Page 66 of A Touch of Madness

Not because she cannot be saved.

Not because the magic is failing.

But because she does not want to be saved.

Worst of all? She is winning.

Sylvie grits her teeth, her hands curling into fists at her sides, blood still dripping steadily into the sigil, her breath coming fast, uneven. She is giving everything, pushing past the limits of her body, her magic, her soul—and I know in that instant, if she keeps going, she will break before Lara does. I want to give this to Sylvie. I want this choice for her, a choice I never gave her all those lifetimes ago. To choose freely for herself. But how, when I am as selfish as I am, can I let the woman I love destroy herself to save another?

I hesitate but then move forward just as the torches flicker once—twice—before they die altogether, swallowing the chamber in thick, impenetrable darkness. A gust of unnatural wind whips through the space, though there are no windows, no doors left ajar for air to enter. The runes carved into the stone walls flare in response, their glow pulsating like a heartbeat, erratic and unsteady, as if the magic itself is straining beneath the weight of the spell.

And then, the sound comes.

A low, guttural crack, reverberating through the walls, through my chest, through every fiber of my being. It is not metal snapping, nor stone shifting—it is something deeper, something more primal, like the breaking of a seal that was never meant to be undone. The very fabric of magic is splitting open, raw and seething, exposing something we cannot see but can feel in our bones.

And then—silence.

The kind that stretches into eternity.

The kind that feels active.

The runes falter, flickering like dying stars, and in that agonizing pause, in that moment that hangs between life and oblivion, a sound rises above the breathless void?—

"Lara."

Sylvie’s voice does not tremble. It does not waver. She does not hesitate, nor plead, nor break beneath the weight of the impossible task before her. She speaks with certainty, with finality, her words an anchor cast into the storm that is my sister’s unraveling soul.

"Come back to me."

The silence does not break.

It shatters.

A ripple of energy pulses outward from where Sylvie stands as she and the elders complete the incantation. The energy is so strong that even the magic-laced iron chains around Lara groan in protest, the spell thrumming at the very seams. I brace myself against the force of it, feel the air crackle with something ancient and wild, something so much larger than any of us. And then?—

"Sylv?"

The voice is fragile, distant, as if spoken through a veil of thick, choking fog. But it is not the voice of the creature that has been wearing her sister’s face. It is not the voice of the thing that sneered and spat and mocked the girl standing before her now.

Sylvie does not falter. She does not dare allow hesitation to creep into her spine, does not allow fear to carve its way into her resolve. Instead, she presses forward, her body trembling with the strain of magic still flooding through her veins, and she speaks the incantation one final time.

Each syllable is spoken like a command, like the slow, deliberate turning of a key in a rusted, forgotten lock. The energy around us recoils, desperate to resist, to fight, but it is too late—the spell is sealed, and magic must obey. All at once, the chamber erupts in light. Blinding, searing, consuming—an explosion of raw, unchecked power that knocks the breath from my lungs, forcing me back a step as the magic collapses inward, latching onto its target. I watch as Lara’s body jerks, her spine arching against the restraints, every muscle in her frame locked taut as the energy surges through her. The room quakes, dust and stone rattling from the ceiling, the spell crackling like a wildfire set loose in the hollowed belly of the earth.

The sigils burn brighter—brighter—brighter, until they are too much, until they are unbearable, and then?—

The light dies once more.

Everything is still.

The weight in the air lifts. The static that had crawled over my skin fades. The torches, once extinguished, flicker back to life, casting long, wavering shadows over the chamber’s stone walls. For a moment, none of us move. None of us breathe.

And then?—

A single twitch of fingers.

The faintest movement of lips, parting to take in a trembling breath.

And then, ever so slowly, Lara lifts her head.

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