Romances de Jasmine Sheng

Word of the frost spread faster than the wind.By the end of the week, the villagers whispered of it as a miracle. They said the fire had died because the mountains themselves had chosen to protect her. They said the Saint of the Mountains had spoken and the Light had fallen silent.Seraphina heard the whispers each time she walked through the courtyard, though no one dared say them aloud when she was near. She pretended not to notice. The snow had settled thick and bright across the valley, glimmering like glass beneath the pale sky. It was quiet now, too quiet, but for the first time in months, the quiet did not mean death.Lucien found her standing by the chapel well, her hand resting on the frozen rim. “The scouts brought back reports,” he said. “The fires are gone. The Church has pulled back for now.”Seraphina nodded. “Balance remembers mercy.”“They’re calling you something new.”“I don’t want to know.”Lucien stepped closer. “You should. The refugees who arrived this morning c

The news reached them with the dawn. The scouts stumbled through the monastery gates just as the first light touched the peaks. Their faces were streaked with soot and frost, their breath coming in ragged bursts. One collapsed immediately; the other fell to his knees, words tumbling out between gasps.“They’re burning the valleys. The Saint’s army… they’re calling it the March.”Lucien caught the man by the shoulders. “How far?”“Half a day south. Maybe less.” The scout swallowed hard. “They’re cleansing everything. Houses, crops, people who couldn’t run fast enough. They call it purification.”Seraphina appeared behind him, her cloak brushing against the snow. “Did you see who leads them?”“The priests,” the scout said. “And soldiers wearing white. They carry banners with her name.” His eyes lifted, wide and hollow. “They’re singing while it burns.”A heavy silence filled the courtyard. Even the wind seemed to hesitate. Seraphina’s gaze turned south, toward the faint haze of smoke ri

The days after the rescue passed in uneasy quiet.Snow continued to fall, though more gently now, soft flakes drifting through the cracks in the monastery roof. The fires burned longer, and for the first time since winter began, the scent of smoke no longer meant ruin. The villagers worked in silence, mending walls, patching cloaks, gathering wood from the forest edge. Every sound felt heavy but purposeful, like the slow heartbeat of something waking.Cale slept for two days straight. When he finally woke, the first thing he asked for was water, then light.Elias found him sitting near the chapel wall that afternoon, half-wrapped in blankets, staring at the frost lines that shimmered faintly along the floor. The brand on his wrist had faded to pale scar tissue, though the skin around it was still raw.“You were lucky,” Elias said, setting a bowl beside him. “The fever broke last night.”Cale’s voice was hoarse. “I don’t believe in luck.”“Then what kept you alive?”Cale looked up, eye

The storm had passed, but the cold remained.By morning, the sky was clear again, a dull blue stretching endlessly over the mountains. The snow in the courtyard glowed faintly beneath the light, untouched except for a single trail of footprints leading from the gate. Seraphina stood beside the chapel door, watching the horizon. The air smelled of smoke and iron.Lucien had not yet returned.He had left before dawn two days ago, taking three of the stronger villagers down the southern road to scout the nearest passes. The last message he sent, delivered by a raven that arrived at dusk, had been brief: Movement near the old border. Church banners sighted.Now the silence stretched too long.

The snow had not stopped in three days.It fell in slow, soundless sheets, blanketing the valley until even the paths that led to the monastery disappeared beneath it. Smoke rose from the small fires in the courtyard, their warmth doing little to hold back the cold. Inside, the air smelled faintly of herbs and melted wax. The survivors from the foothills had begun to settle into uneasy rhythm, mending cloaks, repairing walls, tending to one another in silence broken only by the hiss of boiling water.Elias had returned at dawn. He had been gone for nearly a week, sent with two of the older villagers to the lower slopes to guide more refugees through the mountain pass. He came back thinner, his cloak stiff with frost, his hands ink-stained from the notes he had kept along the way.Now he sat near the gate, scratching those notes into a clean journal by the firelight. His handwriting was precise despite the numbness in his fingers. He had begun recording everything: each new face, each

Dawn came quietly.The first light slipped through the cracks in the cloisters, spreading across the stone like a slow exhale. The air was sharp with cold; frost had formed along the edges of the sigils carved into the courtyard floor, tracing each curve and symbol in delicate silver lines. When Seraphina stepped into the light, the frost shimmered faintly, responding to her presence the way morning dew bends toward the sun.She drew her cloak tighter. Her breath curled white in the air.The monastery was still. Only the soft creak of wood and the rustle of snow breaking from the eaves disturbed the silence. It was hard to believe that the world below had changed, that the Church had crowned a Saint, that her sister now stood at the heart of the Light. Here, everything felt suspended, caught between peace and ruin.She walked slowly through the courtyard, her boots leaving faint prints across the frost. The sigils pulsed weakly beneath the ice, like veins under skin. She knelt beside

