Sophia Stewart The Third Eye Novels & Stories

Sophia stood beneath the pale moon, the cold biting into her skin, but it didn’t numb the chaos within. She remembered moments that now felt tainted—her uncanny strength, her rapid healing, the dreams that felt like memories from another life. Lazarus had crafted her mind as carefully as her body. Had they planted false emotions? False desires? Was anything truly hers? Footsteps crunched behind her. “I figured you’d be out here,” said Elena, Rafael’s second-in-command. She was bundled in a heavy coat, sipping from a flask. “You look like a ghost.” Sophia gave a humorless laugh. “That’s about right.”

The face was all scratched up, and anything on her body that could prove her identity was taken away, so we suspect it's an intentional murder. Hearing that the body was salvaged from Salakole, Winston paused for a moment, then he put on his sterile gloves with a poker face. I floated in mid-air, staring at the man in front of me. Three years... It had been three years since I died. After I died, my soul was trapped in Salakole, suffering in the fierce wind and freezing weather all day. Until someone found me, they brought me back. But I didn't expect that Winston was the person who would personally dissect me.

I said "Then ask her mother. She knows the truth," King Lestat said. "King Lestat is telling the truth," Tabatha said. I didn't even hear her enter the room. "What? That is impossible," I said "No, it is not. Sofia is part human, werewolf, witch, and Vampire. She is the only one of her kind," Tabatha said "So, you knew about this and didn't think you should tell me? Does Sofia know?" I asked

Méah wasn't able to hold back herself and asked her own body. "We will get to that part later." Her body looked at her, putting her forefinger in the middle of her mouth vertically. Méah almost fainted after knowing that her own body can really see her. She wondered what kind of spell it is who could make her body move without her soul. But since she wanted to know what was happening, she chose to listen first. Who knew if this was only a dream and she'll wake up later? "So let's continue. I was there when the great battle of the three realms happened ten thousand years ago. I was the guardian of the black crystal back then, Jidah."

I whispered, standing firmly on my feet. “Because she is the goddess of Chaos, this is Eris,” Stefan growled, removing his grip from her throat, not breaking the gaze. “Wait— so are you tell me, the stories our mother told us, are true?” Damon uttered. “I think it's more than that,” Stefan muttered, still staring into the goddess's eyes, “I think they knew each other,” “Yes I did, and I knew Lilith II, I also knew the first and it's an honor to meet the third,” she smiled, staring at me.

Sapphire asks. Sophia, Marlayna, and my precious jewel have joined us. The other two grab their plates from their husbands. Sapphire kisses my cheek as she takes her plate from my hands and starts loading food on it. I set mine back down knowing that she isn’t going to eat all of what she is piling on her plate. I watch as she moves down the table. I shake my head when she picks up a second plate and starts loading that one with different desserts. “What are you doing?” Sapphire asks.

he started. Because of course he would choose Maya. Of course he would sacrifice anything—his mind, his identity, even his soul—if it meant keeping her alive. But something flickered behind Sovereign’s glowing data streams. A face. A memory. A ghost. Sophia. Her eyes—those gentle, stubborn, too-wise eyes—appeared for a split second inside the holographic interface, as though trapped behind glass. She mouthed a word: No. Then she was gone. Adrian froze.

I looked at Sophia. She was watching me from the front of the hall with the expression she had constructed for exactly this audience, distressed but dignified, a wronged woman who had found the courage to speak. Her hand was still on her abdomen. Her chin was up. Every line of her communicating the specific, carefully calibrated performance of victimhood. And behind her eyes, barely visible, barely there, the smallest fractional thing, the thing that only someone who had spent twenty-three years learning to read her twin's actual face beneath the performed one would have caught at this distance and in this light.

And then Sophia saw her. A woman in her late sixties sat in a tall chair near the fireplace, dressed in black silk, her silver hair tied neatly behind her head. No jewelry except one ring—dark emerald, heavy, expensive, ancient-looking. But it was not her clothes that unsettled Sophia. It was her eyes. Those eyes looked through people. Measured them. Judged them. Destroyed them quietly. Victor took one slow step forward. “Mother.” Sophia froze. Mother? No. Impossible.