Evelyn Hartの小説

The halls of Duskmoor Academy felt colder the next morning. Not the kind of cold you could fix with a sweater—but the kind that lived in your bones, like something had shifted, and the building itself knew it.Seraphina pulled her coat tighter as she made her way toward the east wing. Her wrist still pulsed faintly with that familiar golden glow, hidden beneath her sleeve. No one else could see it, but she could feel its presence—like a heartbeat that wasn’t hers. A tether to something ancient… and someone.She hadn’t seen Lucan since the courtyard.He’d told her she was strong. That she was ready. But the way he’d looked at her after the Sleepless One disappeared—like she was something terrifying and holy all at once—left a hollow in her chest.Did he still trust her?Or did he fear what she was becoming?She turned the corner near the Literature wing and froze.There were whispers—too many of them. Students clustered outside one of the classrooms, faces pale, voices hushed.“Did you

Seraphina woke to a dim glow on her wrist—golden light pulsing like a quiet heartbeat. She pressed her palm to it, incredulous that something this real could pierce the dream world and follow her into daylight. The rune’s soft fire warmed beneath her fingers, but her heart felt cold with fear.She crept from beneath the covers and slipped on her robe, moving silently across the dorm room. Mara lay curled by the window, oblivious to what had happened. Seraphina stepped over the rug as if it were memory and made her way out in search of Lucan.The hallway was deserted. Her slippers padded across cold stone, and every creak of the floorboards beneath her made her nerves tighten. The air was too still. The shadows too watchful. It felt like the entire school was holding its breath.A strange pressure tugged behind her eyes—something between dread and instinct. She followed it through the winding corridors, past classroom doors and shuttered staircases, until she reached the old library. T

That night, sleep didn’t come easily.Seraphina lay still in her bed, blanket pulled over her chest, her eyes fixed on the ceiling like it might start whispering answers. The room was quiet—too quiet. No creaking pipes. No distant voices from other dorms. Even the wind outside had gone still.But her thoughts were louder than any storm.Lucan had stepped into her nightmare.He had taken the curse onto himself.Not to frighten her.Not to manipulate.Just… to shield her.No one had ever done that for her before.And she wasn’t sure what that said about her—or about him.She turned over, closed her eyes, and tried to push the memories down.But they didn’t sink.They hovered.He’d told her she didn’t have to love him again.He only wanted to protect her.And part of her—a part she wasn’t ready to admit out loud—wanted him to stay.Eventually, exhaustion won.Her muscles eased. Her breath slowed.And this time, when sleep took her, it didn’t feel like falling.It felt like arriving.—Sh

Seraphina didn’t sleep after the dream where she saw Lucan holding the blade.She didn’t cry either.She just sat upright in her bed, knees drawn to her chest, eyes fixed on her wrist where the rune still pulsed softly beneath the skin.It had darkened again.No longer gold. Now red.Dim, but steady—like it was syncing itself to her heartbeat.The memory hadn’t faded. The vision hadn’t blurred in the way dreams sometimes did once you woke.She remembered the mirrored maze. The girl in red. The broken glass. The fear.She remembered Lucan standing above her.And she remembered the look in his eyes.It wasn’t malice.It was guilt.And yet—she wasn’t scared of him.She should’ve been. Every part of her said she should feel afraid.But all she could feel was a sinking kind of knowing.He had been there. Then and now. Through every lifetime.And this time, he was the only one telling her the truth.That terrified her more than anything else.—By morning, everything had changed.She steppe

The visions started the next morning.Not during sleep this time—but while Seraphina was wide awake, seated in the middle of her first spellcraft lecture.She’d been trying to focus. Trying not to fidget. The room was warm, the teacher’s voice a steady rhythm, the chalk tapping the board in intervals like a metronome. Students scribbled quietly around her. The air smelled faintly of old parchment and candle smoke.Then it hit.One blink—and everything vanished.The classroom, the blackboard, the students—all gone.She was somewhere else.She stood in a tall, round chamber, lit by dozens of red candles that flickered despite the lack of wind. The light cast deep shadows across the stone walls, which were etched with old symbols that seemed to shift if you looked at them too long.Her body felt different.Older. Taller. Stronger.She wore a crimson gown that shimmered like it had been woven from molten light. Her feet were bare. The stone beneath her was etched in circular patterns—rune

The mark didn’t fade.Seraphina checked her palm every hour the next morning—first while brushing her teeth, then while fumbling through her unpacked bag, again between flipping pages in her class schedule, and twice more while picking at a bowl of cereal in the cavernous dining hall.The glow had stopped.But the rune remained.Thin. Pale. Unnaturally perfect. Almost too neat to be real.She kept her hand tucked under her sleeve like a secret, her fingers curling around the edge of her coat whenever someone walked by.No one could see it. No one would believe her anyway.Hell—she barely believed it.By the time orientation started, her nerves were already worn to threads. The main hall buzzed with voices, chairs scraping, laughter that sounded a little too loud. Students filled the space in clumps, chatting, whispering, comparing notes or pretending not to care. Everything smelled faintly like old books and lavender wax.A stained-glass dome arched overhead, casting streaks of soft c