Through the Frosted Glass

An unexpected gift from a Secret Santa arrived late that evening of December 26th. The small box was wrapped in crimson paper with silver stars and tied with a velvety black ribbon. There was no return address or note—just a tag with the words “From Your Secret Santa” written in looping, elegant script.

At first, I thought it must be a mistake. I hadn’t participated in any gift exchanges that year—money had been tight, and my social circle had grown thin. Still, curiosity got the better of me. I brought the package inside and placed it on the coffee table under the soft glow of my Christmas lights.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened.

Three years ago, I received a similar package. That one had also arrived late and unannounced. Wrapped in identical crimson paper with a golden ribbon, it had been left on my doorstep without explanation. Back then, I’d found it strange but harmless—a curious oddity in the blur of holiday cheer.

Inside that box was a snow globe. Along with it, was a small card that read, “See you in three years.”

At the time, I thought it was just a gimmick gift, something themed for the season. The snow globe, while intricate and beautiful, had unsettled me slightly. It looked like a depiction of my family. My husband and two kids, except there was a newborn in the scene, and we didn’t have a baby. I had brushed it off as a coincidence. A coincidence I didn’t dwell on.

Now, sitting in front of this new crimson package, I realized that the first snow globe had meant far more than I understood at the time.

I tore off the paper from this second box with trembling hands, my breath catching as I opened the lid.

Inside was another snow globe.

This one was different. The scene encased in glass was a small, snow-covered village. The craftsmanship was breathtaking. Tiny homes with glowing windows surrounded a central square, where a lone figure stood. Around the lone figure stood a circle of figures dressed in crimson, with a black scarf trailing behind them, their back turned toward me.

I instinctively shook the globe. The snow swirled inside, creating a flurry that obscured the tiny village. And then the music started.

The melody was soft but haunting, and as it played, a memory stirred. It was a lullaby I hadn’t heard since I was a child. My mother used to hum it to me on restless nights, but I couldn’t remember its name—or how it could possibly be tied to this moment.

As the snow settled again, I stared at the figures in the globe. They were no longer just standing there. They had turned slightly, their head angled as though looking over their shoulder and speaking to me.

I froze.

The figure’s face, barely visible through the glass, but what I could see looked just like mine.

A chill swept over me, and I nearly dropped the globe. My hands shook as I placed it on the table, stepping back. I tried to rationalize it—perhaps it was a trick of the light, or my mind playing games. But the room around me had grown colder, and the shadows from the Christmas lights seemed to stretch and twist unnaturally.

I turned away, my breathing shallow, and glanced toward the closet where I kept old holiday decorations. I needed to know if this snow globe had any connection to the one I received years ago.

That’s when I remembered the first snow globe. I had thrown it out during a frantic move a year and a half ago. At the time, I was dealing with weeks of sleepless nights and the strange, inexplicable feeling of being watched. We had a baby on the way and needed a bigger home. Moving made sense—not just for the extra space, but to leave behind the haunting experiences we had endured in the old house.

We were never certain if the snow globe was the cause of it all, but we didn’t want to take any chances. We left it behind, hoping to start fresh. So my hope of checking if these snow globes were similar just went out the door.

I started to hear whispers, from the direction of the snow globe on the table. The whisper felt like it was coming from inside my own head, an echo I couldn’t shake. I pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to steady myself, but just then, my family walked into the room.

“What’s that?” my husband asked, his eyes darting to my hands.

“Nothing,” I lied, quickly placing the snow globe in my hands and hiding it behind me. My voice sounded calm, but I knew he didn’t believe me. He stared at me, his expression darkening as his eyes flicked to the globe. There was fear in his face—sharp, unmistakable fear.

He said nothing else, just turned to the kids. “Time for bed,” he said firmly, ushering them out of the room. The tension in his voice was palpable, and the kids, sensing it, didn’t argue.

Before leaving, he paused in the doorway and looked back at me. His expression said what he wouldn’t: Get rid of it.

But I couldn’t. Not this time.

I told myself it was just an object—glass, snow, craftsmanship—but I knew that wasn’t true. There was something about this snow globe, something alive. It felt like it was watching me as much as I was watching it.

I placed it on the shelf in our bedroom, and though I tried to focus on other things, my thoughts always returned to it. At night, when the house was quiet and everyone else was asleep, I found myself staring at it, unable to look away.

