She who sees

The glow of the market clung to Aisha long after she and Nathan parted ways. The lights, the laughter, the smell of roasted chestnuts—all of it felt fragile now, a glittering surface stretched thin over something dark and restless beneath. By the time she reached the cottage, her stomach was knotted tight, the pulse of the pendant heavy against her chest.

Inside, the warmth of home should have been a comfort. The scent of pine boughs and cinnamon drifted through the air, and Doreen had set a small box of decorations on the table, each one carefully wrapped in old tissue. A half-finished garland of dried oranges and cranberries lay across the mantelpiece. The glow of fairy lights strung around the living room gave the cottage a soft, golden haze.

"You're late," Doreen said gently, though her eyes hoovered over to the pendant as if checking it before checking Aisha. She was standing on a stool, hoking sprigs of holly over the fireplace. Her movements were steady, deliberate, but Aisha thought she caught a shadow of worry in her expression.

"I lost track of time," Aisha murmured, setting her coat aside. She paused before adding, "The market was...busy."

Doreen stepped down from the stool and adjusted the garland until it hung just so "It's always busy at Christmas. People want to feel safe, surrounded by light. Old instinct. They don't even know why."

Aisha frowned. "What do you mean?"

But Doreen only gave a small, unreadable smile and patted her shoulder. "Keep your pendant close tonight, child. Frost carries old magic, and it's stirring more quickly now. Best not to leave yourself open."

The words sat heavy in Aisha's chest. She nodded, though it wasn't comfort she felt—it was a chill deeper than the winter air.

Later, in her room, Aisha sat at her desk with the pendant glowing faintly against her skin. She lit a candle, the small flame flickering in the draft, and placed the pendant before her. Its pulse was erratic now, skipping between fast and slow like a nervous heartbeat. She picked up her notebook, intending to steady herself by sketching, but the moment her pen touched the page, symbols came on their own. Spirals, sigils, intersecting lines.

She blinked hard. The ink shifted.

It wasn't a trick of her eyes—the lines actually rearranged themselves, sliding like water into new shapes, forming symbols she hadn't drawn. A shiver crawled down her spine. The notebook seemed alive, reshaping itself with every pulse of the pendant.

Her phone buzzed. She startled, almost knocking over he candle. Nathan's name lit up the screen.

You okay?

She stared at the message, her heart pounding. He'd seen the pendant glow during her presentation. He'd heard Tom's strange warning at the market. She typed and deleted three different replies before finally settling on:

I'm fine. Just tired.

A moment later, his reply came.

You don't have to tell me everything right now. Just... don't shut me out, okay? Whatever's going on—I want to be there.

Her throat tightened. She pressed the phone to her chest, closing her eyes. Trusting Nathan felt like standing on the edge of a cliff: part of her wanted to step forward, part of her was terrified she'd fall.

She set the phone aside, but the words lingered like a promise—or a warning.

Downstairs, a low murmur carried through the floorboards. Aisha froze, tilting her head. Doreen's voice It was faint, muffled, but unmistakably hers.

Quietly, Aisha crept from her room and padded down the staircase, careful to avoid the creaky middle step. She followed the sound to the kitchen, where a faint golden glow spilled under the door. Holding her breath, she edged closer.

"...the girl..." Doreen's voice was soft, urgent, as though speaking to someone far away.

"The choice must be hers. You know that. If Sadon's line rises again, she won't survive unprepared."

A pause. Silence. Then Doreen again, sharper now: "No. You know I can not tell her yet. If she runs blind, she'll break before the path even opens."

Aisha's pulse thundered in her ears. She pressed her hand against the wood, straining to hear more, but the room fell quiet. Only the faint crackle of the kitchen fire reached her now.

She backed away, her heart hammering, she hurried upstairs.

In her room, the candle had guttered low. Frost had crept across her windowpane in delicate spirals, intricate as lace. She leaned closer—and froze.

The frost was forming sigils.

Her chest tightened. She reached out, fingertips brushing the glass. For an instant, the reflection staring back wasn't her own.

Ruby.

The pale entity's eyes locked onto hers, filled with urgency. Its lips moved, into a concerned frown. Although her lips didn't move, Aisha heard the word Remember  in the back of her mind like a forgotten memory.

Aisha stumbled back, heart racing. The frost symbols glimmered once more, then dulled into ordinary ice. The reflection was her own again, pale and shaken in the candlelight.

She pressed the pendant right against her chest. "I have to know what they're hiding," she whispered to herself, her voice trembling.

The woods, the symbols, Lord Sadon —all of it was closing in. And soon, she would have no choice but to follow.

She sank onto the edge of her bed, clutching the pendant until the chain bit into her skin. Remember. The word echoed in her head, sharp and aching. But remember what?

Her mother's voice in the mirror, warning of paths and choices. Ruby's haunted gaze, always pointing her back to the pendant. Even Doreen's secretive whispers downstairs. They all circled the same truth, just out of her reach, as if the answer were sitting right in front of her cloaked in shadow.

Was it something she had forgotten from childhood? Something her mother had once tried to teach her, before she was gone? Or was it deeper still—something buried in her blood, in the bones of the land itself?

Aisha pressed her forehead to her knees, eyes burning. Frustration knotted with fear inside her chest. Whatever it was, Ruby wanted her to see it. Her mother needed her to know it. And she—she was fumbling in the dark, too slow, too blind.

The frost symbols on the glass glimmered faintly one last time before fading into nothing.

"I'll remember," she whispered into the quiet. It was a promise to her mother, to Ruby, but also to herself. "Whatever it is—you won't let me forget."

The pendant pulsed once, firm and certain, as though it had been waiting for her to say it.