Content Warning: This chapter contains depictions of familial abuse, emotional manipulation, gaslighting, coercion, violence, and substance use.
At Draconus’s prompting, the perfect, quiet dock began to dissolve, the scent of fall giving way to the musty smell of old books and the low murmur of worried voices.
A much younger Hermena was sitting in the library, holding a bundle in her arms as she spoke to Lucius, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion. “I don’t know why she won’t stop crying. The silencing spell wore off after the drop and she’s only slept a couple of hours.”
As if on cue, a wail emerged from the wrap of blankets, revealing a small child, easily two years old, her voice hoarse from screaming.
”That’s me?” Poppy whispered.
The younger Poppy was red in the face, with dark brown hair and light green eyes. It took a moment for present-day Poppy to recognize herself—she had been faekin for so long she barely remembered what she looked like before then.
”Shhhh, shhh, it’s alright now, you’re safe,” Lucius murmured to the crying child. “I filed the adoption paperwork myself. I burned everything else.”
At that moment, a small Lynn opened the door. “What’s going on? Who’s that?” she asked, her voice shifting from sleepy to excited in an instant.
“This is Penelope, she’s your new little sister,” her father began, but Lynn was already ignoring him, running over to wrap the small, crying girl in a giant hug.
And the crying stopped. Instantly.
“This is so great!” Lynn beamed. “We’re going to be best friends and I’m gonna show you how to throw knives so you don’t hurt your fingers—”
“Rosealynn! You cannot teach her how to throw knives, you are only five!”
”But I know how and now my sister will too!”
“A charming beginning,” Draconus sneered, his scales an agitated crimson. “She felt sorry for the crying stray. Is that what you call love? Pity?”
“It was more than that,” Poppy insisted as the memory blurred, years collapsing into snapshots.
The scene reformed, showing the two of them a little older, their secret rhyme echoing through the halls. “Poppies with poison will make them sleep—” Lynn would call out. “But rosemary hides the taste!” Poppy would shriek with glee from a hiding spot.
Years later, Lynn’s bedroom became a sanctuary. She’d tell a wide-eyed Poppy about her “imaginary friends,” Mahoe and Owen, who lived in the tunnels and taught her to throw knives. Their nanny, Dotty, would just shake her head and call it “a phase,” but Poppy believed every word.
Then came frustration, ink-stained and sharp. The memory shifted to Poppy at a desk, surrounded by crumpled parchment, the feeling of uselessness a familiar, bitter taste in her mouth. Her calligraphy would never be as perfect as Lynn’s. She remembered her brilliant older sister coming over, not to mock, but to gently guide her hand, showing her how to shape the curve of a letter.
The memory dissolved into a new one: the two of them huddled together in bed as Dotty woke them in the pre-dawn light. “You have a little brother,” she’d said. Poppy remembered the shared, electric jolt of excitement.
The final snapshot was the clearest. They were in a secluded clearing in the woods behind the estate. Lynn, now a confident young teen, effortlessly sent a dagger spinning through the air to bury its tip in an old tree stump. A slightly younger Poppy tried to copy her, but her own throw went wide.
“You’re thinking too much,” Lynn said, her voice patient as she adjusted Poppy’s stance. “Feel the balance. Breathe out. Now, again.”
Poppy threw. The knife flew true, landing in the stump with a satisfying thunk. Lynn didn’t cheer; she just gave a small, proud, approving nod.
The memories dissolved, leaving Poppy back on the dock, her hand still tingling with the phantom memory of a dagger’s grip.
“Such childish games,” Draconus scoffed. “Flimsy distractions from the truth you both knew—that you didn’t truly belong.”
“Don’t you dare,” Poppy snarled. “You’re twisting everything. That was real. She was the only one who was ever really there for me.”
“Of course,” Draconus replied, his voice dropping to a soft, sinister purr. “That’s how it was supposed to be, wasn’t it?”
⊰
The memory of the library dissolved, replaced by the familiar scent of Lynn’s bedroom back home. It was late afternoon, the light soft. Poppy was sitting on the bed, reading a well-loved book of fairy tales; Lynn was at her bureau, getting ready to accompany their mother on a shopping trip.
