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In the depths of Galmair, beneath the bustling city streets, lay Allesandra's underground flat, a world apart from the vibrant life of the surface. In stark contrast to her former self, the master of an alchemist who once toiled in the mines and fields, the woman dwelling in this subterranean solitude had been transformed into a mere shadow of her former strength.

Her once-strong physique, sculpted by years of hard labor and determination, had withered away like a forgotten relic. The glow of vitality that had once characterized her eyes was replaced by the dull gleam of someone who had lost their way. The brilliant emerald orbs, which used to exude determination and warmth, were now shrouded in a perpetual gloom.

Within her underground refuge, the flat was plunged into near darkness. The only source of light was a solitary, glowing ring on her finger. Its gentle luminescence offered the faintest hint of the world around her, but this dim radiance could hardly penetrate the deep shadows that enveloped her underground lair.

For Allesandra, the boundaries between day and night had blurred into an indistinguishable continuum. The flat became her sanctuary, her prison, her fortress against the world above. It was within these cold, dark walls that she sought solace and escape from the nightmares that haunted her.

The harrowing memories of her near-death experience cast long, dark shadows in her mind. Visions of the poisonous waters, the wrenching pain of the toxin, and the weakness that had consumed her played on a relentless loop in her troubled sleep. She couldn't escape these tormenting thoughts, and her nightmares often kept her awake for days on end.

Her diet was reduced to almost nothing. A few homemade cookies, a distant relic from a time when Amelia's kindness still warmed her heart, were all she could muster the will to eat. Instead, she relied heavily on her black potions, brewed from amethyst powder. These concoctions, meant to sustain her, were devoured hungrily as she pushed herself to work without rest.

In the realm of isolation she had created, Allesandra wrestled with her conflicting emotions. The intense craving for connection tugged at her, urging her to seek comfort in the presence of others. However, a paralyzing fear held her captive. She couldn't face the world outside, couldn't bring herself to confront the people and places she once knew. She had barricaded herself away in her gloom-ridden sanctuary, which had now become both her shield and her cage.

There were moments of desperation when she would stand before her door, shaking and clamoring to open it, as if it were the gateway to her salvation. Yet, as the light of the world beckoned, her courage would falter, and the door would remain sealed, leaving her trapped within her own self-imposed exile. The weight of loneliness pressed down on her, and her tears, unwitnessed in the dark, fell as silent offerings to the void that enveloped her.

Allesandra's existence had transformed from the vibrant, powerful alchemist to a shadowy recluse, bound by her own torment and insecurities, and ensnared by the fragile thread that separated her from the world above.[/i]

--

After what seemed like an eternity in her underground sanctum, Allesandra finally stirred with a newfound restlessness. The need for a connection, a craving that had become an overwhelming force within her, pushed her to the edge. The weight of isolation, which had kept her hidden from the world, now became a burden too heavy to bear.

One day, with a heart pounding in her chest and her mind plagued by both excitement and trepidation, she approached her door. Her trembling fingers grasped the handle, and with a determined turn, she pushed it open. As the door swung wide, the world outside beckoned, offering both the unknown and the familiar.

Anxious to reconnect with the people she had once known, she ventured into Galmair, stepping out into the sunlight she had missed for so long. However, the moment her feet touched the cobblestone streets, she felt the weight of the past pressing down upon her. Many of the faces she had hoped to see were absent, their absence a stark reminder of the inexorable passage of time.

Slowly but surely, Allesandra embarked on a journey of recovery. She began to regain her strength and confidence, her steps growing more certain with each passing day. The isolation that had gripped her for so long began to wane, replaced by a growing desire to be part of the world she had once thrived in.

The alchemy lab in Galmair, a place of solace and familiarity, was her first refuge. Here, she found solace in her work, but it no longer served as her sole sanctuary. The courage she had summoned to open her door was now her guiding light, pushing her to venture outside her laboratory.

She began to reacquaint herself with old friends, seeking comfort in the companionship she had been denied for far too long. New friendships blossomed as well, as she allowed herself to explore the world outside her underground retreat. She felt the warmth of connection, the laughter of shared moments, and the joy of rediscovering the world through the eyes of those who still walked beside her.

Though Allesandra remained a woman of solitude and introspection, she walked the streets of Galmair with her head held high, no longer a reclusive figure shrouded in darkness, but a woman reborn into the radiant light of companionship, friendship, and a world that awaited her presence.

The inked words on the diary's pages spoke of a night when the veils of secrets were lifted, and the truth flowed like an untamed river. Allesandra had orchestrated the entire evening, her hands trembling with a curious mix of anticipation and trepidation. The serum had been carefully concocted, its contents swirling in a vial, holding within it the power to unravel the tightly woven threads of falsehood.

Her heart quickened with the mere thought of using it, as well as the person she would be using it on. She knew not what revelations would emerge, what deep-seated truths would surface from the murky depths of their concealed selves. It was a risky endeavor, one that held the potential to shatter the fragile bonds of friendship or strengthen them in the crucible of honesty.

As the tavern's candlelight cast dancing shadows on the wooden tables, the air was charged with unspoken words, heavy with anticipation. Every glance, every word exchanged, felt laden with the unspoken. Her heart raced with the knowledge that secrets, once held under lock and key, were about to be laid bare.

