POV: Ravenna
That night, I couldn't sleep. Like, again.
Again. Apparently, sleepless nights were just my life now.
I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, thinking about Edmund's wisdom and Brynn's strength and everything that had shifted in the past few days. Then I gave up on sleep entirely and got out of bed.
The room was dark except for moonlight streaming through the window. It painted everything in silver—the furniture, the floor, the mirror standing in the corner.
I hadn't really looked at that mirror in years. Oh, I'd used it to dress, to make sure my hair was acceptable, to check that I looked like a proper princess. But I hadn't actually LOOKED. Hadn't let myself see what was really there.
Because seeing meant remembering. And remembering meant pain.
But tonight—tonight something was different.
I walked to the mirror and stood before it. Really looked at my reflection for the first time in I don't know how long.
White hair. Long and heavy, falling past my shoulders in waves. The color of fresh snow. The color of my mother's hair.
Bright blue eyes. The exact shade of flame's heart when fire burns hottest. My mother's eyes.
Delicate features. High cheekbones, full lips, stubborn jaw. My mother's face.
My mother stared back at me from the mirror. Elara. The woman I'd never known. The woman I'd believed I killed just by being born.
I'd spent twenty-one years running from this reflection. Avoiding mirrors when I could. Glancing at them quickly when I couldn't. Never letting myself truly see because seeing meant confronting what I'd cost.
A life for a life. My mother's death for my existence.
Except that wasn't true.
I didn't kill her. Someone else did. Someone poisoned her while she was weak from labor and made it look like childbirth complications. Someone murdered her and let me spend twenty-one years carrying guilt that was never mine to carry.
I touched the mirror with trembling fingers. The cold glass beneath my hand. My reflection staring back.
This wasn't the face of someone who killed her mother.
This was the face of someone her mother loved enough to die protecting.
Elara had used her healing gift in her final moments. Had poured her life into that crystallized dragon scale to make sure I would survive even if she didn't. She'd chosen to save me. Chosen me over herself.
That wasn't murder. That was love.
The purest, most devastating kind of love imaginable.
"I'm sorry," I whispered to the reflection. To the ghost of the woman I'd never known. "I'm so sorry I believed the worst. That I spent twenty-one years hating myself for something I didn't do. That I didn't honor your sacrifice."
My voice cracked but I kept going.
"I'm sorry I couldn't see that you wanted me. That you chose me. That you loved me enough to give everything so I could live." Tears slid down my face. "I'm sorry I wasted so much time carrying guilt you never wanted me to carry."
The reflection blurred.
I pressed both palms against the mirror, leaning forward until my forehead touched the cold glass.
"I promise," I said, my voice stronger now. "I promise I'll live the life you wanted me to have. I'll be brave. I'll accept love instead of running from it. I'll stop hating the face you gave me." I pulled back slightly, meeting my own eyes. "I'll honor your sacrifice by actually LIVING. By being happy. By letting myself love and be loved."
The words hung in the air between me and my reflection.
I thought about Theron. About how I was falling for him and fighting it every step of the way. About how I'd been so terrified of being vulnerable that I'd almost sabotaged the best thing that ever happened to me.
About how my mother had been brave enough to love, to bond, to give everything for her child.
The least I could do was be brave enough to let myself fall.
"I'll try," I whispered. "I don't know if I can do it. I don't know if I'm strong enough. But I'll try. For you. For me. For Theron." I swallowed hard. "I'll try to be the woman you hoped I'd become."
Inside me, Solace stirred. She'd been quiet throughout this whole moment, giving me space. Now she pressed against my consciousness with approval and warmth.
Proud, she sent. Mother would be proud.
"You think so?" I asked aloud.
Yes. Her certainty was absolute. You honor her by living. By choosing love. By being brave.
"I'm not brave."
You are braver than you know.
I looked at my reflection again. At my mother's face staring back. At the woman I'd spent so long running from.
She didn't look like a burden anymore. Didn't look like a reminder of what I'd cost.
She looked like a gift. A legacy. Proof that I'd been loved before I even drew my first breath.
My mother had looked at her newborn daughter—hybrid, small, probably going to face prejudice her entire life—and decided I was worth dying for.
That was the truth I'd been missing. That was what I should have been carrying all these years instead of guilt.
Not that I killed her.
That she loved me enough to choose me over herself.
"Thank you," I whispered to the mirror. To the ghost. To the woman who'd given me everything. "Thank you for choosing me. Thank you for loving me enough to die so I could live. Thank you for this face, these eyes, this life."
I touched the mirror one more time. Gently. Like I was touching her cheek.
"I won't waste it anymore," I promised. "I'll make you proud."
Solace hummed approval deep in my chest. The sound was pleased. Satisfied. Like she'd been waiting for this moment. For me to finally make peace with the reflection I'd been running from.
I stepped back from the mirror, wiping my face.
I looked different somehow. Same white hair, same blue eyes, same features. But the expression was softer. Less haunted. More—hopeful.
Like I'd finally let go of something heavy I'd been carrying for twenty-one years.
The guilt was gone. The weight lifted. The burden released.
In its place was something lighter. Warmer. Gratitude.
My mother had died so I could live. The least I could do was actually LIVE. Not just survive. Not just go through the motions. But actually embrace the life she'd given me.
Starting with letting myself fall for Theron without fighting it every step of the way.
Starting with being brave enough to be vulnerable.
Starting with honoring her sacrifice by being happy.
I climbed back into bed, feeling lighter than I had in years. Solace was still humming approval inside me, pleased that I'd finally made peace with myself.
As I drifted toward sleep, I thought about tomorrow. About seeing Theron. About maybe—just maybe—being honest with him about what I was feeling.
About being brave enough to say: I'm falling for you and it terrifies me but I'm done running.
The thought still scared me. But it didn't feel impossible anymore.
Edmund was right. Life was too short. Bonds were too rare. Love was too precious.
And I was done wasting the gift my mother had died to give me.
I was done running from my own reflection.
I was ready to start living.
Finally.