sheathed his sword and stepped closer. "What did you see?"
Seraphine met his gaze, her eyes wide with terror.
"A monster," she said. "Growing inside me."
Kael swallowed hard.
"And she knows we're coming."
***
Later that night, Nyxara sat beside Seraphine, carefully binding her bleeding palm with silk thread soaked in protective oils.
"The Sight is dangerous," Nyxara warned. "Few survive it."
Seraphine barely heard her. Her mind still echoed with the girl's voice, her laughter, her smile.
"You gave me life. How can I not be real?"
She rubbed her belly absently, feeling the pressure within shift slightly.
"You liked what you saw, didn't you?" the voice asked gently.
Seraphine closed her eyes.
"No," she whispered. "I saw what I've created."
"Good," the voice replied.
"Now you understand."