After listening, Lucimia eyed the girl again, her mirror‑twin, like a reflection caught in winter glass.

A petite frame, black hair and black eyes; her head tilted, a smile like a crescent moon.

Lucimia felt it again: only the face matched; the aura was another season entirely.

At the same time, she knew: this was another self, tugging her toward the cliff of losing control.

And the shadow behind had to be Olivya, a night tide pooling at her back.

What does it mean to rationalize and legitimize Devouring your friends?

It's a whisper that paints everything white: you were right, you had no choice, it's the Dark Deity's fault.

So Devouring them becomes correct, clean, a rule written in frost.

At first, it sounds fine, sweet as sugar on the tongue.

With time, it sands down guilt, like wind smoothing dunes.

Numbness creeps in, a frost under the skin.

Then the next move comes easy: you Devour others with no weight.

Inside, a drumbeat keeps one answer: I had no choice; we fight the Dark Deity; it's the Dark Deity's fault.

So Devouring you is right; you should be Devoured.

The blade skews sharper and sharper.

No. I can't accept that thought.

Agreeing is a crack in the ice; she will seep through.

Numbness will root in.

My temperament will shift, like dye bleeding through silk.

A spark jumped; she dared a guess—

Maybe "losing control" isn't a swap, but a weaving—two selves fusing into one.

If she accepts that creed, she will grow into the other, like a mask turning into skin.

Yes. The pieces click like beads on a string.

Lucimia saw the trap, like footprints revealed after wind shifts.

Her mind never bowed to that, like flint refusing water.

She keeps her deeds etched, like cuts on bark.

She remembers her vow with Yuna and Desty, a red thread tied at the wrist.

She must bring them back, like fishing fallen stars from a dark river.

They trusted her like two lamps in a storm, and she failed them.

It is her fault; she won't whitewash it with snow.

She must remember: guilt is a weight she should carry.

You can't kill and then wash your hands with words.

Yes, that's it... no—the pendulum snaps back.

She flinched; a cold gust of fear blew through her ribs.

Wait, wait. Am I endorsing the first path again—the one where guilt breeds madness?

What if she said it on purpose?

She is me; I know her, and she knows me.

She knows I can think, a blade kept sharp.

So she dangled rationalization first, let me analyze and smell the rot.

Then push me back to the first creed, like herding me through a gate.

Is that her board? From the first move, she wanted me to choose the first path.

Then what? Do I flip to the other coin?

No. The second is poison too, another cup of hemlock, but the first...

Damn it... my mind feels like tangled strings.

Both roads taste wrong; either could stain me with losing‑control's taint, like ink clouding water.

Could she have laid two paths on purpose, forcing me into a lunatic fork? Is that the real snare?

Which coin lands face up?

Why does the mirror feel wiser than me? Is she truly me?

If this is the unraveling of self, how do I cut this knot?

Nirael said she lost control once too; she must have weathered the same storm.

She said it was before; later she spoke with me normally, so she broke through it.

Damn. She promised to reveal things only at the end; she never told me the method.

The girl spoke, her voice like water on stone: "Well? Does it make sense?"

She let the pause stretch, patient as a fisherman, as if she knew Lucimia's thoughts.

"I think... you're right," Lucimia said. "As you said, rationalizing Devouring can be sound. For example..."

Her eyes gleamed like blades. "For example?"

"For example, Devouring you—just like you urged me—to break the game and justify the act."

Lucimia lifted her head; storm‑cloud eyes fixed on her.

"Oh?" She paused, thinking, then smiled. "Mm. You're right. Come, Devour me. Let me merge with you."

She opened her arms a little, ready to welcome the black shadow like a night embrace.

"No, no, you misunderstood," Lucimia echoed softly, a mirror answering a mirror.

"Misunderstood?" Her brows creased, an ink stroke on pale skin.

Lucimia rose from the snow, shaking off flakes like feathers.

She walked toward the shadow behind and spoke slowly: "I don't Devour you. Olivya will Devour you."

She spoke, then leapt, a swallow slicing winter air.

The girl jolted, a spark snapping from the wire.

In the next heartbeat, Lucimia cast a switching spell, swapping places like cups in a street game.

The girl's body landed inside the shadow's reach; it surged to life and lunged like a starving wolf.

"You!" She gnashed her teeth, but the shadow Devoured fast; in a blink it swallowed up to her chest.

Seeing no escape, she asked, breath hitching: "Switching spells need a mark. When did you mark me?"

Lucimia clapped lightly, dusting off the air. She didn't answer.

The gesture told her enough: when she touched Lucimia earlier, Lucimia pricked a hidden mark.

So fast—barely a second, a flash of steel.

Furious, she spat: "What are you, a puppy marking turf? You tag even this?"

Lucimia frowned at the jibe, irritation flaring like a thorn. "It's called vigilance. I keep a back road, a trail cut through thicket."

"I won't get cornered in a cage again. And you, a counterfeit, a paper doll, think you can take me?"

She sneered, a knife smile. "Vigilant, sure. But that problem we raised? You haven't solved it.

What's next? As long as you're in this state, I'll return with a vengeance."

Lucimia watched in silence until Olivya finished Devouring her and the world settled, like dust after wind.

She found she hadn't moved, still half‑crouched by the tree, like root and shadow.

Dusk spread, copper light spilling; the distant sunset lay beautiful as painted silk.

She sighed, her breath a thin mist.

Her mind replayed the talk, echoes ringing like a bell in a cold hall.

Do I rationalize Devouring, or keep sinking into guilt and blame?

Heart to heart, did I ever admit: thanks to those two who trusted me, I'm alive?

I could refuse to save them, couldn't I? I'm strong now.

Run. Leave Nirael be. Hide in some remote place, money in hand, with one old stove and slow smoke.

If I don't save them, they won't know. They're dead, names pressed into ash.

What am I even thinking, a thought snatched by wind.

Lucimia covered her face and sighed again, fog leaving her lips.

Don't think. Just walk forward, leaving prints in the snow.