Chapter 12 - Confessions [Part 1]
We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others.
- Lois Lowry.
The last light of the setting sun filtered through the windows, bathing her mother’s room in shades of gold, orange, and red. Shadows stretched and deepened as the day came to a close.
And Here she stood, in the lair of a dragon, too fearful even to sit. No, that wasn’t quite right—she was merely being careful, wasn’t she?
The woman before her seemed almost a stranger, and in a way, she was. Outside the The Maiden of the Wisterias, Seraphina had only met her a few days ago. Yet now, she felt every bit of her mother’s fury radiating across the room.
The Oracle Anaselena, Seraphina's mother, was fuming.
“What manner of creature are you?” Anaselena demanded, a vein throbbing in her delicate neck.
Seraphina’s face remained impassive, a masterful mask of marble. But then she realized her expression was all wrong for the situation at hand. “What on earth are you talking about, Mother? What wrong have I done?”
“Who are you... who speaks in my daughter’s voice?” Anaselena’s voice quivered, rising with each word. “You sound like her, you even act like her—but you cannot fool the eyes of an Oracle. At first, I couldn’t believe it myself.” Her voice sharpened. “You’ve changed too much. Taking Eloise as your lady-in-waiting? I thought it was a cruel jest, something you’d put an end to soon enough. But then I saw her wandering the west wing, as if she...”
“Are you raving mad?” Seraphina forced a half-hearted smile and a weak laugh. “Is this some wild jest in turn? Can you not see how perfectly it suits our purpose to keep the eldest of the de Laneys under our thumb?”
"Do not talk back to me! My Sera would never have done such a thing! Tell me the truth now... or by the Blind Goddess' blades, I will end you. Do not try me!" her mother screamed.
Seraphina's mind was racing, scrambling to devise a thousand deceptions in response to this sudden assault. But more lies? No, that would not work. She had forgotten that the Oracle possessed a crude form of Truth Sense, able to detect the slightest hesitancy that tainted a lie. All the charm in the world would be powerless against her mother's relentless wrath.
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Her thoughts spun faster, searching for a solution. She would have to use her mother’s anger against her... and perhaps, at the same time, resolve another issue entirely. She would blend truth and lies into a seamless alloy—her truth, shaped to serve her needs.
It was time to gamble everything on it.
Seraphina took a deep breath, as though preparing to release a deeply held secret, a regret she had buried. She was thankful, in this critical moment, for the sharp mind the heavens had gifted her.
“You are pregnant, Mother. Pregnant with Father’s son—my brother,” she said, her voice wavering just enough to give it weight. “You’ve already decided on his name, haven’t you? Sergio, after Anatoli’s father.”
The satisfaction she felt was immediate as she watched her mother’s hand instinctively move to her stomach, shielding her unborn child. But then Anaselena’s gaze hardened, suspicion seeping back into her eyes. This would take more than a well-placed truth.
“How could you have known?” she hissed. “No, this is nothing but a lucky guess, creature.”
“Alright, then...” Seraphina replied smoothly, steeling herself. She carefully pulled memories from the original Seraphina’s life—snippets of childhood, half-forgotten promises, cherished stories of places and people her mother held dear. Shared memories that only Seraphina would have had. She spoke in a carefully measured, halting voice, recounting each detail with painstaking accuracy.
But still, Anaselena’s expression did not waver; skepticism lingered in her narrowed eyes.
Seraphina felt a flicker of irritation—stubborn old bat! she thought with sudden venom, though strangely, she felt a pang of guilt at the thought. Why should she care what this woman thought of her? But the feeling clung to her as she held her mother’s stare, and it almost felt real—almost like something the original Seraphina herself might have felt.
It was a delicate, dangerous dance she was performing now. One slip could unravel everything. She needed to convince this dangerous woman and turn her to her cause.
“Though you say all the right things, you are still not the Seraphina I know…” the Duchess protested, tossing her head with defiance—though her voice faltered, just slightly. Was it the pregnancy, making her emotions flare so unpredictably? Her instincts urged her to believe this girl who knew so many details, all correct. Yet there was something amiss in the way each story was told, as if they were events she had observed but never felt. Like someone reciting lines from a stolen diary.
Seraphina clenched her fists, visibly frustrated, running her hands through her hair before forcing herself to calm. She took a steadying breath, readying herself to give a confession—not entirely truthful, but close enough. Everything depended on her delivery now, on a careful blend of her cunning and Charisma. If she failed, if even the smallest crack showed, there would be no mercy. Heads might, quite literally, roll.