Adelaide straddled Mira. White hair fell from her shoulders like cold silk, brushing cheek and throat without a hint of warmth. She pinned Mira’s shoulders, gravel-hard, refusing to let her move. She ignored the wounds beneath her palms, like treading a field of thorns without blinking. Blood-threaded crimson eyes caught the flicker of pain on Mira’s face, and her hands pressed down harder, like stones sinking in a river.

“You dare… how dare you…!” Her words grated like teeth on ice. Her face flushed with storm-light anger, and Mira froze beneath her, lost as a deer in glare.

In that breath, Mira seemed to reach for a defense, a leaf in a flood. “I just acted on instinct—”

“—Don’t lie to me, Mira!” Adelaide’s roar cracked like thunder. Rage spilled past the dam, and her fist slammed the ground by Mira’s cheek, a hammer to rock.

“Why didn’t you share your location with a Magic Crystal Stone, and instead let that idiot come back and lie?”

“Why send that little girl back, and tell me to look after her like a nurse in winter?”

“Why mock everyone at school, burning every bridge you had—answer me, why!” The questions rose like arrows, each sharper than the last, until her voice broke like a frayed string. There was no trace of the big sister’s warmth, only steel blown cold by rain.

Mira’s muscles tightened like drawn bowstrings. Her face went as pale as ash.

She parted her lips, as if to reach a lifeline, then bit down on the words. Her gaze slid away from those red eyes, like a fish fleeing the net.

“So you won’t speak? Fine. Keep that mouth shut like a locked gate.” Adelaide let out a laugh that cut like glass. Her hand dipped into a pocket and tugged. Time-dulled gold flashed in her palm like a buried coin in dust.

Mira’s eyes flew wide, like shutters thrown open to lightning.

It was the bell hairclip Adelaide had once given her, a small moon with a voice.

“When… did you…?” Her voice thinned like smoke.

“Oh, now you’re willing to talk.” Adelaide closed her fist. The fragile bell chimed uneasily, like a bird in a cage. “What’s wrong? Surprised? The thing you can’t stop thinking about—the thing you even planned to steal back from the royal grounds—suddenly sits in my hand.” Her words fell like stones into a well.

“I…” The sound frayed like thread.

“You’ve got three seconds. Answer me, or I crush it—” Adelaide counted with no mud on her heels. Three. Two— Her voice fell like a metronome. By the time it reached one, the tremor in Mira’s eyes had crested like a wave against a cliff.

Forced to speak, Mira drew breath—but Adelaide clapped a hand over her mouth, a shadow across a lamp.

“Ha. Kidding. I don’t need your answer.” Adelaide’s gaze cooled like quenched steel. “Mira Izabella.”

“You think I don’t know you’ve been yearning to end it with one clean cut?” The sentence fell like the final gavel in a silent hall. Mira went still, her expression freezing like water under frost.

“You never planned to come back alive today, did you?” Adelaide stared into those sea-green eyes, forcing the words out like thorns between teeth.

“How moving. Not only did you plan to sacrifice yourself so I wouldn’t fight that monster, you even prepared a little girl who looks like your child self. That way, even if you died in that creature’s jaws today, poor Adelaide could find comfort in a new ‘little sister.’ My, how considerate.” Her sarcasm glittered like shards under moonlight.

“Oh, and the school. What was that about? You strutted around, picking fights like lighting torches at every door. I get it. You wanted to throw shadow on yourself to make me look bright, so students and commoners would choose me as the better fiancée. And after that? You, spat on by common folk and hated by council nobles—how would you end it so I could step into queenship as if it were fate? Answer me.” Her questions rolled like drumbeats, relentless and hollow.

By then, those blood-red eyes had filmed with a wet sheen, like rain on glass.

“You weren’t thinking… of dying with a stain on your name by my hand—so I could become the hero who executed a traitor—were you, Mira?” The last question came stripped of mockery, a blade without ornaments. The hand over Mira’s mouth slackened, like snow melting from a branch.

No answer came. The silence pooled like ink.

Mira couldn’t answer. To draw her in, to use her, and then to kill her at the story’s crest, to become the princess consort—this had been the plan she once polished like a jewel. But as Mira’s silence affirmed that success, the dam in Adelaide’s chest burst like a levee in flood.

All the feelings rushed in like winter birds, shredding her reason to paper. Her voice shook like a lantern in wind.

“If you’re so eager to vanish from my life…” She raised the hand holding the bell hairclip, as if lifting a small sun to drop it.

“Then disappear with this damned thing, right now, in front of me.” Her hand arced down like a falling blade. No shatter came.

Mira had caught her wrist. It hung in midair like a trapped wing.

“Let me go!” Adelaide’s eyes burned red, a kiln in drought. She yelled, but her wrist wouldn’t move a hair.

“I’m sorry.” The stalemate held like a frozen river. Mira’s voice reached her again, low and hoarse, like wind through reeds.

“I’m sorry…” The apology dragged like a wounded step.

“Please… don’t…” The plea rasped like a match in rain.

The words kept coming, a steady drip, until Adelaide’s strength bled from her hand. It sank, slow as dusk.

