Later that afternoon, as classes wound down and the light rain turned into a soft mist that clung to the windows, I found myself alone in the library. Not because I needed to study, or because someone dragged me here, but because I wanted to think—somewhere quiet, away from the warm chaos of affection and unspoken expectations.
I sat in the corner seat by the window, the one tucked between two tall bookshelves and overlooking the courtyard. The glass was fogged, casting the outside world in a dreamy blur. In my hands was a book I hadn't opened for the past fifteen minutes.
Because in my mind, I was replaying every moment from the past few days.
The Moonlight Dance.Tessa's coat.Diana's lantern.Camille's carved ice roses.Claire's kiss in the rain.Lillian's quiet grace that had never once demanded my attention, yet always held it completely.
I hadn't even realized how many memories I had gathered. How much I had been given.
How deeply I had begun to fall—not for the idea of these girls, but for the real versions of them. Their flaws. Their warmth. The different shades of love they showed me.
And somehow, it didn't feel like a burden anymore.
It felt like I was becoming whole.
I didn't hear the footsteps until they were right beside me.
"Thought I might find you here," Camille's voice was soft, almost whispered, as she settled into the seat across from me. "You disappear when you think too hard."
I looked up. "That obvious?"
"You always pick this spot. Window seat. Courtyard view. It's very… reflective." She leaned forward slightly, her chin resting on her hand. "What are you thinking about this time?"
I hesitated, but then smiled faintly. "How you all keep sneaking into my heart when I'm not looking."
Her eyes gleamed, but she didn't smile. Not yet. "Are we sneaking… or are you just finally leaving the door unlocked?"
That stunned me into silence for a moment.
"You've changed, you know," she added softly. "It's subtle, but… the way you hold yourself. The way you smile more easily now. You've stopped expecting everything to collapse."
"I haven't stopped," I said, my voice quiet. "But… maybe I've started hoping it won't."
Camille finally smiled at that.
A soft, warm smile that made her look less like the graceful ice queen everyone else saw and more like the girl who carved delicate sculptures and handed them over with shaking fingers and no words.
"I like this version of you," she murmured.
"I'm still me."
She nodded. "But softer. Not weaker. Just… open."
I closed the book in my lap and looked at her fully.
"Thank you, Camille. For seeing me. Even before I saw myself."
She blinked, surprised. "That's not fair."
"What?"
"You're not supposed to say things like that. It makes it harder not to kiss you right now."
My heart stuttered.
And then, quietly—bravely—I said, "Then don't not kiss me."
Camille's eyes widened for a split second. And then she stood, stepping around the table, slow and careful, as if testing the air between us. I stood too, heart pounding.
She reached out, her fingers grazing my cheek.
"Are you sure?" she whispered.
I nodded once. "I want this moment to be yours."
That was all she needed.
Her lips met mine gently, like snow melting into skin—cool at first, then warm and real and absolutely breathtaking. It wasn't a demanding kiss. It wasn't desperate.
It was Camille.
Elegant. Certain. Full of feeling.
When we pulled apart, she rested her forehead against mine.
"I've been waiting to kiss you for longer than I should admit," she whispered.
"I think," I murmured back, "that I wanted you to… even longer than I realized."
She smiled, her fingers brushing down to my hand. "Let's stay here. Just for a while."
So we did.
Two girls in a quiet library, surrounded by old stories—writing one of their own between heartbeats.
And somewhere in the stillness, I finally understood:
I didn't need to rush to the end of this love story.
Because maybe, the story wasn't about choosing.
Maybe… it was about becoming.
And every girl who loved me was helping me become someone braver.
Someone whole.
We stayed in that quiet corner for a long time. Not saying much. Not needing to. Camille's fingers traced idle lines over the back of my hand, slow and absentminded, as if memorizing it by feel. I leaned against her shoulder, warm and calm, listening to the faint sound of rain against the windows and the quiet rustle of pages being turned somewhere deeper in the library.
For once, I wasn't thinking about who might be watching, or whether someone else would walk in. I wasn't worrying about what came next.
I was just there, with her, in a moment that felt suspended between all the chaos we'd been through and all the uncertainty still ahead.
"I should go," I whispered eventually, though I didn't move.
"Mmm. You should," Camille said, her voice lilting, teasing, "but I won't stop you if you don't."
I laughed softly against her shoulder. "Temptress."
"You say that like it's a bad thing."
I turned to look at her, and she was already looking at me, her pale blue eyes filled with something quieter than desire. Something deeper. Steadier.
"You're dangerous," I murmured.
Camille smiled, brushing her fingers along my cheekbone. "Not dangerous. Just devoted."
And somehow, that made my heart ache even more.
Eventually, I did leave—reluctantly, with a promise to meet again after dinner—and the moment I stepped outside into the open corridor, the world felt different. Like it had shifted just slightly beneath my feet. Not in a way that unbalanced me, but like I was finally learning to walk in shoes that fit.
The rain had stopped.
The sky was beginning to clear, patches of gold and silver bleeding through the gray.
As I stepped down the main stairs, I nearly collided with Lillian.
She blinked, then smiled. "Oh—Sera."
"I—" I stepped back. "Sorry. I didn't expect—"
"Neither did I," she said with a small, warm laugh.
We stood there in the stairwell, light filtering in from the high windows, and for a second, I felt the air thicken—just enough to notice.
"I was coming to look for you," she said, fingers brushing against her skirts.
"Oh?"
Her eyes studied me for a second. Not with suspicion—never with suspicion. But with understanding.
"I just wanted to see you," she said. "No reason."
I hesitated.
Then, softly, "I was with Camille."
She smiled gently. "I know."