I didn’t sleep much anymore. I was too afraid. I was afraid of what the globe might show me, afraid of the whispers that crept into my thoughts the longer I was near it.

During the day, the globe seemed harmless enough. The tiny village inside was still and peaceful but at night…

At night, the scene changed.

The figure in the square started to move. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, they shifted toward the glowing windows of the nearest house. Then, another figure emerged from one of the homes, stepping into the snow-dusted street.

Each night, the two figures moved closer together.

I tried to convince myself it was just my imagination, but I knew better. The whispers grew louder when I looked away, urging me to watch, to see. I couldn’t tell if the snow globe was showing me something that had already happened, or something yet to come.

But whatever it was, I felt like I was part of it now. The globe wasn’t just showing me a scene—it was pulling me in.

The whispers weren’t just sounds anymore. They were calling my name.

I kept the snow globe on the shelf across from my bed, far enough that I wouldn’t accidentally knock it over—and where my husband wouldn’t notice I had defied him—but close enough that I could keep an eye on it. Every morning, I told myself to get rid of it, but the thought of opening the trash and dropping it in filled me with an inexplicable dread.

I didn’t want to know what might happen if I tried.

By New Year’s Eve, the whispers had turned into full sentences, though I couldn’t understand most of them. They were layered, overlapping like voices in a crowded room, but one stood out—a single phrase repeated over and over in a voice that sounded chillingly familiar:

“It is time. Your birthright approaches.”

That night, I decided to watch the globe. I turned on every light in the house, my eyes glued to the glass dome as the hours ticked by. Midnight came and went, fireworks echoing in the distance. The figures inside the globe hadn’t moved—or at least, I thought they hadn’t.

Then I noticed something..

The snow inside wasn’t falling; it was rising as if defying gravity. Slowly, it swirled upward, thickening into a blizzard that obscured the village and the figures entirely. The haunting melody began to play on its own, impossibly clear despite the glass barrier.

And then, for the first time, I saw magic.

A shadow flickered at the edge of the globe, too large to be contained within the glass. It stretched beyond the boundaries of the miniature world, bleeding into my reality. The air in my house grew cold, and the lights dimmed, flickering as if something unseen was moving through the room.

I wanted to look away, to run, but I couldn’t move. My body was frozen, my gaze locked on the snow globe as the blizzard inside cleared.

I woke up the next morning on the floor, the globe shattered beside me. The glass shards glistened in the weak winter sunlight, and the tiny village lay scattered across the carpet like debris from another world.

But the figures were gone.

Frantic, I sifted through the mess with trembling hands, searching through fake snow and broken pieces of homes. All the figures had disappeared.

For the first time in days, the whispers stopped. The house was silent, except for the faint hum of the heater kicking on. I should have felt relieved, but I didn’t.

The quiet felt wrong.

I tried to convince myself it was over. I threw away the remains of the snow globe, scrubbed the floor clean, and rearranged my furniture, hoping to erase any trace of what had happened.

But late at night, when the world outside was still and the darkness pressed against my windows, I could feel it.

Something was watching me.

The whispers returned on February 1st. By March, I started seeing the shadows in the corners of my house. Just for a moment—always gone when I turned my head.

I don’t know how much longer I can stay here. The air feels heavier every day, and the feeling of being watched has grown unbearable.

Then, there was a knock at my door.

When I opened it, I saw her: a woman. She was familiar. Too familiar.

She said a name and said she was my mother and then it all came flooding back. 

I wasn't Helena Jones, I was Elise Collins from the third royal family of Eglinton. 

In the ancient kingdom of Eglinton, nestled deep within an enchanted valley hidden from the earthly realm, there was a royal lineage unlike any other—a heritage bound to magic, snow, and secrets. These were the Snow Witches of Eglinton, a bloodline tied to the sacred snow globes that held the essence of their frozen kingdom and the balance of their power.

The witches of Eglinton were not born as mortals understand birth. Each generation was bound to a ritual known as the WInter’s Oath, a curse as much as it was a duty. When a daughter of the royal family reached the age of eighteen, she would be sent to the earthly realm to live among humans. Stripped of her memories, her name, and her power, she would live as a mortal woman.

