The Witching Hour

Chapter 34 - Remeyra

As the door closes behind me, I'm left standing in the dimly lit bedroom, feeling as though the world has shifted beneath my feet.

What did I just do?

I press my back against the door, my breath coming in short, uneven bursts as I try to steady myself. My heart hammers in my chest, each beat reverberating like a warning, like an echo of something I'm not ready to understand. My mind races, replaying the moment over and over, trying to make sense of it.

His lips on mine, the warmth of his breath, the gentle way his fingers had brushed against my arm... it all feels too close, too real. The echoes of his touch linger on my skin, and I can't help but feel a pang of fear, mixed with a strange flutter of excitement.

I shake my head, willing the emotions away. But how can I? Gale is... different. Isn't he? He has to be. But how many times have I told myself that before? Loroakan was my friend, my confidant. I trusted him. And look how that turned out.

My mind keeps reeling as I try to get ready for bed, hoping that tomorrow everything will be forgotten. It has to be. It was clearly a mistake. A thoughtless action pushed by too many chalices of wine. That has to be it.

I glance at the lavish bathroom before me—a space so unlike anything I've ever seen. Polished marble, glimmering silver fixtures, and a sprawling tub large enough to sink into and forget the world. It's a luxury I've never experienced, and yet, the extravagance feels foreign, almost mocking. Still, I slip inside, hoping the warm water will calm my frayed nerves.

I undress slowly, my hands moving with the practiced familiarity of routine, but my thoughts remain scattered. As the hot water fills the tub, steam curling lazily into the air, I step in, letting it envelop me.

I sink deeper, letting the water rise to my neck, my wet hair sticking to my skin. But even here, surrounded by warmth and quiet, I can't shake the memory of that kiss. Stop thinking about it.

I try to push it away, to do what I always do before bed—remember one of my mother's teachings, a grounding ritual. "Control is power," she'd say. "Control yourself, control your magic." But tonight, that's not what comes to mind. Instead, I hear something else, something she once said when I was still a girl, swooning over Loroakan's stories and honeyed words.

"Love can be both a blessing and a curse. Don't trust blindly."

But was she wrong? No. She was never wrong. Everything I know, I know from her teachings. I must honor her beliefs, it's the least I can do, to keep her memory alive.

I shake off the remnants of that memory, forcing it back into the dark corners of my mind where it belongs. I can't afford to be distracted, not by Gale, not by the warmth of his touch, and certainly not by the ghosts of feelings I don't even want to acknowledge. This—whatever that was—is irrelevant. I'm here for one reason, and it's not to entertain romantic notions or stumble into the same mistakes again.

Revenge. That's all that matters. It always has been.

I feel a spark of clarity as an idea forms in my mind, something I hadn't considered in a long time. A spell—one my mother had taught me. Tricky, dangerous, but if it worked... it would give me exactly what I needed.

The Looking Glass spell.

It was ancient magic, a way to peer into the past, to see moments long gone as clearly as if they were happening in front of me. The key, though, was the sacrifice. A mirror was essential, of course, but more importantly, you needed the blood of someone present during the moment you wished to relive.

And I was there. Close enough, anyway. Close enough to feel the tremor in the air when my mother was killed, to taste the metallic tang of the spell that stole her life. I hadn't been in the room when it happened, but the magic had clung to me like a second skin, a sickening reminder of what I'd lost. My blood would be enough.