The underground tunnel erupted in a burst of vibrant color, as if the very stones had been painted by an unseen artist’s brush. The dull, shadowy cavern was suddenly bathed in hues of red, blue, and gold, swirling like an impossible sunset beneath the earth. The shifting lights stretched across the tunnel walls, crawling over jagged rock formations and casting distorted reflections in the pools of water scattered along the uneven ground.

Liselotte's fire bunnies flickered uncertainly, their glow now blending with the overwhelming spectacle around them. Her crimson eyes darted across the illuminated ruins, taking in the sudden transformation with both awe and unease. "This isn't natural…" she murmured, tightening her stance.

Geschicht swallowed hard. He had spent his life chasing stories, seeking moments of wonder and mystery, but this—this was different. This felt like something was stirring, something ancient and vast. His grip on his sword tightened as he turned to Liselotte. "Is this your doing?"

She shook her head. "No. This isn't my fire."

A few paces away, Lucienne’s sharp green eyes narrowed. The chaotic glow played tricks on her vision, twisting shadows into ghostly figures. Her heart pounded against her ribs. For a fleeting moment, she saw reflections that weren’t her own—warped, mocking shapes that stared back at her with silent judgment. A distorted Liselotte, a fragmented image of the girl she resented, a reminder of the illusion she couldn't shatter.

Lucienne exhaled sharply and scoffed, pushing away the rising unease. "It doesn’t matter what tricks this place throws at us. I won’t be distracted." She clenched her sword, steadying herself. "The only thing that matters is proving that I’ll take everything back”

Liselotte kept her gaze steady on Lucienne, her fire bunnies darting through the shifting colors of the tunnel like fleeting stars. Their soft glow contrasted against the chaos of battle, flickering between the three of them. She hesitated for a moment, pressing her lips together before glancing at Geschicht.

“Geschicht…” Her voice was quiet, carrying an almost timid note beneath the hum of magic in the air. Another fire bunny ignited at her fingertips and streaked toward Lucienne, but she barely seemed to notice. “Would you mind if… I handled this alone?”

Geschicht blinked, the question catching him off guard. He could feel the weight in her words, something unspoken nestled between them. The battlefield was no place for hesitation, yet there was something fragile in the way she asked—like a bird testing its wings before the first flight.

For a brief moment, he wanted to ask why. To understand what she saw in this fight that he couldn’t. But in the end, he only nodded.

“…Alright,” he said, stepping back. He wouldn’t question it. He wouldn’t get in the way. He turned and ran, his figure swallowed by the shifting colors of the tunnel. The echo of his footsteps faded into the rhythmic hum of flickering flames.

Liselotte was alone with Lucienne now.

The fire bunnies danced around her, their glow pulsing gently in the air, but Lucienne stood unmoving. Shadows stretched over her sharp green eyes, her grip on her sword tight, rigid.

Liselotte took a slow breath, her fingers tracing small embers into the air. "You know… I don’t like fighting," she said softly, her voice barely louder than the crackle of her power. "But you won’t listen unless I do, will you?"

Lucienne didn’t answer. Her expression was unreadable, but her stance was anything but passive. She was waiting—waiting for an opening, waiting to strike, waiting for something Liselotte couldn't quite understand.

A fire bunny flitted closer, its warm glow reflecting in Lucienne’s eyes. For a moment, it looked like she was staring at something far away, something only she could see.

Liselotte tilted her head. "You won’t even talk to me?" she asked, her voice light, almost hopeful. "Not even a little?"

Still, nothing.

Lucienne raised her sword slightly, the motion slow, deliberate. The silence stretched between them like a fragile thread.

“…I don’t want to fight you," she admitted, her fire dimming just a little. "But I will if I have to."

Lucienne finally moved. She lifted her chin, her lips parting—

But she didn’t speak.

Instead, she lunged.

Lucienne’s Montante sliced through the air, aimed directly at Liselotte—swift, merciless, final. But just before the blade could reach her, the air around them ignited.

