After dinner and the endless teasing of poor Magnus, I was finally led through the castle's candlelit halls by a graceful woman with long, cascading curls that shimmered like moonlight.
She didn't say much, only offered me a kind smile as we walked, but there was comfort in her presence—like warm light in a cold place.
She opened the door to a quiet, elegant room prepared just for me. Soft velvet drapes danced with the breeze, and the bed looked like it belonged in a painting.
I turned to thank her gently, and she bowed slightly before walking away.
I closed the door behind me with a soft click.
Then I waited.
I made sure no footsteps echoed in the hallway, no curious eyes peered through cracks, no voices whispered behind walls.
Once I was certain I was alone, I sank to my knees in the center of the room. My hands folded over my heart. My wings hidden from mortal eyes flickered faintly with celestial glow as I bowed my head.
My voice trembled as I whispered:
"Higher Being... can You hear me?"
The silence felt vast and holy.
"I... I did not expect to feel this. This pull. This strange ache in my chest that grows every time I look at them—these people of Yeneva. Their laughter, their pain, their stubbornness... it all stirs something in me. Something human. Something I thought I'd left behind when I was shaped into light and purpose."
A tear slid down my cheek, catching in the curve of my jaw.
"Is it a sin... to crave this? This freedom? This warmth? This happiness?"
My voice cracked.
"Because here—on this broken, cursed realm—I feel more athome than I ever did in Hayva."
I clenched my hands tighter, trembling now.
"Forgive me. Please... forgive me for these thoughts. I know my mission. I haven't forgotten why I was sent down. I must fulfill it. I must become whole again—to rise, to be Seraph once more."
I looked upward, as if through the ceiling and the heavens beyond.
"But why does my heart ache when I think of leaving this place?"
"Why do I look at them and wonder what it would be like... to just stay?"
A long silence followed. The flickering candlelight cast soft shadows across the room, and the silence wrapped around me like a bittersweet hymn.
"Is it disobedience... or is it becoming?"
No voice answered.
Just the gentle rustling of the wind outside and the weight of everything I could not say.
I stayed kneeling long after the prayer faded from my lips, but peace did not come.
The flickering candle beside me danced once more in a sudden breeze that slipped through the cracks of the window.
The room was quiet again, save for the quiet hitch of my breath. I remained kneeling, head bowed, tears trailing silently down my cheeks as the memory of him slowly faded into the air like morning mist.
My heart felt too full—swollen with questions, grief, and a longing I couldn't name.
I didn't hear the footsteps in the hall.
I didn't even hear the door creak open.
"Hey, Ophelia, do you—"
Magnus's voice cut off instantly.
I looked up, startled. The warm candlelight glowed against the tears on my face, and for a brief, raw second, our eyes locked.
His usual smugness and sarcastic energy drained from his face.
He stood frozen in the doorway, his hand still on the handle, mouth slightly parted. He wasn't supposed to see this.
"…You're crying," he said softly, voice barely above a whisper.
I quickly turned my head, wiping my face roughly with the sleeve of my borrowed robe.
"Go" I choked, trying to sound composed—but it cracked anyway.
He didn't move.
Didn't tease.
Didn't say something stupid.
Instead, he stepped inside and quietly closed the door behind him.
"I—sorry. I didn't know. I just…" He scratched the back of his neck, eyes flickering with uncertainty.
"…I was going to bother you with some dumb joke. I didn't mean to—" He stopped, clearly uncomfortable.
I didn't respond. My hands were clenched tightly in my lap as I tried to gather the remnants of my dignity.
There was a silence.
Then, to my shock, he slowly sat down on the floor across from me, mirroring my posture but keeping a gentle distance.
He didn't say a word. Just watched me with those usually-mischievous eyes, now heavy with quiet concern.
"You always barge into people's rooms uninvited?" I asked, my voice still hoarse, trying to lighten the moment even a little.
"Only when I think they might be doing something reckless," he replied softly. "Didn't expect to walk in on a meltdown."
I let out a tired, bitter laugh through my nose. "This isn't a meltdown."
He tilted his head. "Sure sounds like something melting."
I shot him a sharp glance, but his smirk was faint—gentler than usual. Not mocking.
I looked down again. "…I was praying."
"To who?" he asked, sincerely.
"To the one who made me what I am. A higher being," I murmured. "I was… asking for forgiveness."
Magnus frowned. "For what?"
"For… feeling things I shouldn't. Wanting things I shouldn't. Being someone I'm not supposed to be." My voice trembled, and my shoulders curled in, like I could fold into myself and vanish.
Magnus was quiet for a long moment.
Then he leaned back slightly and muttered, "Well, for what it's worth… I don't think you're broken. Just messy. Like the rest of us."
I blinked.
He met my gaze again, the candlelight catching the softness in his eyes. "Maybe you were meant to feel all this. Maybe it's not a punishment. Maybe it's... your second chance."
The words hit something deep in me—something I hadn't let anyone touch in ages.
And somehow, Magnus, of all people, had said it.
"…That was surprisingly wise," I whispered.
He grinned. "Yeah, well. Don't get used to it."
He stood up and offered me his hand.
"Come on. Sitting in the dark crying is my thing. Let's get you up before I catch feelings."
Despite myself, I laughed wet and shaky but it was real.
And as I took his hand, I realized I felt a little lighter.
"You're too kind to a stranger you just met" I said with with chuckle
"Or else my father would kill me" He said nervously as he looks at me