“Ah, the calm before the storm,” Draconus murmured, his scales a hostile, agitated crimson that seemed to clash with the peaceful memory. “The last few moments you could pretend you were the same.”
Lynn was brushing her long, dark hair when she suddenly paused, her hand stilling mid-air. She leaned closer to the mirror, isolating a single lock and holding it to the light. It was still mostly brown, but under the light, it shimmered with a perfect, impossible silver.
Her past self looked up at the sudden stillness in the room. “What is it?”
“Nothing,” Lynn said, a little too quickly, dropping the chunk of hair. But she kept staring at her reflection, a troubled, fearful look in her eyes.
“She was afraid,” present-day Poppy whispered.
“Of course she was,” Draconus sneered. “She was different now. You both already had such different interests—now this.”
Poppy ignored him, watching as her past self got up and stood beside her sister, then started inspecting her hair. “Wait, Lynn, your hair… it’s changing.”
“I know,” Lynn said, her voice small. “People are going to stare.”
“Let them stare,” past-Poppy said with all the clumsy bravado of a child. “It’s cool. It looks like moonlight.”
Lynn didn’t seem convinced. She met Poppy’s eyes in the mirror, her own filled with a quiet vulnerability. Poppy saw it then—a silver ring starting to creep in around her brown irises. “Can you… just leave me alone for a bit?”
The memory faded on that moment of quiet rejection, Lynn turning away to face her transformation by herself.
“She pushed you away,” Draconus hissed as the next memory formed. “Now, let’s see what happened when your turn came.”
The scene was now Poppy’s bedroom, but the atmosphere was shattered. A blood-curdling shriek echoed from the memory, and Poppy saw her own bedroom door slammed shut, a chair wedged under the handle. Lynn was outside, knocking gently.
“Poppy? Let me in. It’s okay.”
“Go away!” her own younger voice screamed, choked with sobs. “I’m- it’s- everything is wrong.”
“A little dramatic, aren’t we?” Draconus remarked, sitting on the chair the younger Poppy had shoved in the way, tail curled comfortably.
“Have you even met me? I’m still dramatic.” Poppy snapped back.
“Poppy, let me in,” Lynn’s voice was a calm, steady anchor. “I promise. Whatever is happening, we’ll face it together. Just like we always do. I’m not going anywhere.”
“You couldn’t help her, but she’s here to make you feel better,” Draconus said, his voice dripping with sarcastic venom. “The cute little family pet.”
Present-day Poppy squeezed her eyes shut, but the memory continued. After a final, long moment of silence, the chair scraped away from the door, and it creaked open. Her past self stood there, devastated, her hands covering her face. But it was no use. Her hair, once as dark as Lynn’s had been, now had streaks of a shocking, fiery red.
“It’s not silver,” she sobbed, finally looking at her sister. “It’s not like yours. It’s wrong.”
Lynn didn’t flinch. She simply stepped forward and pulled her little sister into a fierce hug. “No,” she said, her voice firm and sure. “It’s not wrong. It’s just yours.”
The memory of Lynn’s fierce, protective hug faded, leaving Poppy with a lingering sense of warmth and safety on the cold dock.
“How sweet,” Draconus sneered, his agitated crimson scales practically vibrating with contempt. “She hugged the cute little puppy and made it all better. Is that what her protection always looked like, Poppy? A comforting word and a warm blanket?”
“No,” Poppy said, her voice hardening. “Lynn was a great sister. She’s the reason I didn’t have to deal with the family business for so long.”
“Was she now?” the dragon mused, a dangerous curiosity in his voice. “It didn’t stop you from finding it anyway, did it?”
⊰
The memory of her sister’s embrace faded, replaced by the overwhelming sights and sounds of a Civen political party. The air was thick with expensive perfume, and the quiet music was drowned out by the drone of polite, meaningless conversation.
“Oh, yes. My favorite place to be,” Poppy muttered with distaste. “A room full of smiling vipers.”