A wildfire of fire bunnies erupted in a chaotic surge, their bodies flickering in and out of existence like embers caught in a storm. They swarmed Liselotte, their flames licking at her skin—but they did not burn. They consumed instead, unraveling the small bundle of cloth she always carried.

Then, the transformation began.

Liselotte’s chestnut brown hair shimmered, threads of fire weaving through it, changing it from its usual loosely braided form into flowing strands of brilliant orange flame. Heat distorted the air around her, her form bending and shifting in the glowing inferno.

Above her head, two flickering shapes emerged—tall, elegant, and unmistakably shaped like a rabbit’s ears, swaying in the currents of the firestorm. Her legs, once human, became something else entirely—formed of pure flame, shaped like a rabbit’s powerful hind legs, burning yet solid, pressing into the stone beneath her feet with unnatural lightness.

Her hazel eyes blazed into a deep, luminous red. No longer warm, no longer soft—her gaze shone with an intensity that rivaled the very flames surrounding her.

Lucienne took a step back, her sharp green eyes narrowing, adjusting to the sudden inferno before her.

Liselotte raised her head, her voice softer than the flames consuming her.

“…Will you listen now?”

Liselotte stood amidst the blaze, her new form radiating heat that distorted the air around her. The fire bunnies flickered at her feet, their forms dancing in anticipation, waiting for her command. She tilted her head, eyes glowing like embers in the dim tunnel.

“Even if you won’t speak,” she murmured, her voice steady, carrying an unshakable warmth.

Before Lucienne could react, Liselotte moved.

A burst of heat and flame propelled her forward with impossible speed, the stone beneath her feet glowing red-hot from the sheer force of her launch. Lucienne’s sharp green eyes widened—she had barely a moment to brace before Liselotte was upon her.

The clash of steel and fire sent sparks scattering in all directions. Lucienne barely managed to raise her Montante in time to block the oncoming strike, but the impact rattled her bones.

She darted around Lucienne like wildfire caught in a storm, striking from unpredictable angles, her movements fluid and untamed. Every time Lucienne adjusted, Liselotte was already gone, her flaming legs kicking off from the walls, the ceiling, using every surface as a foothold.

Lucienne gritted her teeth, pivoting on her heel and swinging her Montante in a wide arc, trying to cut through the chaos. But Liselotte weaved through the air, a blur of fire and motion, her rabbit-like agility allowing her to dodge in ways no normal fighter could.

The fire around Liselotte pulsed like a heartbeat, glowing in rhythm with something deep within her soul. Her strikes came faster now, more fluid, weaving between Lucienne’s defenses as if she knew exactly where the next counter would come from.

Lucienne scowled, pushing back, but her mind buzzed with unease. There was something strange about the way Liselotte moved—not just instinct or skill, but something more, something that reached beyond the present.

And within Liselotte’s burning gaze, memories stirred.

A long time ago…

She had been just a small girl, no taller than the firewood she used to help carry. The night air had been cool, crisp, and filled with the gentle flickering of flames from a distant campfire. But in front of her, there was no ordinary fire.

A blue flame, soft and silent, crackled in the air. It had no source, no fuel—just a shape. A small creature, like a rabbit, its body made of sapphire fire, its ears swaying like gentle wisps of smoke.

She had reached out, unafraid.

"You're lonely, aren't you?" her voice had been soft, innocent, filled with curiosity.

The fire bunny did not speak, but its flames flickered in response, shifting between shapes—memories, moments, fragments of things long past. Faces Liselotte didn’t recognize, landscapes she had never seen. She had been mesmerized, watching entire lives dance within the creature’s glow.

"I want to understand." She had whispered, her small hands curling into fists. "If you have memories that no one else remembers… If you have things you want to say but can’t…"

The fire bunny had tilted its head, its flames pressing closer to her, warming her skin without burning.

"Then I’ll help."

