Eliza felt a cold realization creep over her.

“My daddy was like you,” Opal continued, blinking up at her. “A hu-person."

Eliza’s breath caught. That’s why…

Her stomach twisted. She had known cruelty in her world—discrimination, abandonment, the way people turned their backs on things they didn’t understand. But this? A child being cast out for something she had no control over? For the mere fact that she had inherited her father’s humanity?

It was monstrous.

She clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself to remain composed as Opal continued.

“But the hu-people didn’t accept us either,” she murmured. “They didn’t like the way we looked. It’s been… hard. But me and Mommy were…” She sniffled, her voice breaking. “We were… making it…"

She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Opal buried her face in her hands and broke. The weight of everything crashed down on her all at once—the death of her mother, the rejection of her people, the isolation of being alone in a world that didn’t want her. Her tiny shoulders shook as sobs wracked her small body.

Eliza didn’t speak. She just reached forward, pulling Opal into her arms, holding her tight as the girl wept against her chest.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Eliza whispered, resting her chin on Opal’s head.

The words felt both like a promise and a plea.

Another week had passed.

Eliza and Opal had grown closer, their days spent in quiet understanding. They shared meals, wandered the castle halls, and even sat beneath the Forever Moons, watching their silver glow ripple across the sky. The child still grieved, but she was beginning to smile again—hesitant, fleeting, but real.

Yet, despite the small comforts Eliza had found, one thing gnawed at her constantly.

Tenebrae.

Or rather, his absence.

Whenever she asked about him—whether it was Zanac, Lady Aura, or Mirabella—she was always met with the same dismissive responses.

“He is handling matters of the kingdom.”

“He is preparing for what is to come.”

“He is where he needs to be.”

Never a real answer.

Eliza tried not to let it bother her, but the more time passed, the more it did.

And worse still… she noticed Mirabella was spending more and more time near the prince.

It was irrational—stupid even—but Eliza felt a pang of something sharp whenever she saw the stitched woman vanish into the corridors near his room and study.

It shouldn’t matter, she thought to herself one evening. He’s a monster. A lich.

Yet, that argument held less weight now than it once had.

Because she remembered.

She remembered the way his glowing green eyes had looked at her that night, full of something raw and unreadable, telling her—I will never take you without your consent, because I am not a monster.

She had believed him.

But why did it feel like she was trying to convince herself that she didn’t care?

She pushed the thoughts away, swallowing back the bitter weight of memories from her old life—memories of her ex-husband, of his co-workers, of that damned office party that still made her stomach turn. Her grip on her fork tightened as the images flashed through her mind like distant thunder.

The laughter.

The way his friends had cornered her, the way Simon had allowed it.

The realization that she had married a man who thought so little of her that he would let it happen.

“Eliza?”

She blinked.

Opal was staring at her from across the dining table, her fork halfway to her mouth, eyes full of quiet concern.

Eliza exhaled sharply, forcing a small smile. “Sorry, I just…” She pushed back from the table. “I need a moment.”

Opal didn’t argue, though the concern in her eyes lingered as Eliza excused herself from the meal.

She needed to clear her head.

And she knew exactly how.

The slime bath was heaven.

Eliza had been terrified of them at first—who wouldn’t be? The thought of stepping naked into a living, gelatinous mass seemed insane. But now? It was one of the only ways she could truly relax.

The warm, translucent creatures surrounded her body, cleansing her without harsh scrubbing or oils. They devoured dirt and sweat, leaving her skin tingling and fresh, her muscles loose and relaxed.

She sighed, sinking deeper into the bath, letting the tension melt from her shoulders. The chamber was dimly lit, the moonlight from the high tower windows spilling across the polished stone like liquid silver.

Maybe I should just stop worrying about him.

She closed her eyes, trying to let go.

Then—

Dum dum… Dum dum. Dum Dum. Dum dum.

Her breath hitched.

The sound came from beyond the walls—low and steady at first, but then rising, beating faster.

Dum dum dum dum—tick dum tick dum—tick dum tick dum—

Drums.

Cymbals.

Music.

Eliza’s eyes snapped open.

The rhythm pulsed through her, thick and raw, vibrating against the walls, against her bones.

Her breath quickened.

She knew this sound.

She had heard it before.

Ten.

The slimes sensed her sudden movement and peeled away, dripping from her skin in soft, jelly-like ribbons as she stood. The water rippled as she stepped out, grabbing the nearest nightgown and pulling it over her damp skin.

She didn’t know why—

Didn’t know what—

But something about the way the music filled the air—dark, resounding, aching—made it impossible to ignore.

It was calling to her.

And she had to find its source.