“And you were one of them,” Draconus sneered, his scales a bloody slash of color against the pale marble.
“I was the bait,” she corrected, nodding across the room. “That’s Dominus Valerius, the Baron’s youngest. At this point in time, our grandfather was trying to arrange a marriage contract between our families. There was some post-war trade deal that was supposed to be extremely lucrative.”
In the memory, a newly adult Poppy stood awkwardly, Dominus next to her. He was only slightly older than her, but his eyes kept darting down to her chest, a smirk playing on his lips. Desperate for a rescue, she scanned the crowded ballroom for Lynn and finally spotted her in a quiet, curtained alcove, engaged in a seemingly charming conversation with his older brother, Atticus.
Poppy smiled and excused herself from the group she was with, muttering something about the lavatory before heading towards Lynn, intending to see if they could escape.
As she approached, she saw Lynn smile, her posture relaxed. Lynn casually used the tip of an ornate dagger to spear an olive from a nearby dish. She ate it, still smiling, then subtly turned the dagger. For a split second, under the soft light of the chandelier, Poppy saw it: a glass eyeball impaled on the blade’s tip. It wasn’t bloody, but perfectly preserved, its blue iris staring lifelessly. It was the exact same color as Atticus’s remaining eye.
Only then, in her shock, did Poppy truly notice what she’d overlooked before: the black silk eyepatch Atticus was now sporting.
Lynn didn’t speak or make a threat. She just held it there, a silent, glittering statement. Atticus’ charming smile vanished. His face went white. He gave a stiff, jerky nod, turned, and walked away, melting back into the crowd.
Lynn calmly wiped the dagger on a silk napkin, making the eyeball disappear into a hidden pocket. She then caught Poppy’s eye and gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, as if to say, Problem solved. Now we can go.
“‘Work’,” Draconus sneered, tasting the word. “She was delivering a message. But to whom? The unwanted suitor, to warn him away? Or to the entire Valerius family, to show them what Abraxus is capable of?”
“The marriage contract never went through,” Poppy muttered, her voice distant. “I didn’t ask why. I was just relieved.”
“So, was she protecting her little sister?” Draconus countered, his voice dripping with venom. “Or was the family’s weapon simply being polished while the family’s prize was kept on a shelf? Don’t mistake business for love, Poppy.”
“It didn’t last.” Poppy muttered. “I wasn’t a doll for long.”
⊰
The memory of the gala dissolved, the polite music replaced by the rowdy din of an exclusive Vecia Sol tavern. She remembered this place well—it was her twenty-third birthday. Lynn was throwing her a party, a wonderful outdoor event that was packed with a list of many people she didn’t actually know.
“From a doll to a dog,” Draconus sneered, his crimson scales seeming to drink in the dim, smoky light. “A promotion, of sorts. Did you enjoy this line of work?”
“I was good at it,” Poppy replied, her voice flat. “Too good.”
In the memory, she was perched on the lap of Dominus Valerius. He had aged since the gala, the softness of youth replaced by the handsome, hard lines of a man, but the arrogant smirk was exactly the same. She was laughing, playing her part perfectly. Poppy tilted her head, letting a shock of red hair fall across her neck. He reached up to brush it away, his hand lingering on her skin a moment too long.
“You Katullin girls certainly know how to spend your grandfather’s money,” he was saying, his hand now tracing a line down her arm. “I don’t remember having this much fun at a party.”
“My sister is great at throwing parties,” she purred into his ear. “She has an eye for decorating. I help a bit, but my favorite part is when I can get people in here who bring more… interesting things with them.”
She trailed a single finger along the rim of her tankard, then brought it up to lightly touch the tip of her own nose. “I find the best parties are the ones with the best party favors,” she whispered. “Don’t you?”
The hook was set. “Tell me, Penelope,” Dominus leered, his voice dropping. “Are you putting all of that generous inheritance up your nose, or have you been up to anything… more interesting?”
Her past self just smiled, a slow, predatory curl of her lips. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she purred. “I know a place that’s much more private than this, if you’d like to find out.”
