bChapter /bb255 /b

    Aurora’s P.O.V

    The tes were filled, goblets brimming with juices and hot tea, candles casting flickering shadows against the pristine white tablecloth. It was extravagant. It was deliberate. And it made my skin crawl.

    “This…” young Violet hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides. “This is for us?”

    “Who else?” Ashton muttered, his eyes scanning the room warily. “But why?”

    None of us had an answer. None of us dared to sit.

    Something was wrong. We all felt it. The way the grand feast was spread out right in front of our eyes, the way the whole room seemed to be decorated in a way that screamed celebration, but the dread curling in

    our stomachs told us otherwise.

    And yet, we were already too far in to turn back.

    “Wee, children.” Lucas appears out of the kitchen, cing arge roasted chicken at the center of the table. “Please, have a seat. Breakfast is served.”

    This spread looked too extravagant to be breakfast, and yet, I could feel my stomach rumble, the delicious aroma of the roast and the soup mingling in the air, inviting us forward, even though everything about it

    felt wrong.

    We all looked at each other, hesitant, but when Harmona appeared in the doorway, that same eerie smile on her face, we had no choice but to do as told, as we took our seats around the table.

    And then, as I watch, Harmona steps forward, a soft smile gracing her lips as she carefully ces flower headbands on each of our heads. Poppy flowers and orchids–an odd yet strangely beautifulbination. I feel the gentle brush of her fingers against my hair as she secures mine, humming under her breath. She steps back, tilting her head slightly, assessing her work. “Perfect,” she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else.

    I exchange a nce with the others, their expressions mirroring my own confusion. Perfect for what? The question lingers on the tip of my tongue, but before I can voice it, Lucas appears, moving with effortless easeb, /bcarrying a tray of steaming herbal tea. The fragrant aroma drifts toward me, unfamiliar yet oddly inviting. He hands me a cup, his fingers barely brushing mine. “Drink,” he instructs, ihis /ivoice firm yet gentle. “Let’s start the feast with a tea, shall we?”

    “But…why the tea?” Violet asks, her tone nervous as she nces at us. “Why not juice?”

    Violet’s question was valid, something I wanted to ask myself. There was so much on the table, and yet… Lucas and Harmona were forcing the tea in front of us all with a kind of determination that screamed

    trouble.

    3:24 pm

    “You’ll find out soon enough.” Lucas’s tone left no room for argument.

    Something in his tone makes my stomach twist with unease. My fingers tighten around the warm ceramic, my eyes flicking to the others as they hesitate just like me. Harmona watched, expectant, her hands sped in front of her as if waiting for us to take the leap. I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. The liquid swirls inside the cup, dark and rich. My throat feels dry, my mind racing with possibilities.

    I stared at the murky liquid swirling in the gobletb, /bmy fingers tightening around the stem as I hesitated. Something about it felt off, the way it shimmered unnaturally under the dim light, the scent sharp and metallic like blood disguised beneath ayer of bitter herbs. Ashton, sitting beside me, mirrored my hesitation, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Neither of us moved to drink.

    “This doesn’t feel right,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if—”

    “Drink it.” Harmona’s voice sliced through my doubt like a de, sharp and unyielding. I turned to her, ready to argue, to demand answers, but the look in her eyes stopped me cold. It wasn’t just authority–it was finality. Amandced with something deeper, something darker. “Now.”

    Ashton shot me a look, his jaw tightening. I could see it in his eyes–he didn’t trust this any more than I did. But what choice did we have? We had alreadye this far, stepped into something we barely understood, and now there was no turning back. He exhaled sharply through his nose before lifting the goblet to his lips. My pulse hammered against my ribs as I followed his lead.

    The moment the liquid touched my tongue, an icy shiver crawled down my spine. It was thick, heavier than it should have been, and tasted like ashes and rot, like something that had been buried for too long.

    The world tilted. My fingers ckened, the goblet slipping from my grasp and ttering to the floor. The sound barely registered as my limbs turned sluggish, my vision swimming. I reached out blindly, catching only air before my knees buckled. A weight pressed against my chest, pulling me under. Panic red, but it was weak, fleeting.

    Somewhere in the haze, I heard Ashton’s breath hitch before he copsed beside me. My own body followed suit, sinking into the darkness.

    Then, just before oblivion took me, Harmona’s voice echoed in the distance, steady and chilling.

    “They’re ready for the ritual.”

    And then–nothing.

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