The purpose of the ritual was twofold: to protect the witches’ sacred magic from outside threats and to ensure the chosen heir experienced the fragility and struggles of mortal life. Only once she had faced hardship, succeeded in her own right, and borne her third child would the magic hidden deep within her soul begin to stir. This was the sign that the Cycle was complete, that she was ready to reclaim her heritage.

The key to unlocking her memories lay in the snow globe—a relic of the enchanted valley that was gifted to her in secret. To mortals, it seemed like a simple decoration, but for the heir, it was a tether to her forgotten life. When the snow globe broke, the seal on her memories and power shattered with it.

But the Cycle came at a terrible cost. For the heir to return to her village and fulfill her destiny, her human family—her husband and children—would have to die. Their lives were the final sacrifice required to preserve the magic of Eglinton and keep the balance between realms.

Helena Jones had lived as a mortal for thirty-five years. She had a loving husband, three beautiful children, and a modest yet fulfilling life. She believed she was ordinary, her only troubles the ones most mothers faced: bills, sleepless nights, and the occasional fear that she wasn’t doing enough for her family.

But when the snow globe shattered on New Year’s Eve, everything changed.

As she stood at the doorway all her memories came flooding back in a chaotic rush—who she really was, her name, her lineage. Elise Collins, the third royal daughter of Eglinton, who was destined to take the throne.

The name echoed in her mind, foreign and familiar all at once, colliding with the life she thought she had lived. She stumbled backward, her hands gripping the edge of the hall table for balance as images flashed before her eyes like fragments of a dream she couldn’t quite grasp.

She remembered the towering spires of the Frosted Keep, their icy blue stone shimmering under an eternal winter sky. The grand halls carved from glacial crystal, where snowflakes hung suspended in midair, sparkling like stars. She could almost feel the biting chill of the wind that swept through the village, and hear the distant howl of wolves echoing through the snow-laden forests surrounding her home.

Her breathing grew shallow, her pulse pounding in her ears. These memories—so vivid, so real—didn’t belong to Helena Jones, the woman she had been for thirty-five years. They belonged to someone else entirely, someone she had no recollection of being.

She clutched her head as more memories spilled forth. She saw herself, younger, standing in a great hall before an altar of ice, surrounded by solemn faces dressed in white and silver. Her mother was there, young, regal and imposing, her frost-blue eyes piercing and full of expectation. Elise had knelt on the frozen ground, her hands trembling as the ritual began. She could still feel the icy tendrils of magic winding through her, binding her to promises she hadn’t understood.

“You will forget,” her mother had said in the memory, her voice cold and final. “You will live among mortals, as one of them, until the Cycle calls you back. Only then will you remember who you are, and what you must do.”

Elise gasped, tears streaming down her face as her gaze darted frantically around her living room, grounding herself in the here and now. This wasn’t real. This couldn’t be real. She wasn’t royalty, wasn’t some… snowbound witch from another world. She was Helena Jones. She had a husband. She had children. A life. A family.

But the memories were relentless, unraveling every thread of the life she thought she knew. She saw the Frosted Keep again, saw her sisters standing beside her, their faces stern, their eyes hollow with understanding. She remembered the weight of her mother’s gaze, heavy with expectation, as the ritual reached its peak.

And then she remembered the cost.

Her stomach churned as the truth settled over her like a suffocating blanket of snow. Her family—her husband, her children—were never meant to last. They were never part of the life she was destined to have. They had been an illusion, a fleeting chapter in the oath, meant to ground her in the human world before she was called back.

Elise staggered toward the sofa, sinking down as tears blurred her vision. This wasn’t fair. She didn’t ask for this. She had loved them. Loved them more than she thought it was possible to love anyone. How could she let them go? How could she choose duty to a world she barely remembered over the family she had built with her whole heart?

Her mother stood there, just as she remembered her—tall and coldly beautiful, her silver hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of frost. She looked regal, otherworldly, entirely out of place in the small, mundane entryway of Helena’s home.

“Elise,” her mother said softly, her voice cutting through the fog of memories like a blade. “It’s time.”

The sound of her name—her true name—sent a shiver down her spine. Elise froze, “No,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “No, this isn’t real. It can’t be.”

Her mother’s gaze softened, but her expression remained unreadable. “You remember now. I can see it in your eyes. The memories have returned, as they were meant to.”

