The words lingered in the air long after Seraphielle had spoken them, heavy and contaminated with meaning, as though the chamber itself had been marked by their pronunciation.
Mira did not move at first.
It was not simply shock that held her still, but something deeper and more instinctive, like a part of her mind refusing to accept the shape of the truth forming in front of her. Slowly, her gaze lifted again toward Seraphielle, searching her face as if there might still be room for correction, for denial, for any version of reality that was not as sharp as the one now unfolding.
"Vera Mortis…" Mira repeated at last, her voice stripped of its usual confidence, reduced to something fragile and uncertain. "Of the Mortis Coven?"
Seraphielle exhaled through her nose, the sound controlled but faintly strained, as though the name itself had left residue inside her lungs. She straightened slowly, rolling her shoulders once as she recovered the remaining fragments of her composure.
