Page 92 of A Reflection of Silver and Crimson

How dare he try to harm me?

He doesn’t deserve to draw another breath!

Anger sparks behind his eyes as he springs to his feet and pulls a dagger from his weapon belt.

Something feral takes over, propelling me into an uncontrollable frenzy as I scream more ancient words, needing to be heard, truly heard. Over and over again, I scream, desperate for my chains to melt away and for the reflection to change.

Flames surge from the walls and spew around me, as if answering my plea.

ChapterThirty-Six

I openmy eyes to bone-crushing silence. It surrounds me like a hazy fog as I look around the empty room. It’s familiar and comforting.

I rise on shaky legs and raise my hand to my neck, expecting tenderness. It’s not there. Not even a little.

Shakily, I stretch out my hands, assuming they will look different after everything that happened with Jerrod.

What was that? I cast Lyra's magic even though I have never received training?

Impossible. This is all impossible.

The door opens, and I flinch, bracing myself for Jerrod. Instead, Asha fills the doorway, her eyes meeting mine with relief.

“Oh, good.” She smiles. “You’re awake. I was starting to think you would sleep all day. Would you like to take a walk?”

I blink and rub my gritty eyes. Yet she doesn't fade. She continues to stand before me, an impeccable reflection of poise and grace.

“I don’t understand,” I whisper, my voice hoarse.

“What is there to understand?” She shrugs. “I’m bored, and I would like to take a walk.”

“How long was I gone?” Every fiber of my being yearns to know what I missed. How many days? Weeks? Months?

Her brow wrinkles. “You were never gone, Annora.”

It’s not true.

It cannot be true.

If it is…everything that happened with Jasce was never real. It was a figment. An imagination. A moment that never existed.

“Where’s the painting?” I scan the room, searching for proof of the inexplicable events that transpired.

“What painting?”

“The one the healer gave me, Asha.” Panic settles in my bones as I speak in a rush. “Where is it?”

Asha stares at me for several long breaths. “You’re worrying me. Are you unwell again? Shall I call for a healer?”

“Please,Asha. I need to see the painting.”

She sighs, crosses the room to the table, and picks up the portrait. "Are you referring to this painting?"

My surcoat rustles against my legs as I hurry to where she stands and retrieve the painting from her, but it's not the same. It's not Lyra's face gazing back at me. It's a different young woman with auburn colored hair and sorrowful eyes.

“No…” My hands tremble as I thrust the painting back into Asha’s arms. “That’s not the right one.”

“Well…” Asha shrugs as she places it on the table. “It is the one the healer gave you.”

I sink into the nearest chair and bury my face in my hands. My raised scars brush against my palm—evidence that I have returned. "It was all a dream."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, Asha." My hands shake as I lower them and gaze up at my older sister. "I was beautiful."

"Was?" She sits across from me and takes my hands in hers. "Youarebeautiful, Annora."

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