The thought crept into Elnora’s mind like ice slipping beneath a door—slow, quiet, unavoidable. She didn’t want to believe it at first, but with every breath, the certainty solidified: she had to leave. No, more than that. She had to disappear. Become nothing.

Her footsteps were muffled against the thick carpet of the library, the rhythmic tap of her boots barely audible over the weight of her thoughts. The aisles between the towering shelves felt narrower today, their shadows longer, suffocating.

Her fingers brushed absentmindedly along the spines of the old books, but she barely noticed the rough leather bindings. These books had once been her refuge. Now, they felt like prison walls closing in.

She paused by one of the heavy oak tables in the center of the room, her hands pressing against its worn edge. Loose parchment was strewn across the surface—remnants of her father’s work. He had always been precise, meticulous. She could see him there even now, hunched over his papers, quill in hand, calculating his next move like one of his endless chess matches.

"Disappear," she whispered, the word slipping out before she could stop it. Her voice sounded foreign, swallowed up by the stillness of the library.

She shook her head, pushing away from the table. Disappearing wasn’t as simple as wishing for it. The Valquinns would never let her go quietly. Her father especially—his eyes were always watching, always assessing, as if every breath she took was just another piece in his game.

Elnora crossed the room and stopped by the window, her gaze drifting out into the darkened courtyard. A figure moved in the distance—one of the estate’s guards, probably. Their presence wasn’t comforting. It only reminded her of how tightly she was bound here, how every step she took was seen by too many eyes.

If she tried to run... No, she couldn’t just leave.

Unless… unless they thought she was dead.

The idea hit her like a slap, sharp and cold. Her breath caught, and she leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to steady herself. Could she? Could she fake her own death?

The memory of her father’s gaze flashed through her mind—sharp, knowing, like he could read her every thought. If she disappeared, he’d follow. He’d send someone. She was sure of it. But if they thought she was dead? He wouldn’t waste time looking for a corpse.

"Yes," she muttered, lips barely moving. "That could work."

Her mind raced, trying to put the pieces together. There was a place. A stretch of forest, deep in the mountains, far from the estate. The road twisted there, narrow and dangerous. A single hand, a well-placed spell, and a carriage could easily tumble into the ravine below.

It was convincing. Clean. Her father wouldn’t question it—no one would.

But could she do it?

Her hand drifted to the edge of her cloak, gripping it tightly. Magic had never come easily to her. She wasn’t like Eleanor, the sister who could bend light to her will and conjure fire with a flick of her wrist. No, Elnora’s magic was weak, erratic at best.

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But for this? Maybe weakness was the key. It didn’t need to be a grand display of power. Just enough to make it look like an accident.

"Just enough," she repeated under her breath, the words more a promise than a plan.

The door to the library creaked, the sound jolting her from her thoughts. Her heart raced, but when she turned, there was no one. Just shadows creeping through the crack, like everything else in this cursed house.

She pressed a hand to her chest, exhaling slowly. She had to be careful. Her father wouldn’t mourn her, but he would suspect. If her death seemed too convenient, too sudden, he would look deeper. And if he looked, he would find her.

“Better this way,” she told herself, trying to ignore the gnawing doubt clawing at her gut.

She stepped back from the window, her cloak swirling at her feet as she moved toward the door. Her fingers brushed the wood before she paused, just for a moment, looking over her shoulder at the sea of books and papers. Her father’s world, not hers. It never had been.

She slipped out of the library, making her way to her chambers. The halls were quiet—too quiet. Normally, the house would be bustling with servants and courtiers, but tomorrow, everything would change. The royal envoy was arriving.

Her hand tightened around the railing as she climbed the stairs, the faint sound of voices drifting up from below. Her family was busy preparing for the visit—her father in discussion with the emissaries, her mother fussing over the estate’s presentation, Eleanor somewhere performing her usual duties as the perfect heir. No one would be watching Elnora. Not tomorrow.

Tomorrow, she would be gone before anyone noticed.

She reached her room and closed the door softly behind her. It already felt smaller, as if the walls were closing in around her. She crossed to the hearth, kneeling by the loose floorboard she’d pried up months ago. Her fingers found the pouch of silver she’d hidden there, its cool weight grounding her.

“Lorthraine.” The name came to her unbidden, like a whisper from the shadows. It was a land beyond the forest, beyond the ravine. A place where the Valquinns held no power, where forgotten souls could start again.

But it was also a place of tension.

Velsorin and Lorthraine had never gotten along, their relationship marred by generations of distrust and quiet hostility. Velsorin’s noble bloodlines, with their tightly controlled arcane gifts, saw Lorthraine’s independence and rejection of bloodline rule as a threat.

Meanwhile, Lorthraine, a land without the rigid hierarchy of magical families, resented the arrogance and dominance of Velsorin’s elite.

To flee there would be to turn her back on her family—and risk becoming an enemy. But perhaps that was the point.

In that moment, an excuse took shape in her mind—a simple truth she could weave into the fabric of her family’s expectations. She would tell them she would be journeying to meet a healer in a distant village, one rumored to possess knowledge of ancient spells that could bolster her weak magic. A journey to find herself, to learn what she had never mastered.

She rose, crossing to the trunk at the foot of her bed. There wasn’t much to take—just a few changes of plain clothes, nothing that would draw attention. Her mother’s ritual dagger lay at the bottom, gleaming in the dim light. She hesitated, fingers brushing the hilt.

It had always felt like a burden despite being a birthday gift, a symbol of expectations she’d never met. But tonight, she needed it. She tucked the dagger into her belt.

Her gaze drifted to a worn book on the table, its pages filled with half-remembered spells and failed experiments. She ran her hand over the cover, then let it go. She wouldn’t need it where she was going.

The window called to her again, the dark sky beyond it stretching like a promise. Tomorrow, she would take the road no one traveled, and with the right magic, the right moment, she would vanish.

And no one would look for a ghost.