George’s POVRachel’s recovery had gone far better than any of us expected.The doctors said she was healing fast, but it wasn’t just her body that changed, it was everything about her. The way she carried herself, the way she spoke, even the silence between her words felt different.After the surgeries, I set up a small exercise studio for her at home. She had moved in permanently after being discharged. It was the safest place for her to recover without worrying about the outside world or being recognized. The house was quiet, secure, and private, and it gave her the space she needed to heal both physically and mentally.The studio wasn’t much, just a polished wooden floor, a mirrored wall, and a small speaker system tucked neatly in the corner, but it became her space. At first, it was meant for rehabilitation and physical therapy, a way to ease her joints and rebuild her strength. But she took to it quickly, faster than anyone expected.She started learning dance as part of her re

Rachel’s POVWhen I woke up again, there was only pain. It came before sight, before sound, sharp, unrelenting, spreading like fire under my skin. My face felt tight, stretched too thin, the air itself too heavy to breathe.I tried to move, but a nurse’s voice stopped me. “Don’t. You’re all right. It’s over.”The doctors had already completed the skin grafts and a few small procedures, subtle changes meant to remove the marks that made me recognizable.The mole near my lip was gone. A faint scar at my temple erased. The edge of my jaw softened. None of it was done for the purpose of beauty. It was meant to make ‘Rachel’ disappear.The pain pulsed in slow, steady waves beneath my skin. But it wasn’t the same kind of pain anymore. This pain meant something was changing, something was beginning again.Through the haze, I heard another voice, deeper, steadier. “I’m here,” George said quietly. “It’s done now.”I wanted to answer, to tell him I was fine, but my throat burned too much to for

Rachel’s POVI left the Parker estate through the side gate, the same one I’d slipped in through hours earlier. The air outside was colder than I remembered, sharp enough to sting. My borrowed uniform clung to my skin, stiff with sweat and sugar dust.Behind me, the laughter was fading, muffled by walls and distance, but it still followed me like an echo I couldn’t shake. Every sound from that party felt carved into my skull, Amber’s giggles, the applause, Marissa’s trembling “yes.”I walked faster.By the time I reached the empty street, my hands were shaking. I dug into my pocket for the spare key George had given me, and instead, my fingers brushed against something hard and familiar.The ring. My wedding ring. I’d kept it without realizing why.When I left the hospital months ago, it had been tucked in the bottom of my bag, a habit, a piece of me which I couldn’t quite bury. I told myself I’d throw it away when I was ready. But I never did.And after what I saw tonight, I finally

Adrian’s POVThe guests had long gone, leaving behind only the faint echo of laughter and the smell of extinguished candles. The lights in the hall were dim now, their golden glow flickering across half-empty glasses and scattered flower petals.I sat in the living room, still in my suit, staring at the untouched whiskey on the coffee table.The house finally felt quiet again, too quiet.Upstairs, I heard the faint creak of a door closing, followed by footsteps coming down the stairs. Marissa appeared a moment later, the silk of her gown catching the light as she descended gracefully. Her makeup was slightly smudged from the long day, but her expression was still soft and composed.“She’s asleep,” she said lightly.I looked up. “Amber?”She smiled, coming to sit beside me on the couch. “Yes. We talked a bit before she drifted off.” She rested a hand on my arm, her tone turning gentle.“I told her about us, our engagement and what it meant. She was so happy, Adrian. She said she always

Rachel’s POVThe last time I stood at the gates of the Parker estate, I still lived there.Now, I was just another shadow among the catering staff.Getting in wasn’t easy. George had warned me against it, told me it was reckless. But I couldn’t stay away. Not when it was Amber’s birthday. Not when the thought of her smiling inside that house without me felt unbearable.So I found a way. A borrowed uniform. A forged staff badge. A name that wasn’t mine.The catering company had been short-staffed that morning, and I slipped in quietly with the rest of them, head down, mask on, pretending to belong. The wig itched beneath my cap, and my gloved hands shook as I carried a tray of champagne flutes through the marb

Marissa’s POVFrom across the room, I watched Amber and Adrian as they chatted away.Amber sat on the rug, her little pink dress rumpled, clutching that ridiculous doll in her lap. Adrian was crouched beside her, brushing her hair away from her face as she whispered something to him. I couldn’t hear every word, but I caught enough.“... Mama …..”“I miss her.”“...Me too.”Rachel. Always Rachel.Even now, after everything, the party, the proposal, the attention, he still lets that woman’s name hang around like a ghost. His shoulders softened when Amber spoke, his expression shifting into something distant, tender, unreachable.My jaw tightened.To everyone else, the day had been perfect. But to me, it had been exhausting. Pretending, smiling, making sure every camera caught my good side while watching the man I loved drift further away in plain sight.Soon the guests began to leave. Their laughter and perfume lingered briefly in the air before the doors closed and the house settled in