The fire crackled, and Liselotte smiled.

"I promise."

Now, in the present…

Liselotte’s flames surged, her burning legs pushing off the ground in a sudden burst of speed. She closed the distance between her and Lucienne in an instant.

Lucienne barely had time to react as Liselotte whispered, her voice carrying the weight of that promise—

“I have my way to understand you."

Lucienne barely had time to react before Liselotte’s blazing foot connected with her face. The impact sent her staggering back, a searing heat blooming across her skin—but there was no pain, no burn, only the overwhelming sensation of something otherworldly pressing against her very being.

And then—

A sound like breaking glass rang through the underground tunnel.

It wasn’t the sharp, clean crack of a single pane shattering, but an overwhelming, layered fracturing, like the collapse of an entire world made of glass. The air trembled. The colors that had bathed the tunnel twisted and distorted, rippling like molten metal bending under immense heat.

Then, in the wake of the sound, countless mirrors burst into existence, spiraling out from the point where Lucienne had been struck. But these were no ordinary reflections.

Each mirror glowed like it had been forged from liquid fire, their surfaces shifting between deep reds, brilliant golds, and shimmering oranges, as if the very essence of flame had been forced into a crystalline form. The air around them wavered, not from heat, but from something far more arcane—a force that seemed to peel apart the barriers between past and present.

Lucienne froze. Her reflection gazed back at her from every direction, but they were not mirrors of her present self.

In one, she was a child, gripping a wooden practice sword with trembling hands.

In another, she stood beneath a stormy sky, her face streaked with rain and something far more bitter.

A third showed her kneeling in the dark, her head bowed, her shoulders shaking.

More and more images flickered across the molten glass—scenes of battles, moments of solitude, glimpses of memories that should have been long buried. Each one ignited with the fire’s glow, burning in and out of focus as though Liselotte’s flames were forcing them into existence.

Lucienne’s breath caught.

This wasn’t just fire. This wasn’t just an attack.

Liselotte wasn’t trying to hurt her—she was unraveling her.

And somewhere, deep within the blazing mirrors, a voice whispered—not out loud, not from Liselotte, but from the power itself, its presence undeniable, pressing against Lucienne’s mind.

"My fire will light up your mind."

The mirrors pulsed, and the world around them burned with truth.

Lucienne barely had time to process the sight of the blazing mirrors before Liselotte pressed forward, her movements swift and unrelenting. The air shimmered around her, the embers of her fire-drenched form trailing behind like the tail of a comet. She moved with a weightless grace, yet each strike carried undeniable force.

"This is my Gesegnete," Liselotte said, her voice steady, almost gentle, as though she weren’t in the midst of battle but rather explaining something inevitable. A truth that had always existed, waiting to be spoken aloud.

"Its name is Blaufunkel."

The moment the words left her lips, her form blurred—kicking off the air itself like a phantom of flame. She closed the distance between them in an instant, her blazing legs lashing out in a storm of radiant heat.

Lucienne’s instincts took hold. Her montante shot up, steel meeting fire in a blinding clash. Sparks scattered, mingling with the kaleidoscope of colors that had swallowed the underground tunnel. The sound of impact rang out again and again, Liselotte’s assault pressing forward like a tide.

Lucienne’s defense held, her swordsmanship impeccable—every block precise, every parry masterful. Yet, with each impact, more mirrors shattered into existence around her.

The molten glass glowed, spreading outward like ripples in a pond, each new surface reflecting something that had long been buried.

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A flickering image of a younger Lucienne, sitting in a quiet room, hands clutching a small, tattered book.

Another—her fists clenched at her sides as she stood before a burning building, watching the embers rise into the night sky.

A third—her shoulders squared, her expression hardened, standing before figures cloaked in shadow, swearing an oath she couldn’t take back.

Lucienne grit her teeth. She had spent years locking those memories away, burying them beneath layer upon layer of purpose. Yet Liselotte’s flames peeled them apart like unraveling thread, revealing the cracks in the foundation she had built herself upon.