She slid off his lap, taking his hand and leading him through a back door into a quiet, dimly-lit hallway. He was grinning, thinking he had won. He never saw Niko step out from the shadows. There was a single, dull thud, and Dominus crumpled to the ground.
“Ah yes, the head guard dog enters,” Draconus noted. “So reliable.”
Niko looked down at the unconscious man, then grabbed Poppy by the shoulder and pushed her against the wall. “Sorry about this,” he said, his voice a purr, “but Lynn says you need to be sober during cleanups now.”
A wave of purifying magic washed over her, and the pleasant, hazy buzz in her mind vanished, replaced by a sharp, unwelcome clarity. She watched her own face drop in the memory. Niko smirked, leaned in close, and nipped at her earlobe.
“There, there,” he whispered, his voice a low purr against her skin. “You can always get more later.”
The scene shifted. They were in a damp, stone cellar beneath one of the family’s properties. Atticus was tied to a chair, awake now, his arrogant smirk long gone, replaced by a mask of pure terror.
Lynn stood before him, calm and composed, holding a familiar, ornate dagger. She wasn’t smiling. “Atticus, we had a deal about that other eye, didn’t we?”
The heavy cellar door creaked open, and Poppy and Niko walked in. Niko unceremoniously dumped the unconscious Dominus on the stone floor.
Atticus’s one good eye widened in horror. “Dominus! What did you do to him?”
“Nothing yet,” Lynn said, her voice dangerously pleasant. “But I believe you made some rather unfortunate comments about my brother’s parentage. And then, I believe, thought it would be amusing to arrange a little ‘hunting accident’ for him after he rightfully broke your nose. Am I remembering incorrectly?” She looked from Atticus to the unconscious Dominus, then back again, tapping the dagger thoughtfully against her chin. “It’s a good thing Lucas is a little quicker with a knife than your brother is with his wits.”
Atticus whimpered and seemed to shrink into himself, not even attempting to struggle as he hung his head in helplessness.
“You know,” she mused, “I’ve always felt it’s a shame about your eye, Atticus. It makes your family look so… asymmetrical.”
She gave a short, sharp nod to Niko. He roughly hauled Dominus up, forcing him awake.
As Lynn calmly approached the terrified younger brother, dagger in hand, Poppy’s past self turned away from the main event. She sauntered over to a table laden with various sharp implements, leaned against it with a casual air, and picked up a plain, unadorned dagger. She began to meticulously clean under her nails with its tip, her expression one of utter indifference. A single, short scream echoed off the stone walls, but she didn’t even flinch.
The perfect picture of someone bored with the proceedings.
A moment later, Lynn was wiping her dagger clean on Dominus’s tunic. “There,” she said, her voice satisfied. “A matching set.”
She then leaned in close to Atticus, her voice dropping to a pleasant, chilling whisper. “As you know, this particular blade is a family heirloom. Any wound it makes, a common healer can’t mend. It leaves a little something behind in the Spark. If I have to come back,” she smiled, “you won’t just be half blind. You’ll be broken.”
She tossed the dagger on the table, looking back over at Niko. “Can you make sure that our guests make it back home safe? Poppy and I are going to go enjoy the rest of the party.”
As the memory of the girls linking arms and walking out of the cellar faded, Poppy was left on the dock, the phantom chill of the cellar still clinging to her.
“These were the new games we played,” Poppy murmured to Draconus, her voice hollow. “I was the bait. The cute little hunting dog. And I was good at it. It was easy to play the part of the reckless, decadent girl with too much money. It wasn’t even really playing—I just became her.”
She paused, the memory of Lynn’s cold professionalism burned into her mind’s eye. “I would flush the prey out into the open. And Lynn… Lynn was the hunter. She was the one who did the real work.”
A cold, clear understanding settled over her. “We were a perfect team,” she said, the words tasting like veilwalker ichor. “It’s what grandfather always wanted.”
“A perfect pair to serve your master,” Draconus sneered. “How proud you must have been.”
⊰
The memory of the cellar dissolved, leaving Draconus’s sneering voice in her ears.