Elise shook her head, stepping back. “This is a mistake. I’m not—this isn’t my life. My name is Helena. I have a family. A husband. Children. I don’t belong to this… this place you’re talking about.”

Her mother stepped inside, uninvited, her presence filling the room with a chill that made Elise’s breath fog in the air. “You have always belonged to Eglinton,” she said firmly. “The family you speak of—your husband, your children—were never meant to be permanent. They were part of the Oath, Elise. You knew this when you agreed to the ritual.”

“I didn’t agree to this!” Elise screamed, tears streaming down her face. “I didn’t know—I don’t remember agreeing to anything!”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You were young, but you understood enough. You swore an oath to protect our realm, to take your place among the Snow Witches of Eglinton. And now, the Cycle demands your return.”

Elise backed away, her heart pounding as panic overtook her. “You can’t just come here and take me away! You can’t just—just erase the life I’ve built!”

Her mother’s eyes glimmered with something close to pity. “I erased nothing. The life you built was never meant to last. It was borrowed time, Elise, to prepare you for what comes next.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, and she fell to her knees, clutching her chest as grief and rage tore through her. “No,” she whispered, over and over. “No. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.”

Her mother moved beside her, placing a cold hand on her shoulder. “It is happening, my child. And whether you accept it or not, the Cycle cannot be broken.”

Elise shook her head violently, her sobs shaking her entire body. But deep down, she knew her mother was right. The memories were too vivid, too real to be denied. She was Elise Collins, the third royal daughter of Eglinton. She had sworn an oath to her people.

And her family—the people she loved most in the world—were the price she would have to pay.

Her husband walked in, concerned. “Helena, are you okay? Who’s this?—what, what’s going on?”

She looked at him, tears filling her eyes. She knew she couldn’t tell him. How could she explain that she wasn’t who he thought she was, that their entire life together had been part of a larger plan she couldn’t control?

Her mother was standing there, regal and cold as the winter wind. Her face was familiar yet distant, her eyes filled with both pride and sorrow.

“It’s time, Elise,” her mother said softly. “Your memories have returned. Your people need you.”

Helena—no, Elise—shook her head, trembling. “No. I can’t leave them. I won’t.”

Her mother’s gaze didn’t waver. “You know the rules. For the Cycle to continue, they must go. Their lives will ensure the survival of our realm and our magic.”

Elise felt her knees weaken, the weight of her true identity crushing her. She turned to look back at her husband, who was blissfully unaware of the storm brewing around them. The whispers in her mind, now fully formed, echoed her mother’s words: “It is time. Your birthright approaches.”

She knew she couldn’t fight it. The Cycle couldn’t be broken. But how could she destroy the family she loved for a world she barely remembered?

Tears streamed down her face as she whispered, “There has to be another way.”

Her mother turned away,  “There is no other way, my daughter. This is the curse of our lineage. You are royal, bound by duty. You have lived among mortals long enough. The time has come to return to where you truly belong.”

And with those words, the shadows began to stir, creeping from the corners of the room, closing in on her husband. Elise wanted to scream, to stop what was happening—but deep inside, she knew there was no stopping it.

The Cycle demanded its sacrifice. And she, now fully aware of who she was, could not escape her destiny.

Elise’s voice cracked as she shouted to her husband, “Run! Get the kids! Now!”

Her husband froze for a moment, his confusion and fear etched across his face. “Helena, what—what’s going on?”

“No time to explain!” she snapped, her eyes darting between him and her mother, who stood calmly, watching. “Just go! Get them out of here!”

Her husband’s hesitation lasted only a heartbeat. Whatever this was—whatever his wife was so terrified of—it was real, and the cold, frail woman standing in their home radiated a quiet menace that made his skin crawl. Without another word, he turned and bolted up the stairs.

Elise turned back to her mother, her voice shaking but firm. “They don’t have to die. You can stop this.”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression unreadable. “You know I can’t. It’s not my will, Elise. It’s the Cycle’s. You can’t save them. None of us ever could.”

Elise’s fists clenched. “You did this to me! You took my memories, sent me here, made me love them! And now you’re asking me to let them die?”

Her mother’s cold gaze softened, but only slightly. “I didn’t ask you to do anything, Elise. This is the way it has always been. You knew the price when you were chosen. I knew the price when it was my turn. We all did. Their lives ensure the survival of our people. It is the way of the Cycle.”

