The hat hadn't meant to hiss.
At least, Rose claimed it hadn't. But when Professor Scaldwick's beloved lecture cap turned into a snarling feline mid-monologue and bit him squarely on the nose, there was only one place Rose was headed.
Detention.
She expected broom duty or being turned into a toad temporarily. But no—Belladoma had something special in mind.
She sent Rose to the Old Bell Tower, where dust blanketed forgotten scrolls, the stairwell groaned with disuse, and the bells hadn't chimed in a century.
"Translate these," Belladoma said, dropping a stack of ancient parchments in front of her.
Rose squinted. "These are in Blood Runes."
Belladoma didn't blink. "Good. You'll learn something useful for once."
She made no move to leave.
Instead, she took the seat across from Rose, folding herself into the shadows as if she were a part of the tower itself. The silence stretched thin. The only sounds were the scratching of ink and the occasional, deliberate turn of a page.
Finally, Rose broke the silence.
"You stayed."
"I wanted to see if you'd actually do the work," Belladoma replied.
Rose gave a dry laugh. "I always do the work. I just also set things on fire."
Belladoma's gaze softened for a moment. "Why?"
Rose paused. "Because if I don't burn something… I might fall apart."
The admission sat heavy between them, honest and raw.
"You saw the Witchglass," Belladoma said quietly.
Rose froze.
"You were in it too," she said. "I saw your hands."
Belladoma removed one glove.
Runes wrapped around her fingers and wrists like shackles made of language—binding sigils etched so deeply into her flesh they glowed faintly in the low light.
"Cursed?" Rose asked.
Belladoma shook her head. "Chosen."
"By who?"
Belladoma didn't answer. But she didn't look away.
For once, there was no authority in her eyes. Only weariness. Only weight.
Rose reached across the old wood between them and placed her hand gently atop Belladoma's.
The runes flared faintly beneath her touch.
Neither moved.
"You're not the only one who feels like they're coming apart," Rose whispered.
Belladoma let out a quiet breath, not quite a sigh. "You shouldn't get close to me."
Rose smirked. "You're the one who stayed."
That night, Rose didn't finish the scrolls.
But she walked away from the tower with something heavier than parchment—and far more dangerous.
The knowledge that her heart wasn't just hers anymore.
And perhaps, neither was Belladoma's.