"Stop this," Lucienne growled, driving her sword forward in a sweeping arc, hoping to break the rhythm of Liselotte’s movements.

But Liselotte only flowed around the strike, her foot skimming the edge of the blade as she twirled midair, a living ember that refused to be snuffed out. Her next kick connected, not with brute force, creating a warmth that refused to burn, and the sound of another mirror forming.

Lucienne exhaled sharply, her heart hammering in her chest.

Because in that reflection, she saw something she hadn’t allowed herself to remember in years.

Liselotte’s relentless assault never ceased—her fiery legs a blur, each kick coming faster, harder, pushing Lucienne back step by step. The air between them shimmered with heat, sparks flying as molten-glass mirrors continued to bloom into existence. With every impact, another memory surfaced, the reflections stretching out across the tunnel like a celestial expanse of forgotten moments.

Lucienne’s montante swung in wide, precise arcs, intercepting every strike that came close to landing a direct hit. She had always prided herself on her control, and her ability to maintain composure even in the most chaotic battles. But this—this was different.

Each block sent a strange ripple through her chest, like a wave of something heavy yet intangible. The reflections that surrounded her—glimpses of a past she had buried—made her grip falter, even if only for a second.

Liselotte’s strikes weren’t meant to break her body.

They were breaking something else entirely.

The underground tunnel, once a cold and crumbling ruin, now gleamed with liquid fire. The shattered mirrors refracted the vibrant hues of Liselotte’s blazing form, multiplying her image infinitely in the glass. It was as if a thousand versions of her were dancing through the air at once, weaving between the echoes of Lucienne’s past.

Lucienne gritted her teeth. "Enough!" she hissed, swinging her montante in a desperate attempt to carve through the illusion. The blade sliced through the space between them, yet it found nothing but air—Liselotte had already vaulted above her.

The heat intensified.

Liselotte soared upward, her fiery silhouette burning bright against the fractured light. She flipped mid-air, her legs folding before she kicked downward with all the force of a meteor crashing to earth.

Lucienne barely had time to raise her blade before the impact hit.

A deafening crack echoed through the tunnel.

The ground beneath them didn’t break.

But the world did.

The mirrors that filled the space shattered all at once—not into fragments, but into doorways. The molten glass rippled like water, distorting and shifting, until they were no longer inside the tunnel at all.

They were somewhere else.

Lucienne’s eyes widened.

She was falling—not through space, but through time. The walls of reality peeled away, revealing a world woven from memory. The reflections twisted and merged, becoming something more than just glass.

A whisper of smoke. The glow of flames licking against wood. A child’s voice, fragile and trembling.

"Miss Flux?"

Lucienne’s breath caught in her throat.

Because this wasn’t just a battle anymore.

Liselotte had kicked them both into the past.

The air smelled thick with smoke, heavy with the scent of charred wood and something far worse. Ash fell like snow, coating the crumbling remains of the orphanage in a blanket of pale gray. Flickering embers danced in the air, casting long shadows over the scorched ground.

Lucienne’s breath hitched as she saw them—her younger self and Barbel, standing amidst the destruction.

Their armor, once gleaming, was dulled by soot and grime. Their twin montantes, strapped securely to their backs, clattered slightly as they rushed forward, boots kicking up dust and embers. Their movements were frantic, desperate.

Then, Barbel stopped.

Lucienne—her younger self—was still searching, still shouting into the smoke-filled void. Her voice cracked with each call, raw from the heat and desperation.

“JACK! MAY! HEATH! WHERE ARE YOU?!”

Her boots pounded against the scorched ground, kicking up ash as she turned wildly, eyes darting through the inferno. Her hands trembled as she reached for fallen beams, throwing aside debris with frantic strength, refusing to believe what she already knew.

“BETH! ROSS! PLEASE—SAY SOMETHING!”