“Then break it!” Elise cried. “End it! No one else has to suffer—no one else has to die!”

Her mother let out a weary sigh. “You don’t understand yet. You will, in time. This is bigger than you or me, bigger than any one family.” She stepped closer, her icy presence filling the room. “Let them go, Elise. It will be easier if you don’t fight it.”

Upstairs, Elise’s husband raced from room to room, waking the children. “Get your coats on,” he urged, pulling them from their beds.

“Daddy, what’s going on?” one of them asked, still groggy and confused.

“No time for questions. Just listen to me.” His voice was calm but firm, masking the panic building inside him. He had no idea what was happening, but he knew they had to leave.

He herded the kids to the front door, fumbling to get their jackets on as quickly as possible. Outside, the cold night air stung his face. He glanced back toward the house, his heart pounding. Was he supposed to wait for Helena? Should he get them in the car and leave?

Then he heard the voices coming from inside—the sharpness of his wife’s pleading and the steady, unyielding tone of the other woman. Whatever was happening, it wasn’t over.

He opened the car doors, ushered the kids inside, and glanced back at the house one more time. “Stay here. Don’t move,” he told them.

But before he could make another decision, the passenger door opened, and Helena—Elise—slid into the seat beside him.

Her face was pale, her hands trembling, but her voice was steady. “Drive,” she said.

“What about—”

“Just drive!” she barked, her tone leaving no room for argument.

He threw the car into gear and tore down the driveway, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. “Helena, what’s going on? Who was that? What is this about?Why did she call you Elise?”

Elise pressed her hands to her face, struggling to breathe. “I’ll explain everything,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “Just… keep driving.”

Behind them, the house grew smaller in the rearview mirror, its windows glowing faintly in the darkness. Elise’s mother stood in the doorway, watching them go. She made no move to follow, no attempt to stop them.

But Elise knew her mother wasn’t worried. She didn’t have to be. The Cycle always found a way.

Her children’s voices came from the backseat, full of confusion and fear. “Mom? Where are we going? Why are we leaving?”

Elise twisted in her seat, forcing a reassuring smile she didn’t feel. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “We’re just going on a little trip, okay? Everything’s going to be fine.”

But deep inside, she knew that wasn’t true.

The Cycle wasn’t just going to let them go. And Elise had no idea how much time they had left.

As they drove through the dark, empty stretches of road, the tension in the car was suffocating. The kids had eventually fallen asleep in the backseat, but Elise’s husband kept glancing at her, waiting for an explanation she wasn’t ready to give.

They didn’t know where they were going, only that they needed to get away. Every mile put distance between them and her mother, but Elise couldn’t shake the feeling that it wouldn’t be enough.

Finally, after hours of driving, the headlights illuminated a worn-out sign for a roadside motel. The paint was peeling, and the neon vacancy sign flickered erratically, casting an eerie glow. It wasn’t ideal, but they were exhausted.

“We’ll stop here for the night,” her husband muttered, his voice tight. He pulled into the gravel lot and parked, looking over at her. “You need to tell me what’s going on, Helena. Everything.”

Elise didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat.

He sighed, stepping out to get them a room. The motel looked like it hadn’t been updated in decades, the kind of place where you didn’t touch the bedspread and triple-locked the door. But it was better than nothing. Once he had the key, they carried the sleeping kids inside, setting them down on the creaky double beds.

Elise waited until they were settled before pulling her husband aside. He leaned against the faded wall, arms crossed, his expression a mix of frustration and fear.

“Start talking,” he said.

She took a deep breath, wringing her hands. “That woman… the one you saw earlier. She’s my mother.”

His brow furrowed. “What? Your mother? I thought she passed away when you were a kid.”

“I thought so, too,” Elise said softly. “But that’s because I didn’t remember her. I didn’t remember anything until tonight. My real name isn’t Helena. It’s Elise Collins. I’m… I’m part of a royal bloodline. A royal bloodline of witches.”

He stared at her, unblinking. “Witches? Helena, this isn’t funny.”

“I’m not joking,” she snapped, her voice shaking. “Do you think I want this? Do you think I chose this? I didn’t even know who I really was until tonight!”

He rubbed his temples, letting out a long, frustrated sigh. “Okay. Fine. Let’s say I believe you. What does that even mean? Why would your mother come out of nowhere like this? What does she want?”