Then came a bitter laugh, thin as a blade. “You only speak at a time like this… Is it because this thing matters more than I do?” Her voice tasted of iron.

“No, that’s impossible—” Mira flinched like a flame in draft.

Adelaide shook her head, cutting her off, like a curtain falling. “Tell me. What am I to you? A toy you were going to have the Sacred Heart mend? A reason to atone, so you could die with a clean conscience?” Her bangs, soaked by blood-rain, drooped like black reeds and hid her eyes. Only the crooked smile at her mouth showed, a wound that mocked her own foolishness.

Yes. She looked ridiculous. She dropped her gaze to Mira’s loosened hair. Without the wig’s leash, fine strands mixed with dust and blood on the ground, filthy as gutter water, yet still they couldn’t hide that stabbing gold.

Blinding. Because that wasn’t anyone else. It was the handiwork she had shaped with her own frostbitten fingers.

They had come to this cliff’s edge. No denial could unmake that night after the birthday. What use to cover it? What use to flee?

The thing she should have admitted—sisterly affection—had never been born. Not in her eyes. Not in Mira’s.

Just as Mira saw her as a vessel for redemption, she had never truly been Mira’s sister. This was a bond steeped in falsehood from the first sip.

A sisters’ game. Yes. She had reached the right answer long ago. Adelaide lifted her head. Above, the storm had blown off, and the sky lay clear as polished glass, full of salt-white stars.

How stupid. That “game” was only a mask for a proper young lady, a porcelain face that smothered real feelings. She had played house with the girl who stole everything from her, the way one humors a child, as constant as this sky that never left.

Back then, she needed to gather strength. She needed quiet. The price was a roof over her world, a lid that hid the stars, like the ceiling in her room. Under that roof, she buried her vile goals and tools like seeds in hard earth.

It was only that. And yet—when did she start taking the game as truth? After the birthday, that roof was gone like mist. Still, she dodged the sunrise. She kept her head down and hypnotized herself, pretending to be the good sister. She even carved a ridiculous sapphire necklace with all her care, yet wouldn’t look up once at the real sky.

Her true feeling for Mira had never budged, a stone at the riverbed. Realizing that was the last pinch of powder on the flame. Adelaide bit her gums until they bled, the heat inside her spilling past any dam.

She fisted Mira’s collar, hauling her close like a hooked fish. From the pit she dragged up what both had refused to face. She spoke it, word by burning word.

“I hate you, Mira.” Mira’s eyes flew open, startled like a night bird. Not only at the words, but at Adelaide’s trembling voice. Warm drops fell on Mira’s cheek like summer rain.

“Don’t think giving me your life on your own terms can settle it. What you took from me… you couldn’t repay in a lifetime.” Adelaide bowed her head. Her forehead rested against Mira’s chest, a weight like a stone on still water. Her voice carried a thick nasal tremor.

“The only thing you can give back is yourself. Your life is mine. All of you is mine. You don’t get to die on me. That kind of thing…” Her heartbeat pounded like drums, pushing toward the brink. The truest desire rose to her tongue, a tide a breath from breaking.

She couldn’t say it. Pain clenched at her heart like a fist. Ears rang with high tide. Her fingertips went numb and cold as ice. Fear of burning every bridge with Mira finally matched the fire roiling in her veins.

She faltered again. A craven shadow danced in her head, mocking her resolve like crows on a fence.

Then Mira finished the sentence for her, like a candle passed hand to hand. “My life and death are yours alone to decide.”

Adelaide’s breath stopped for a beat. She didn’t answer. The silence lay between them like snow.

“Can you… give me one more chance?” Her voice floated like a paper boat.

“…” Quiet pooled again, deep as a well. At last, Adelaide let go of Mira’s collar. Her hands slid around the back of Mira’s neck, like a hug and like a serpent, guarding the most fragile place.

“This is the last time. Don’t betray me again.” The warning coiled like smoke.

“Mm.” Mira’s answer was soft as moss.

Another hush. Mira waited as if in rain. “…And don’t lie to me. Not ever.” The words pressed like a thumb to a bruise.

“Mm.” The assent was a small, steady flame.

“And don’t call me Adelaide.” Her voice, muffled against Mira’s chest, sounded like she spoke straight to Mira’s heart.

“You’ll call me only one thing. Sister. Understand?” The claim circled like a ring drawn in ash.

“Mm… Sister.” The word bloomed like a white flower.

“Don’t ‘mm’ me, you liar. You promised me you’d go back with me, too.” The scold flicked like a small whip.

“…I’m sorry.” Adelaide lifted her head a little. Blood-colored eyes fixed on Mira, corners still red like rubbed raw.

“I don’t believe you.” Her tone was flat as a blade. “I’ll make sure in my own way. Get ready for that.”

“I… will.” The answer came like a vow set in wax.

Adelaide tucked her face back to Mira’s chest. This time her body loosened, like knots undone. Torn clothes couldn’t stop skin from meeting. Warmth and softness passed between them like shared breath.

They leaned into each other and let the silence stand, until a soft click broke it, like a clasp finding home.

Mira’s breath hitched with a small joy. She felt the touch of the hairclip at her temple, light as a bird. From her chest came a small voice, bright as a candle flame.

“Happy birthday, Mira.”