Her cries echoed, swallowed by the roaring flames. She coughed, the thick smoke burning her lungs, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

But Barbel had.

Lucienne turned, expecting to see her sister still searching, fighting alongside her. Instead, Barbel stood frozen—her gauntleted hands trembling, her breath unsteady.

At her feet lay something small, something burned beyond recognition.

Lucienne’s throat tightened. The world blurred as Barbel’s fingers curled around the fragile form, lifting it with agonizing slowness. Even through the soot and ash that clung to her sister’s face, Lucienne saw it—the moment Barbel broke.

A name barely left Lucienne’s lips, “...Elsie?” but there was no answer. There never would be.

Barbel didn’t cry. She didn’t wail or curse the heavens. She simply stood there, staring down at the tiny, lifeless bundle in her arms. The flickering firelight reflected off her eyes, but they were hollow, lost in a place no one could reach.

Lucienne felt something claw at her throat, something raw and suffocating. She remembered this. She remembered the weight in her sister’s arms, the way the fire crackled like cruel laughter around them.

The memory blurred, warping under the heat of Liselotte’s Gesegnete. The burning mirrors around them shimmered, refracting the moment over and over from every angle. Each shard captured a different part of the tragedy—the collapse of the orphanage’s roof, the bodies left unmoving, the way Barbel’s fingers clenched so tightly around the child she refused to let go.

Liselotte stood at the edge of the memory, silent but present. The fire in her eyes reflected the scene in front of them.

The flames twisted, bending like ink spilling into water, warping the memory around them. The burning orphanage faded, replaced by another time—another place.

Lucienne stood alone, her breaths uneven, her eyes wide with something between horror and madness. The world around her had cracked.

She wasn’t in the past anymore, but it felt just as real. The same fire burned in her mind, the same screams echoed in her ears. But this time, she could see it. The woman.

A shadowed figure wreathed in flames.

She stood in the center of the inferno, faceless and distant, yet unbearably present. Lucienne’s heart pounded as she watched her—the arsonist, the one responsible, the one who had taken everything.

“…You.” Lucienne’s voice trembled, her grip tightening around the hilt of her sword. Her breath was ragged, her hands unsteady, her mind racing. “You burned it down.”

The woman did not speak. She did not move.

Lucienne’s vision blurred, her teeth grinding. Her body felt hot—too hot— like the fire wasn’t just around her but inside of her, eating away at her thoughts, feeding on her pain.

Barbel was beside her now.

Lucienne barely noticed when her sister’s hand landed on her shoulder. She only noticed the way Barbel’s fingers dug into her skin—firm, grounding, just enough to tell her that she wasn’t alone.

Barbel’s voice was low, quiet, yet sharp as steel. “It doesn’t matter.”

Lucienne’s breath hitched.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Barbel repeated.

Lucienne turned, finally meeting Barbel’s eyes. They were hollow. Not empty, but heavy. Too heavy.

Lucienne opened her mouth to argue, to say that it did matter, that this was everything—but Barbel already knew. She knew because she felt it too.

But they couldn’t stay here. They couldn’t stay trapped in the past.

So they moved forward.

Even if the past followed.

Even if the fire still burned behind their eyes.

Even if the weight of the dead never left their shoulders.

Together, they shook the hand of the Clock.

As the last flickers of the burning memory faded into embers, the shattered mirrors around them hummed, reflecting only silence now.

Lucienne stood still, her fingers curling and uncurling around the hilt of her montante. She wasn't looking at Liselotte, but she also wasn't looking away. She was just… there. Not fighting, not running, just breathing.

Liselotte tilted her head, watching her carefully. Then, with a small smile, she broke the quiet.

“You’re not much of a talker.”

Lucienne blinked, like she had to take a second to register the words.

“…Never needed to be,” she muttered.

Liselotte let out a soft chuckle. “That’s fair.”

Silence settled between them again. But this time, it wasn’t suffocating. It was just there, like an old companion sitting between them.