“She wants me to go back,” Elise admitted. “Back to where I’m from. To a place called Eglinton. It’s… not here. It’s another realm. One tied to the snow globe.”

He let out a humorless laugh, pacing the room. “Another realm. Snow globes. Royal witches. Helena, do you hear yourself?”

She grabbed his arm, forcing him to look at her. “I know it sounds insane. I know. But you saw her. You felt it. You know she wasn’t normal. I didn’t believe it at first, either, but the memories are back. I remember everything now. And I swear to you, it’s real.”

His face was pale, his jaw tightening. “If this is real, if what you’re saying is true… what does it mean for us? For the kids?”

Elise froze, her grip on his arm loosening. She couldn’t tell him the whole truth. Not yet. If he knew that their lives were the price for her to reclaim her birthright, he wouldn’t just run—he’d never let her near them again.

“It means we need to stay together,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “It means I need to protect you.”

He narrowed his eyes. “From what?”

She opened her mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. How could she explain the inevitability of the Cycle, the shadow she felt creeping closer with every passing moment?

“I don’t know,” she said instead. “But I’ll figure it out. I’ll keep you safe.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. “Helena, I don’t… I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I’m still me,” she pleaded. “I’m still your wife. I’m still their mother. This doesn’t change that.”

“Doesn’t it?” he shot back, his voice rising. “You’re telling me you’re some kind of—of royalty from another world! That your mother is some witch who just showed up in our house! And now we’re running from something I don’t even understand!”

“Keep your voice down,” Elise hissed, glancing toward the sleeping kids. “Do you think I wanted this? I didn’t ask for any of it! But right now, all that matters is keeping you and the kids safe.”

Her husband stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he sighed, his shoulders sagging. “I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he muttered.

“Believe me,” Elise whispered, her voice breaking.

He didn’t respond, instead turning away from her sharply. His jaw was clenched, his frustration palpable. Without a word, he crossed the room and climbed into the bed where their children were sleeping. He slipped under the blankets, pulling their small bodies close to his as if shielding them from something unseen. His arms wrapped protectively around them, and the message was clear—he was their protector now, not her.

The sight of them huddled together made Elise’s heart ache. She wanted to explain, to make him understand, but the words caught in her throat. She didn’t deserve their trust, not when she knew what was coming. Not when she knew she couldn’t stop it.

She glanced toward the window, where the darkness pressed heavily against the glass, as though the night itself was watching her. Somewhere out there, her mother was waiting. Waiting for the inevitable.

The Oath wouldn’t stop. And Elise was running out of time.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she forced herself to her feet and crossed the room. Quietly, she pulled back the blanket and made herself a small space beside her family. The children stirred slightly but didn’t wake, their warmth and soft breaths bringing her a fragile sense of comfort.

Her husband didn’t acknowledge her presence. His back was to her, his grip on the children firm. Elise felt the sting of his silent rejection, but she didn’t blame him. Not tonight.

She lay down beside them, her hand brushing against her youngest’s tiny fingers. Tears burned her eyes, but she didn’t let them fall. Instead, she closed her eyes, willing herself to hold onto this moment, to feel the fleeting comfort of being with her family one last time.

As sleep claimed her, the whispers began again, faint and persistent. But this time, she let them come.

The old motel room was dim, bathed only in the faint glow of the neon sign outside the window. The clock on the nightstand struck 3:33 a.m., its red numbers burning into Elise’s eyes as she stirred awake.

She blinked groggily, the exhaustion of the night still weighing heavy on her. But something was wrong. Next to her, her family were cold and still.

Her breath hitched as panic took hold. She sat up abruptly, clutching the sheets, her heart pounding. That’s when she saw her mother.

The frail, regal woman sat at the foot of her bed, her hands folded in her lap, her presence still and chilling. Her face, serene and composed, was illuminated by the flickering motel light, casting shadows that danced unnaturally across the walls.

Elise’s chest tightened, her stomach lurching as she struggled for air. “No…” she whispered, her voice breaking. “No, no, no!”

Her mother’s expression softened, a touch of pity flickering in her icy eyes. As Elise crumpled forward, clutching her stomach, her mother moved closer, gathering her daughter into her arms.

Elise sobbed, her cries filling the room as she shook with grief. “Why? Why?” she choked out, though she already knew the answer. The Cycle had completed itself, as it always did.

