The air in the dining hall didn't just feel heavy; it felt calcified, as if every breath had to crack its way in.
Elma sat small in her high-backed chair, her silver spoon hovering over a bowl of soup she no longer had the stomach to eat.
With her Aegis still raw and sensitive from the night's compression, she could finally "see" the truth.
Christa wasn't just a graceful noblewoman. She was a behemoth.
Her presence sat at the end of the table like a mountain of crushing, cold iron. It was the same terrifying density as the woman in the cat mask, but where the assassin was a flickering shadow, Christa was a solid, immovable weight.
The silence was a physical thing, pressing against Elma's eardrums until they throbbed. It was the same suffocating atmosphere that had reigned when Valerius was home.
Elma looked up, her eyes meeting Christa's glowing, icy gaze. "When will father come back?" She asked.
The world stopped.
For three heartbeats, the only sound was the ticking of a clock in the hallway. Then, Christa's hand tightened.
The silver spoon in Christa's grip didn't just bend. It melted, the metal liquefying instantly into a silver puddle that hissed as it hit the tablecloth.
Simultaneously, a spiderweb of cracks erupted from Christa's side of the table, the heavy mahogany groaning as if it were being crushed by an invisible foot.
Elma's vision blurred as the sensory overload spiked. The "weight" in the room doubled, pinning her to her seat.
"Who are you?" Christa asked.
The voice was low, clear, and stripped of every bit of warmth.
Elma's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm that felt like it would crack her sternum. She was careless. How did she know?
"What do you mean?" Elma asked, her voice trembling this time.
"No four-year-old is compressing their Aegis in one night. No one has ever done that. It is not possible!" Christa's composure shattered.
She slammed her hands onto the mahogany, the wood screaming under the impact.
"WHO ARE YOU?" she shouted, the sound echoing off the high stone ceilings like a crack of thunder.
Elma couldn't speak. She just stared, her throat closing up. Every response her mind generated felt hollow. She could feel it, she realized.
Tears suddenly spilled from Christa's eyes, tracing lines through her face.
"I knew it," she choked out, her breath hitching. "I shouldn't have married him... that sadistic apostate."
She slumped slightly, her hands trembling on the ruined table. "A curse is the least I should expect from it."
The word curse hit Elma like a hammer.
Her Aegis snapped, surging outward with a violent, jagged intensity that matched Christa's own.
The table on Elma's side gave way, the wood splintering and collapsing into a heap of debris under her weight.
"It's your problem, not mine!" Elma yelled. Her own eyes were watering now, a biological reflex she couldn't suppress, her breath came in heavy, jagged gasps.
"I didn't ask to be born! I didn't want to be here!"
The silence that followed was deafening.
Christa froze, her eyes wide with a shock so profound it seemed to pull the air from the room.
She pressed a trembling hand over her mouth, staring at the small, shaking girl who was currently radiating enough power to level the hall.
Christa reached into her collar, her fingers fumbling with a hidden cord until she pulled out a sun-shaped necklace.
The gold glinted mockingly in the light of the dining hall. She clutched it to her chest, her lips moving in a frantic, rhythmic hum.
She wasn't just praying; she was pleading, her head bowed as if she were apologizing to a god for the very fact of Elma's existence.
"Stop it!" Elma yelled, the sound cracking in her throat like dry glass.
But Christa didn't stop. She seemed to descend further into her own world, her voice a low, obsessive hiss against the metal pendant.
The sight of it burned through Elma's remaining control. Before Christa could utter another word, Elma lunged. She snatched the necklace from Christa's shaking fingers with a violent jerk and hurled it.
The pendant skittered across the stone floor with a sharp, metallic ring, disappearing into the shadows of the far corner.
Christa froze. Her hands remained suspended in the air, empty and trembling. She stared at the space where the necklace had been, then slowly looked at Elma.
The fury was gone, replaced by a hollow, ghost-like shock that was somehow even more terrifying.
Without a word, Christa turned. Her movements were stiff, like a doll being pulled by invisible strings. She walked out of the dining hall and disappeared toward her room.
---
The nursery door closed behind Elma with a soft click.
She stood there for a moment, listening.
Nothing followed her. No footsteps. No voice. No god.
She walked to the small bed and sat, spine straight, hands folded in her lap the way Christa liked. Her breathing was uneven. She fixed that first—slow in, slower out—until the tightness in her chest dulled into something manageable.
Her gaze drifted to the corner of the bed, where the plush animal lay half-crushed beneath a blanket. She picked it up, fingers curling too tightly around the worn fabric.
Elma pressed the toy to her mouth and bit down.
Hard.
The pressure grounded her. Gave the excess somewhere to go. Her jaw ached, and she welcomed it. Pain was simple. Pain obeyed rules.
Elma didn't care about gods. She didn't care what they thought, or what they wanted.
One day, she would break free of whatever thought it owned her. One day, her fate would be her own.
Christa was stupid.
Valerius wouldn't believe her anyway.
He didn't pray. He didn't panic. He observed, decided, acted.
She released the plush and set it back where it belonged, carefully, as if nothing had disturbed it.
She then lay back and stared at the blue ceiling, tracing the perfect geometry with her eyes.
This wouldn't happen again.
Next time, she wouldn't lose control.
Next time, no one would see anything they weren't meant to.
She turned onto her side, pulling the blanket up to her chin, and closed her eyes—not to sleep, but to wait.
Waiting was something she was good at.
She had only waited a breath before she felt it, that flickering weight pressed hard on her, forcing her eyes open.