Page 102 of Magical Mission
I couldn’t speak.
Because the face of the woman, just before she fell…
I knew it.
Not from a portrait. Not from a history book.
From my reflection.
She looked just like me.
And the shadow curling behind her?
That felt likeGideonbut worse.
Older and something deeper.
My dad lay his head in my lap as Twobble sat down beside me without a word, legs swinging.
We stared at the orb.
And I realized this wasn’t a message.
It was a warning or worse.
A memory waiting to repeat.
The orb had stopped glowing.
Whatever vision it held had faded back into stillness as its light flickered into sleep. But the dread it left behind had only begun to stir.
I sat there, unmoving, the velvet weight of the box in my lap, the ghost of that woman’s face burned behind my eyes.
She looked like me.
Not vaguely. Not metaphorically.
Me.
And she had failed.
Not just faltered. Not stumbled. She hadfallenin the center of the circle as it twisted and pulled apart.
It wasn’t bent. It was broken as if the very ground beneath her had turned against her.
I closed my eyes, bile rising in the back of my throat.
This wasn’t just about a bent circle.
It never had been.
That message wasn’t reassurance. It was a warning. Or worse… apromise.
Because if it hadn’t broken the first time, then the one who bent it hadn’t succeeded.
Not yet.
And history has a way of repeating itself, especially when someone insisted on finishing what was started.