Her mother stroked her hair gently, whispering soothing words that only made Elise cry harder. “They were together,” her mother said softly. “They left this world wrapped in each other’s love. It was painless.”

Elise’s tears fell faster, but deep inside, she knew her mother was right. She had been granted one final night with them, one last moment of warmth and love, before they were taken. She clung to the memory of the way they had fallen asleep beside her, their soft breathing in sync, their trust in her unwavering.

After what felt like hours, Elise’s sobs quieted, though her tears continued to fall. Her mother gently pulled away, standing with a grace that felt otherworldly.

“It’s time to go,” her mother said, her voice steady, as though this were just another step in the journey.

Elise wiped her face, her hands trembling as she tried to compose herself. Her eyes burned with grief, but she nodded. She knew she couldn’t stay.

Standing, she felt the weight of the room around her—the emptiness, the silence that would haunt her forever. Her mother reached out, taking Elise’s hand in her own. With her free hand, she lifted a snow globe from the folds of her coat.

This one was different from the others. The glass shimmered faintly, and inside was a swirling, silver mist. Without a word, her mother raised the globe high and smashed it onto the floor.

The shattering sound echoed unnaturally, and the mist rose up, creating a doorway in the center of the room. Beyond it, Elise could see the familiar spires of Eglinton, her true home, gleaming under a cold, eternal winter sky.

Her mother stepped forward, pulling Elise gently with her.

Elise hesitated, her gaze drawn back to the bed. There, lying together, were the bodies of her husband and children. They were huddled close, as though still holding each other in sleep, their expressions peaceful.

Her knees buckled, but her mother’s grip steadied her.

“They wouldn’t want you to linger,” her mother said quietly. “They would want you to move forward. To honor them by reclaiming who you are.”

Tears blurred Elise’s vision as she turned her back on them. Her heart broke with every step she took, but she didn’t stop.

She and her mother stepped through the swirling mist, the cold air of Eglinton enveloping them as the doorway sealed behind them.

Elise looked back one last time, but the room was gone. The snow beneath her feet stretched endlessly, leading her toward a destiny she had never asked for—and could never escape.

Elise stepped through the swirling mist, leaving the echoes of her mortal life behind. The icy air of Eglinton bit at her skin, a sharp reminder that she was no longer Helena Jones. As the shimmering portal sealed shut, the weight of her new reality pressed down on her.

Before her, the Frosted Keep stood as she remembered it—regal, imposing, yet somehow dimmer. The sky above churned with dark clouds, and the air crackled with tension. Figures moved quickly through the snow-dusted streets of the village below, their faces pale and drawn. She recognized some of them—family, advisors, people who should have greeted her return with open arms—but their expressions were grim, their joy replaced by unease. Something was wrong.

“Elise,” a voice called, cutting through the icy wind. A familiar face approached—her eldest sister, Mirielle, her regal demeanor marred by grief. “There’s no time to ease back into this. Eglinton is under attack.”

Elise froze. “Attack? By whom?”

Her sister’s lips pressed into a thin line. “We don’t know. But they’ve already breached the outer defenses. And, Elise…” Her voice faltered, her eyes shimmering with tears. “Father is dead.”

The words struck Elise like a blow, the ground seeming to shift beneath her feet. Memories of her father’s stern but kind presence flooded her mind. “How?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

“We don’t know who did it—or why. But we suspect betrayal from within,” Mirielle said bitterly. “You’ve come back at the worst possible time, but also the only time we could hope for. You’re the heir now, Elise. Eglinton needs its queen.”

Elise’s breath caught in her throat. The enormity of it all threatened to overwhelm her—the attack, her father’s murder, the weight of the throne suddenly thrust upon her shoulders. She had barely stepped into this world, and already it was demanding everything of her.

But deep inside, she felt something stir—a quiet resolve, a fragment of the oath she had once sworn. She didn’t fully understand this world yet, nor her place in it, but she would find answers. She would uncover the truth about her father’s death, protect her people, and claim the throne that was now hers.

Taking a deep breath, Elise squared her shoulders and looked toward the Frosted Keep, its towering spires framed by the stormy sky. Whatever awaited her, she couldn’t turn back now. Eglinton needed her, and she would face its enemies—whoever they were. Who does she trust? I guess that's her next chapter.