The first light of dawn spilled through the narrow windows of Castle Târgoviște, its pale glow casting soft beams across the cold stone walls. Nauthiz stirred on the edge of the banquet table where he had finally succumbed to exhaustion. The fur-lined cloak that had been discarded earlier now draped over him like a shroud, but the weight pressing on his body felt... different. Wrong. He blinked slowly, his glowing eyes adjusting to the dim light.

And then he froze.

His hands were the first thing he noticed. They were smaller, softer—the calluses he had come to associate with Nauthiz’s form gone. Panic rippled through him as he sat upright, the cloak falling away to reveal a slender frame draped in the loose tunic that had fit him only hours before. His hands trembled as they traced the curve of his hips, the softness of his thighs, and finally, the unmistakable absence between his legs.

“No,” he whispered, his voice higher, lighter—a voice he hadn’t heard in months. He scrambled off the table, his feet touching the cold stone floor as he stared down at his body. “This isn’t possible.”

Rushing to the shattered mirror on the floor, he knelt before the largest shard. The reflection that stared back at him was unmistakably Nauthizia—her dark hair tumbling loose around her shoulders, her sharp but feminine features etched with panic. Her glowing eyes, still imbued with Dracula’s monstrous essence, flickered in the fractured glass.

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“It’s not just a glamour,” Nauthizia murmured, her hands trembling as they moved to her chest and lower again. “It’s real… and it feels… permanent this time.”

A faint shimmer in the air signaled Constantine’s arrival. He appeared near the remnants of the mirror, his spectral form sharper and more vivid than it had been before. His eyes locked onto Nauthizia, widening slightly as he took in her form.

“You’ve changed,” Constantine said, his voice low with awe. He stepped closer, his hand reaching out as if to confirm what his eyes saw. “Nauthizia…”

Nauthizia turned sharply, her glowing eyes narrowing. “Don’t,” she snapped, pulling the cloak tightly around her body. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Constantine’s hand fell back, though his gaze lingered. “You’re… yourself again,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something almost reverent. “It’s not just an illusion this time, either.”

Nauthizia’s lips tightened. “I don’t know how or why, but this isn’t permanent. It can’t be.” She stood, pulling the cloak tighter as she gestured toward the shattered mirror. “Go. Remove the veils from the castle’s mirrors.”

Constantine tilted his head, his expression unreadable. “Why?”

“Because I need to see,” Nauthizia said firmly. “All of me. If this is real, I need to know the extent of it.”

For a moment, Constantine hesitated, his gaze softening. “You know I’d do anything for you,” he said quietly. “But I’ll want to touch you for an eternity.”

“Not now,” Nauthizia said sharply, turning away from him. “Just do it.”

With a faint nod, Constantine disappeared into the shadows, leaving Nauthizia alone with her thoughts.