“A perfect pair,” he repeated. “But even the sharpest blades grow dull from overuse. Even the best-trained dogs grow tired.”
The scene blurred, time collapsing into a series of painful, quiet snapshots. She tried to close her eyes, but it didn’t stop her from remembering them as if she was still there.
The memory shifted. Poppy stood before the heavy oak door of her grandfather’s study, her hand trembling slightly as she raised it to knock. Lynn was gone—off on one of her secret errands she hadn’t explained—and had missed her scheduled report. It had fallen to Poppy to provide a cover story. Inside, Abraxus was a silhouette at his massive desk, the only light in the room coming from a single, harsh lamp. He didn’t look up as she entered. She watched her younger self speak, her posture rigid, her face a carefully constructed mask of calm. Abraxus’s hand, which had been scratching across a document with a quill, simply stopped. The silence in the room became a suffocating weight. For a long, terrifying beat, nothing moved. Then, without ever raising his head, he resumed writing. It was a dismissal.
“Such a good liar,” Draconus murmured as the memory shifted again. “You learned his lessons well.”
The memory bled into a formal dinner party. Poppy was talking too fast, laughing too loudly—she had clearly just taken a dose of something. She made a sharp joke at a stuffy patrician’s expense, and the table went quiet for a dangerous second. Before the nobleman could take offense, Lynn smoothly interjected from across the table, her voice a calm, charming counterpoint. She told a witty, self-deprecating story and skillfully steered the conversation into safer waters, leaving everyone laughing. Later, Poppy saw her sister on a balcony, away from the noise. Lynn’s perfect hostess smile was gone, and in the cool moonlight, she just looked tired. So incredibly tired.
“And there she is, returning the favor,” Draconus sneered. “Cleaning up your messes. A perfect, codependent symbiosis.”
The scene dissolved again, this time to Niko’s quarters. Lynn was supposed to be there for a briefing. Instead, Poppy had gone, starting a fight she knew would end another way. The snapshot was a blur of motion—her hands on his chest, pushing him back towards his bed, his surprised laugh turning into a hungry grin. As he kissed her, she looked over his shoulder, just in time to see Lynn’s silhouette drop silently from a section of the outer wall and disappear into the night. She closed her eyes as her hands roamed up his shirt, nails scraping down hard enough to draw blood.
“How noble,” Draconus hissed. “Using one of your grandfather’s weapons to defy another. You sold a piece of yourself to buy her a few hours of freedom. Was the price worth it?”
Then, a different kind of quiet. Lynn stood in the doorway of Poppy’s chaotic room, the scent of cold, forgotten tea hanging in the air. Her sister was passed out, asleep in her chair, head slumped over a mess of research notes. For a long moment, Lynn just watched her, her face a mask of profound, bone-deep weariness. She looked at the small, empty pouch on the desk, and a flicker of something—pain, anger, resignation—crossed her features before she smoothed it away. She moved quietly into the room, picked up a heavy wool blanket from the bed, and gently draped it over her sister’s shoulders, tucking it in as if she were still a child. She hesitated for a second, her hand hovering over Poppy’s hair, before pulling back and quietly closing the door, leaving her to her restless sleep.
The montage finally settled on a single, tense scene. Poppy burst into Lynn’s bedroom late one night, her movements jerky, her eyes wide.
“What is this?” she said, her voice too sharp. “I heard you’re packing.”
Lynn stood in the middle of the room, looking completely empty. She just looked at Poppy, her eyes taking in her sister’s frantic, drug-fueled state. “Poppy,” she said, her voice full of a weary sadness. “Look at you. When was the last time you slept?”
“I’m FINE!” Poppy snapped. “I’m doing my job! A job you seem to be giving up on!”
“This isn’t healthy,” Lynn pleaded. “Look at what it’s doing to you! You’re burning yourself out.”
“As opposed to being lazy?” Poppy shot back, the words a cruel lash. “Someone has to do the work now that you’ve decided you’re too good for it!”
“Too good for it?” Lynn’s voice cracked. “Poppy, it’s destroying us! It destroyed me, and now it’s destroying you. I can’t watch it happen anymore. I want out.”
