The dreams came.
Vivid.Unsettling.
The Black Wraith’s mask danced through the darkness, its hollow eyes staring into my soul—an ominous portent.
During the day, my obsession with Amir only grew.
I would glance up from my work, half-expecting to find his dark, unreadable gaze watching me from the shadows.
But the cottage remained empty.Oppressively so.
Lord Hassan’s absence from my father’s house stretched into a full week, leaving a palpable void.
His attendance had once filled the manor with silent strength, an aura of control even in stillness.
Now, his absence felt like a missing heartbeat in a body that refused to die.
And I was left alone in my secluded cottage, pouring my restless thoughts into my craft.
The Noctyss poison.
If perfected, the mixture would glow with swirling hues of silver and gold, a beautiful, mesmerizing lethality.
But I had failed.
No luminous shimmer graced the bubbling liquid in the flask.
Only dullness.Disobedience.Frustration.
I sighed, my gaze falling to my hands, clad in leather gloves soaked in essential oils.
It was a necessary precaution when dealing with something that could instantly turn against its maker.
In my palm, I held the Noctyss flower—its petals delicate, unassuming, deceptively harmless.
A bloom so rare and demanding that taking more than one would leave the plant drooping listlessly.
Not dead.
But robbed of vitality.
Weak.Exhausted.Empty.
It would take months before it could bloom again.
I traced the fragile petal with a gloved fingertip, a flicker of understanding whispering.
The Noctyss was like me.
Depleted.Hollowed out.
Waiting.
But unlike the flower, I refused to wither.
Alchemy was a dance—a delicate, dangerous balance of taking and giving, extracting and nurturing.One misstep, one miscalculation, and creation became destruction.
As I sat there, the weight of my isolation pressing in, I couldn’t escape the gnawing question?—