Liselotte shifted her weight from one foot to the other, crossing her arms. “You and Barbel are sisters, huh?”

Lucienne didn’t react at first, but eventually, she let out a small breath.

“…Yeah.”

Liselotte studied her for a moment. “She worries about you.”

Lucienne scoffed lightly. “That makes two of us…”

Liselotte smiled at that—just a little. She let the warmth of her fire flicker softer, less intense, letting it cradle them rather than burn.

Lucienne sighed, running a hand through her hair. “You’re persistent.”

“You… are not the first to tell me that…,” Liselotte said with a grin.

Lucienne glanced at her from the corner of her eye, something almost amused in her expression. It was small, barely there, but Liselotte caught it.

For the first time since their fight began, Lucienne seemed… human.

Not just a warrior. Not just Barbel’s sister.

Just a person standing in the middle of a ruined memory, trying to make sense of it.

Liselotte stepped closer. Not to fight. Not to push. Just to stand beside her.

“…Tell me something normal,” Lucienne said suddenly.

Liselotte blinked. “Huh…?”

Lucienne shrugged. “Just… something normal. Something people talk about when they’re not trying to kill each other.”

Liselotte thought for a moment. Then she smiled.

“Alright… What’s your favorite food?”

Lucienne gave her a look, like she couldn’t believe that was the question Liselotte chose. But after a moment, she sighed.

“…Mushroom stew.”

Liselotte gasped. “No way! Same! But it has to be the thick kind, the one that sits heavy in your stomach.”

Lucienne hesitated. Then, slowly, she nodded. “…Yeah. That’s the good kind.”

And just like that, for a fleeting moment, they weren’t two warriors on opposing sides.

Lucienne hesitated before speaking, her voice softer than before. “Can you… show me a time when everything was still peaceful?”

Liselotte looked at her, eyes flickering with embers. “You want to see it?”

Lucienne nodded. “…Just for a little while.”

Liselotte didn’t hesitate. She lifted her foot and brought it down, not with force, but with intention. The fire beneath her stirred, weaving through the shattered mirrors, the molten glass shifting like ripples in a pond. Flames rushed along the ground, weaving a path through time itself.

And then—the world changed.

The suffocating heat of the burning orphanage was gone. The air smelled of fresh linen and warm bread. The sound of crackling fire was replaced by the laughter of children.

They stood in a sunlit courtyard, the orphanage still standing in all its humble charm.

Barbel stood in the center, her armor long abandoned for simple clothes. A wooden sword in hand, a playful smirk on her face, surrounded by children eager to challenge her.

“Come on, Elsie! You have to step in with your right foot, not your left!” Barbel corrected, guiding a small girl no older than seven, her messy hair bouncing as she tried to mimic Barbel’s movements. The other kids giggled as they sparred, their wooden swords clacking against each other in a playful dance.

A little further away, Lucienne knelt by a wooden tub, scrubbing clothes alongside a handful of children. The younger ones splashed each other with water, giggling when Lucienne gave them an exasperated look. But then—a small smile crept onto her lips as she flicked water back at them. The children shrieked with laughter.

Lucienne—the Lucienne standing in the memory—watched in silence.

Her grip on her montante loosened.

She stepped forward slowly, her eyes flickering between Barbel playfully teaching Elsie and herself washing clothes.

Her voice wavered. “…I remember this day.”

Liselotte tilted her head. “What happened after?”

Lucienne swallowed. “…Barbel made stew.”

Liselotte smiled softly. “Mushroom stew?”

Lucienne nodded. “…It was a little too salty.”

The laughter of children filled the air. The warmth of the sun bathed them in golden light.

For a moment, Lucienne closed her eyes and let herself exist in this memory—in a time before the flames came.

Lucienne stood still, surrounded by the warmth of a world long gone. The echoes of laughter, the scent of fresh linen, the golden hue of the sun—it all pressed against her like a comforting embrace.

