Page 118 of The Vespertine Treaty
But I couldn't look away. I was six. I watched, paralysed, the image of my mother's agony becoming the permanent wall of my prison.
Cain’s physical response in the present was visceral and violent.
A low, guttural sound—a choked animal sound of pure, unadulterated terror—tore from his throat. The air in the room instantly turned to ice as his magic lashed out in a blind panic.
He didn't just wake; he attacked.
He lunged across the vast divide of the bed, a blur of shadow and instinct. His weight slammed me into the mattress, knocking the wind from my lungs. His hand didn't find my wrist this time; it found my throat.
His grip was crushing, not enough to kill instantly, but enough to terrify. Above me, his face was a mask of pure madness—eyes blown wide and black, his silver circlet barely visible, teeth bared, sweat slicking his skin.
"Get back!" he roared, his voice distorted, speaking to a ghost I couldn't see. "Don't touch her! I won't let you touch her again!”
The shadows in the room surged, coiling around the bedposts like vipers, ready to strike. He wasn't seeing me. He was seeing his father. And he was ready to kill him again.
"Cain!" I choked out, clawing at his forearm. The pain was sharp, real, and terrifying. "Cain, look at me!"
He didn't hear me. The pressure on my throat increased. I felt the edges of his Death Touch—cold, rotting static—beginning to bleed into my skin.
I didn't fight him with strength; I had none. I fought him with the only thing that could pierce the dark. My kindness. My undeniable affection for him.
"I am here, Cain," I gasped, forcing every ounce of my Life-Wielder magic into my skin, turning myself into a beacon of warmth against his ice. "It’s Ophelia. I am here. You are safe." I caressed his hand, the one still wrapped around my throat.
The contact seared him.
He flinched as if burned, his whole body seizing. The violent seizure subsided, replaced by a shuddering breath. Theblackness in his eyes receded, revealing the terrified, shattered grey beneath.
He released my throat, scrambling back as if I were made of fire. He pressed himself against the headboard, his chest heaving, his hands shaking violently as he held them up, staring at them as if they were covered in blood.
"Ophelia," he breathed, the name a broken prayer.
For a second—one singular, heart-stopping second—the walls were down. I saw the boy from the memory. I saw the devastating loneliness of a male who knew his very touch was a curse. He looked at me with such raw, naked need that it broke my heart.
I reached out, my hand hovering over the space between us. "It was just a nightmare,” I whispered softly. "I've got you."
His eyes locked onto my outstretched hand. He saw the red marks his fingers had left on my neck. He saw the pity in my eyes. He saw that I had witnessed the memory.
And the door slammed shut in my face.
The vulnerability vanished, replaced instantly by a cold, sneering cruelty that was far more terrifying than his rage.
He slapped my hand away. The sound was sharp in the silence.
"Do not touch me," he hissed, his voice dropping to a low, venomous growl. His face twisted, the beautiful tragedy hardening into the mask of the monster.
He loomed over me, using his height and his power to make me feel small, to make me regret ever seeing him weak.
"You think you can save me?" he mocked, a cruel smile curling his lip. "You think because you saw one pathetic memory, you understand what I am? You are a foolish, arrogant little Aenite playing with forces that will eat you alive.”
He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look into his dead, cold eyes.
"Do not bring your candles here, Ophelia," he whispered, the threat sliding over my skin like a blade. "Even the light is afraid of what I have become. And if you try to shine it on me again... I will snuff you out just to get the darkness back."
He threw the covers back and fled the room. His cold, absolute terror drove him out, leaving the vast chamber silent once more.
I rubbed my throat, my heart pounding. The confrontation had been terrifying, intimate, and entirely necessary. I was shattered, clutching my chest as the horrifying images of Lady Brianne's pain cycled through my mind.
He had exposed his deepest weakness, and I had confirmed my true power: I could not only see the broken boy, but I could momentarily soothe his anguish.
