Lilian lay sprawled on her bed, the dim orange hue of the setting sun spilling through her curtains and casting gentle shadows across her room. In her right hand, she held an ancient, leather-bound book of spells, its worn pages filled with the arcane wisdom of generations long past. In her left, a cup sat cool and untouched.
Her position was relaxed: left leg bent at the knee, her right crossed lazily over it. It was an ordinary pose for any young woman reading on a quiet evening—except Lilian was no ordinary woman. She was a witch.
Yet, nothing in the room gave her away. The space was immaculate—books neatly arranged, no sigils drawn in chalk, no crystals cluttering the windowsill, no scent of herbs or smoke. Just clean linens, folded clothes, and the subtle fragrance of lavender. Anyone stepping into her room would think her nothing more than a studious, tidy girl with a preference for silence and solitude.
Her eyes danced over the incantation on the page, lips moving slightly as she mouthed the words. She didn't even flinch when the knock came—loud, heavy, and deliberate.
"Come in," she called, not bothering to glance at the door.
A maid stepped inside, the soft rustle of her maroon, knee-length dress accompanying her entrance. She bowed, respectful and cautious.
"Miss Lilian," she began, "Elder Maeline seeks your presence."
Lilian blinked, slowly closing her book. Her mind raced even as her face remained composed. Why would Elder Maeline want to see her? It wasn't common for the elder to summon anyone without reason—and definitely not someone like Lilian, who did everything she could to stay beneath the radar.
"Tell her I'll be there shortly," she replied coolly.
The maid bowed again and exited without another word. The door clicked softly behind her.
She stared at it for a long moment, then whispered a concealment spell. The spellbook vanished in a flicker of violet light, leaving behind nothing but a whisper of warmth where it had rested.
She rose from the bed and moved with quiet purpose. Her black robe whispered against the floor as she exited her room and made her way to Elder Maeline's quarters. The elder's section of the estate was older, less refined, and draped in a heavier silence. Her door, already slightly ajar, creaked as Lilian pushed it open.
The room was a stark contrast to her own. It was alive with the chaos of magic—a thousand glass vials arranged in erratic patterns, shelves sagging with the weight of tomes, pouches of herbs hanging from the ceiling, and the strong scent of burning sage. In the corner, a cauldron simmered, its contents bubbling a dull green, steam rising and twisting in the air like restless spirits.
Lilian stepped inside cautiously. "Hello?"
No answer.
Then, from an inner chamber, Elder Maeline appeared. She was an older woman, hair streaked silver and tied back loosely. A thick book rested in her arms, and delicate spectacles clung to the bridge of her nose. Her presence filled the room—not by size, but by the weight of experience and knowledge that seemed to follow her like a cloak.
"Ah, you're here," she said, her voice calm and warm. "I've been meaning to speak with you."
Lilian remained quiet, her posture straight but not tense. She distrusted the elders. All of them.
Maeline noticed, but didn't comment. She set the book aside and lifted her hand, muttering a soft incantation. A warm, golden light sprang forth from her palm, slowly expanding until it enveloped the entire room. The glow pulsed, then vanished.
Soundproofing.
Lilian's guard shot up.
"There's no need for alarm," Maeline said gently. "Please, have a seat."
Lilian glanced at the chairs—they were all occupied with stacks of books and ingredients. She frowned. "I'm fine standing."
"As you wish," Maeline replied, settling into her high-backed chair. "Let's get to the matter at hand."
She folded her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on Lilian.
"What do you plan to do with Bellas?"
Lilian's heart skipped a beat. Her breath caught, but she schooled her features into a blank mask.