“There is no ‘out’,” Poppy said, her voice cold, echoing their grandfather’s logic.
“Then I’ll make one,” Lynn replied, her voice hardening with a sudden, terrible resolve. “I’m leaving.”
“If you leave, you know he’ll send me after you!” The words tore out of Poppy, a confession of her own horror. “And I don’t want to do that!”
Lynn looked at her, her gaze full of a profound, heartbreaking sorrow, not just for herself, but for the frantic, lost sister trapped in front of her. “I know.”
The memory faded on that devastating admission, leaving Poppy adrift in the silence.
“She knew,” Draconus hissed, his crimson scales seeming to drink the light. “She knew he would send you. She knew what it would do to you. And she left anyway. Is that what her protection always looked like, Poppy? A quiet apology as she walked out the door?”
The next memory formed around them. An unnatural quiet had fallen over the estate, punctuated by the heavy tread of more mercenary boots than usual. Lynn was gone, and the silent hunt had begun.
Every heavy footstep was a second Lynn didn’t have. A distraction was needed—a loud, obnoxious, and utterly believable one. Time to play the part she had been cast in since birth.
Poppy took a deep breath, and in the space of a heartbeat, transformed. Her shoulders slumped, her lower lip pushed out into a pout, and her features composed themselves into a mask of pure, spoiled petulance. She flung her door open with a dramatic flourish.
“Dotty!” her voice, sharp and imperious, echoed from the balcony down into the cavernous atrium below. “Where is my copy of A Court of Ink and Parchment? I left it on the reading table in the west gallery, and now it is gone. I cannot be expected to function if the staff is this careless with my belongings!”
Dotty, now the head of the household staff, looked up from the atrium without flinching. She met Poppy’s gaze, and for a split second, a look of perfect, silent understanding passed between them. She knew this wasn’t about a book. Her response, when it came, was perfectly professional, yet deliberately exaggerated.
“Of course, Lady Penelope,” she said, her voice carrying with the perfect blend of professional deference and barely-concealed exasperation. “Another crisis before breakfast. An unforgivable oversight on our part, to be sure. I will have the staff begin a search at once. We will turn the West Wing upside down, as always.”
Dotty’s voice echoed in the cavernous room, the final line of their shared performance. As the memory of the fabricated crisis dissolved, so did the dragon’s hostile color. The agitated crimson bled away from his scales, like ink washing out in water, leaving behind the emerald and jade green of their first meeting.
“And there it is,” Draconus said, his voice returning to a low, analytical rumble. “The first and most foundational piece of evidence. What is the clue, Poppy? What did she give you that kept your Spark from guttering out all those years?”
Poppy stared out at the water, the phantom feelings of her childhood—fear, love, loyalty, sorrow—settling into a single, clear thought.
“She gave me a reason,” she whispered, the thought solidifying as she spoke it aloud. “She was the first person who made me feel… wanted. Safe.” She met the dragon’s gaze, her voice finding its strength. “Everything I am—how to fight, how to protect, what loyalty even means—it all started with her. She was my shield, and then she taught me how to be one for someone else. That’s a reason to live, isn’t it? To fight for someone you love.”
“A noble sentiment,” Draconus stated, his head tilting as if considering a complex legal argument. “A life defined by loyalty. A pure, protective love.”
He held the silence for a long moment, letting her conclusion settle in the air like a proven fact. Then, a flicker of something sharp and ugly crossed his features. The emerald of his scales began to tarnish, darkening to a cold gunmetal grey, while the jade bled into a raw, angry scarlet.
“But a shield is a simple thing, Poppy,” he hissed, the analytical tone curdling into his familiar sneer. “It only knows how to protect. You learned to be so much more than a shield. You learned to be a weapon, a lure, finding comfort in a cage, rattling the bars next to the other pets.” He took a step closer, the air growing thick with a familiar, frustrating tension. “That isn’t love, Poppy. That’s a fight you learned to pick just to feel something real. Let’s examine the evidence.”