She exhaled softly, staring at the small hands of the children tugging at Barbel’s sleeve, at the way Elsie’s face lit up when Barbel ruffled her hair. Her eyes traced over her past self, kneeling by the wash bin, flicking water at the giggling orphans, unaware of the future that awaited them.

Unaware that they would never grow up.

That they would never leave this place.

Her breath hitched.

"This is enough," Lucienne whispered.

Liselotte turned to her, the flames in her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "What?"

Lucienne didn't look at her. She just kept watching.

"I want to stay here." Her voice was steady, but something in it cracked, fragile like the molten mirrors surrounding them. "This moment... these faces... It's all I ever wanted to see again. I don’t need anything else."

Liselotte's heart clenched. "Lucienne—"

"I want to disappear with it," Lucienne said, her fingers trembling over the hilt of her sword. "This memory... I want to sink into it, to let it take me with it. If I stay here, I can hold them again. I can live with them again." She let out a small breathless laugh, bitter yet longing. "Even if it's just an illusion, it’s better than what’s left outside."

Liselotte took a step forward, but Lucienne finally turned to her.

"Can you do that for me?"

Liselotte froze.

Lucienne’s voice was soft, almost pleading. "You're the one who made this. You can end it. Burn me away with it, let it take me with them.”

Liselotte’s fingers curled into fists. The heat of the flames surrounding them felt suffocating now, but it wasn't her fire that burned—it was the grief woven into Lucienne’s words.

Those who carried wounds too deep for time to heal were seeking an end in the arms of what they had lost. And that—that was the cruelest part of all.

Liselotte swallowed. "No."

Lucienne blinked, as if the word hadn't quite reached her.

Liselotte took another step, voice steady. "No, I won’t do that."

Lucienne’s expression hardened. "Why?"

"Because you're not supposed to stay here."

Lucienne let out a humorless laugh, shaking her head. "And where else should I go? Forward? Like my sister always said?" She gestured bitterly at the memory around them, at the children frozen in time.

"What is there to move forward to?"

The warmth of the memory flickered like a dying flame, the past unwilling to fully fade yet unable to hold them any longer. The laughter of children echoed around them, their joy lingering in the air like the scent of freshly baked bread, like a song unfinished.

Lucienne knelt, pressing her palm to the image of Elsie, her fingers hovering just above the child’s head, afraid to disturb the illusion. The little girl giggled, completely unaware of the sorrow in Lucienne’s eyes.

A sharp breath hitched in Lucienne’s throat.

She closed her eyes. “I thought if I just stayed, if I just kept looking… I could hold onto it forever.”

Liselotte didn’t speak, only watching as Lucienne let herself exist in the moment, soaking in every detail. She wouldn’t rush her. She wouldn’t pull her away before she was ready.

Then, after a long silence, Lucienne exhaled. She straightened, shoulders trembling as she turned back toward Liselotte.

Liselotte’s eyes softened, but she didn’t step closer.

Lucienne looked around at the burning mirrors, the beautiful lie of the past wrapped around them like a cocoon. “I can’t stay here, can I?”

Liselotte shook her head.

Lucienne let out a small, broken chuckle, wiping at her eyes. “They wouldn’t want that, would they?”

“No,” Liselotte murmured. “They wouldn’t.”

Lucienne’s fingers clenched at her sides. She was trembling, but she wasn’t breaking.

For so long, she had tried to outrun the past. To convince herself she had moved forward, even as its weight pulled at her ankles, dragging her down. But now, standing within it—within the love she had lost—she finally understood.

Moving forward didn’t mean leaving it behind.

Moving forward meant carrying it with her.

She took a step, then another. Each step away from the past, but never away from them.

Liselotte extended a hand, and Lucienne took it.

The flames surged, swallowing the burning mirrors in brilliant golden light, and as the memory shattered—scattering like embers into the dark—Lucienne’s grip never wavered.

The past would always be with her.

But so would the future.