Aurora stood in front of the mirror in her room, the one she'd avoided since Professor Gray collapsed in smoke and blood. Her golden eyes stared back at her—no longer fully hers, no longer fully human.
The flat was quiet, eerily so. Fiona hadn't returned since her rooftop stunt. Zayne had gone radio silent again. And the Blood Moon was now two days away.
She leaned forward. The glass shimmered.
"You see it too," a voice whispered. Soft. Feminine. Hers—and not hers.
Aurora stumbled back, heart thudding.
The reflection didn't move with her.
Instead, the girl in the mirror leaned closer. Same face. Same eyes. But she looked… older. Wilder. Her hair billowed like smoke. A jagged scar split her lip. And her grin was pure chaos.
"You're late," the reflection said.
Aurora backed into the wall. "What the hell are you?"
The girl laughed. "I'm you. Or the you you'll become. If you survive."
Aurora shook her head. "No. You're just—"
"A memory. A warning. A prophecy. Choose your poison, baby witch. But you've already stepped into the fire. Now you have to learn to burn."
The mirror shimmered again. Then exploded.
Glass rained across the floor, glittering like blood.
Zayne found her hours later, sitting on the floor in a daze, fingers bleeding from picking up shards.
"Aurora—"
She didn't look up. "She looked like me. But she wasn't me."
He crouched beside her, grabbed a towel, wrapped her hands. "The mirror?"
"She said I was late. That I had to learn to burn."
Zayne tensed. He didn't speak for a moment. Then: "Did she have a scar on her lip?"
Aurora nodded slowly. "You know her?"
His voice dropped to a whisper. "That was your grandmother. The one your mother never spoke about. The one who died in 1989. Burned at the stake by the Covent of Ash."
Aurora's blood went cold. "That's impossible."
"Magic bends time. And blood never forgets."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a tattered leather book. Faded sigils covered the cover.
"This belonged to her. It's a grimoire. It only opens for blood."
Aurora touched it—and the book flared open, pages fluttering like wings.
The first spell glowed in gold ink:
"To break the curse, one must sacrifice the thing they love most."
Aurora and Zayne sat in silence. The air between them thickened.
"I won't let you die," she said softly.
"And I won't let it take you," he replied.
But the spell still burned between them, cold and cruel.
The next day, the air on campus buzzed with fear.
People whispered about Fiona.
She'd been spotted near the clocktower. Naked. Chanting. And the birds? They dropped dead mid-flight.
Aurora walked the halls like a ghost. Every shadow felt alive. Every mirror, a threat.
In the library, she found Ethan.
He looked awful. Gaunt. Eyes sunken.
"Aurora," he said, voice shaking. "I need to talk to you."
She sat across from him, wary.
"It's Fiona," he said. "She's not—she's not Fiona anymore. Something crawled into her skin. And it wants you dead."
Aurora folded her arms. "Why are you helping me now?"
"Because I made a mistake. Because I didn't know it would get this bad. And because… I think she's planning to kill everyone at the ritual."
Aurora froze. "What ritual?"
He looked around, leaned closer. "Blood Moon. At the old graveyard. Midnight. It's not just a curse anymore. It's a summoning. And you're the vessel."
Her mouth went dry.
That night, Aurora went to Zayne's flat.
He was waiting, candlelight dancing over his bare chest.
"We have forty-eight hours," he said. "We either end this… or we unleash something worse than a curse."
She walked to him, heart pounding.
"Then teach me."
He raised an eyebrow. "Magic?"
She pulled him closer. "All of it."
The night became a spell.
Skin. Flame. Tongues and teeth. Every kiss an invocation. Every touch, a bond.
And somewhere in the shadows, something stirred.
Watching.
Wanting.
Waiting for the moon to rise.
End of Chapter 12.