Of course she did. Lillian always knew more than she let on.
"I'm sorry," I said, though I didn't know exactly why.
"Don't be," she replied. "This isn't a game I'm trying to win."
I swallowed. "I'm not trying to hurt anyone."
"I know that too."
She reached out then, taking my hand and threading our fingers together. Her touch was light—fragile, almost. Not possessive. Not demanding. Just… present.
"I've loved you from the beginning," she said, voice like moonlight on water. "And I still do. But I'm not here to corner you, Sera. I'm here to love you. However you'll let me."
I blinked back something sharp and soft in my eyes. "I'm trying."
"You're doing beautifully."
She leaned forward, kissed my forehead—soft and reverent.
"Come find me later," she said. "When you're ready. Or even if you're not."
And with that, she walked past me, her pink hair catching the fading light like a ribbon of spring.
By the time I returned to my room, my desk looked like a collection of unspoken poems. A moonflower from Tessa. The icy sculpture from Camille. The charmed lantern from Diana. A pressed petal from Lillian, still tucked inside my book. A note from Claire, folded a hundred times and scribbled with the words: "Let's be stupid together again soon."
It was overwhelming.
It was precious.
It was mine.
I sat down, took a deep breath, and reached for a blank page.
Not to write a decision.
Not to end anything.
But to begin something else.
Something new.
A letter.
To myself.
Dear Sera,
You're not her anymore. Not the girl from the other world. Not the villainess. Not just Chloe.
You're something in between. Something whole.
You're becoming.
And for the first time, I let the ink keep flowing.
Each word poured out of me like a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding—soft, unsure, but honest. There was something comforting about writing a letter to myself. Not to explain things, or even to decide anything—but to mark this feeling. This strange, beautiful place I'd found myself in. Between fear and belonging. Between the past and the person I was still becoming.
I didn't even notice the door creak open.
"What are you writing there?"
The voice behind me was unmistakable—light, playful, a little too nosy for its own good.
I nearly jumped, my hand flying across the page instinctively, smearing a bit of ink as I scrambled to fold the paper in half. My cheeks flushed with heat as I slipped the letter into my drawer with all the grace of someone trying to hide evidence of a crime.
"Nothing," I said quickly. Too quickly. "Don't worry about it."
Claire leaned against the doorframe with her signature smirk, arms crossed and one brow raised in theatrical disbelief. Her dark hair was tousled by the wind, and her violet eyes sparkled with something dangerous. Mischievous. Claire.
"Oh come on," she drawled, stepping further inside. "That was definitely the guilty look of someone writing something juicy. A diary? A love letter? A confession to an underground sweets operation?"
"It's just…" I floundered, waving a hand vaguely. "Reflection stuff."
Claire's eyes lit up. "So it is a diary."
I groaned. "It's not—"
"Whatever!" she cut in with a grin, clearly choosing not to listen. "You're too serious lately. Come on, follow me. I have something cool to show you!"
I blinked. "Right now?"
"Yes. Right now. No more thinking. No more writing mysterious letters to yourself in moody lighting. This is a field trip."
"You didn't even say where we're going."
"That's what makes it fun!"
She grabbed my wrist without waiting for my answer, tugging me toward the door with the unshakable energy of someone who had no concept of hesitation. Her fingers curled firmly around mine—warm, steady—and even though I let out a tired little sigh, I didn't resist.
Of course I didn't.
Because it was Claire.
She dragged me through the corridors, our footsteps echoing as we passed a few curious students who didn't even bother to look surprised anymore. Claire Clovis pulling Sera Vandren through the academy like a chaotic comet? Standard afternoon behavior.
We eventually slipped out through one of the side gates of the academy courtyard, past the outer walls of the greenhouse and into a trail I hadn't noticed before.
"Claire, where are we even going?" I asked, squinting ahead.
"Secret spot," she said proudly. "It's got a view. And snacks."
"…You bribed me with snacks?"
"Do you even know me?"
I couldn't argue with that.
The trees opened up after a short walk to a small bluff overlooking a quiet lake behind the academy grounds—hidden by a ring of wild hedges and enchanted willow trees that shimmered faintly with protective magic.
The surface of the lake was glassy and still, reflecting the sky with perfect clarity. There was a blanket spread out on the grass, a small picnic basket in the center.
My breath caught.
"You did all this?" I asked quietly.
Claire flopped dramatically onto the blanket and reached into the basket. "Well. I borrowed a few things from the student council budget. Diana would've said yes anyway. Probably. Maybe."
I stared at her. "You embezzled for a picnic?"
"I wouldn't call it embezzling. I'd call it strategic resource allocation."
I sat beside her, still a little stunned. "You really went through all this trouble… for me?"
She looked at me like it was the dumbest question in the world.
"Well, yeah," she said. "Obviously."
The basket had sweet rolls, fruit pastries, and a few of those buttery things Camille liked to hoard in her drawer. Claire handed me one without ceremony and grinned as I took a bite.
"See?" she said. "Now you're smiling again."
"I didn't realize I stopped."
She glanced at me, her grin softening just a little. "You've had a lot on your mind. All of us can see it. But… I wanted to give you a little time where no one's asking anything of you. No decisions. No expectations. Just… this."
I didn't know what to say.
So I leaned against her side instead, letting my head rest lightly on her shoulder.
She didn't say anything for a while, just sat there with me, her hand brushing mine gently every so often.
"I like being with you," I murmured.
Claire was quiet for a beat. Then:
"I know."
And that was it.
No drama. No demands. No dramatic confessions under moonlight.
Just Claire.
Uncomplicated. Honest. Steady in her own chaotic way.
And in that stillness—just for a little while—I let myself rest.