When Malchus's eye met her own, it was as if the boundaries that had separated them for so long began to blur. She recalled the moments of vulnerability, her deepest darkest of thoughts, and the unfettered confessions about her past that spilled forth like a dam finally breached. It was a night of catharsis, where the truths that had long dwelled in the shadows were brought into the harsh light of reality. It had the power to peel away layers of pretense, expose their innermost thoughts, dreams, and fears, a cascade of emotions, a torrential downpour of revelations.

In the aftermath of their heart-to-heart, Allesandra's emotions were a tempestuous sea. It was as if the diary itself could scarcely contain the intensity of what had transpired. Her heart was a complex mosaic of feelings, from the vulnerability of exposing her secrets to the fear after discovering his.

As if the complexity of that evening was not enough, Amelia had stumbled into the heart of the unfolding drama. Her mind was a whirlwind of newly acquired knowledge, overwhelmed, her disoriented state called for Allesandra's support. While Allesandra knew that she had to help her, support her with all her might, her own head was reeling with the internal struggle between her thoughts and words.

As she guided Amelia to the chair, she couldn't help but feel a torrent of emotions and thoughts threatening to erupt from the confines of her mind. The serum had taken hold of her consciousness, rendering her internal world vulnerable and unfiltered. She was caught in a relentless struggle to keep her thoughts from forming into words, for she knew that within her unsteady mind lay secrets, desires, and fears that she had long concealed. And ones that even she did not know of.

Each step she took, each moment she spent assisting Amelia, was laden with an internal battle. It was as if her very thoughts had taken on a life of their own, yearning to be spoken aloud.

And then, S'rrt.

He had also wondered into the tavern shortly afterwards and amid the flickering candlelight of the tavern, Allesandra's mind became a tempest of anxiety and panic.

Chaos reigned inside her head.

She feared what might spill forth from her lips. The struggle to silence the words that danced at the edge of her tongue was an exquisite torment. Her head was on the verge of exploding with the tumult of her inner world.

Her thoughts raced, and the internal conflict only heightened the electrifying atmosphere of the night. In that moment, she was keenly aware of the magnitude of the revelations happening around her, yet she grappled with the knowledge that her own confessions loomed on the precipice of release. The serum had become an unforgiving master, demanding the unveiling of concealed truths.

The ramifications of that night were profound, and whether they were a curse or a blessing remained a blur to her. The emotions she had experienced, the confessions she had made, would forever echo in the chambers of her heart.

Galmair. Three days ago.

They came to her lab for potions. That was all.
Two women, strangers to her, but there was something in the way they moved. In the careless joy behind one’s smile. In the quick glances of curiosity from the other. Something familiar. Unspoken.
And for a moment, Allesandra saw herself, not the woman she was now, not this ghost behind a workbench, but the girl she once had been.
Lively. Bold. Laughing too loud in taverns, weaving lies into stories and stories into magic. A wild spark in her eyes, fire in her blood, danger in her smile. She had been fearless once, and so full of life it spilled over and caught on others. That girl could seduce, infuriate, enchant. That girl could run through deserts barefoot, steal kisses on battlements, and promise everything like it was nothing.

And Ermina had been there for all of it.

She saw them, these women, and for a moment it was Ermina’s voice she heard. The way she used to laugh. The way she stood by her side and didn’t yet know what it meant to lose something that could never be returned.

They left. The order was made. Nothing more.

But that night, Allesandra opened a bottle of wine and didn’t bother with a glass.

---

Later. Her old flat.

The wine made her thoughts soft at the edges, but it didn’t quiet them.
The past arrived anyway. Uninvited. Heavy.
She lit no lamp. The ring on her finger gave off enough light to see the inside of her old flat, the same shelves, the same stone, the same shadows. It was untouched, preserved by disuse and distance.
She sat in the stillness and let the memories come.

Ermina, first. Always Ermina. Brave in a quiet way. Steady. She didn’t need magic to make you believe her. A warmth that no one had ever quite replicated. She had offered her life without flinching. Walked into the dark so Allesandra could live. And died for it.

Allesandra hadn’t been there to stop her.

The grief didn’t hit like a wave. It came like a still lake, so deep she couldn’t see the bottom.

Then S’rrt. He had saved her. Risked more than he ever admitted aloud. She owed her life to him, and she knew it. But recently, she had pushed him away.
Not out of anger. Not even out of grief. He reminded her of too much. Of who she had been. Of what she had lost. Of the girl who believed in impossible things, and the lizard who once believed in her.

It was easier to keep distance than to look him in the eye and feel everything she was trying so hard to forget.

Exelous. Loyal even when it nearly broke him. He never asked for anything. Never wanted praise. But the weight in his eyes the day she finally opened hers… she still remembered it. She remembered it all. He was the one who had stayed by her side when her body was wasting away, when hope had all but vanished. He hadn’t flinched then. Hadn’t faltered. He carried her life on his shoulders as if it was his to protect.
Now he was in a hospital bed. She had seen him break before, but never like this.
Paralyzed. His legs taken from him. Malchus and Bidukan had done that, whatever reasons they gave, it didn’t matter. Not to her.
She went to see him once. Slipped in quietly. He was sleeping. She didn’t stay long.
She couldn’t bring herself to speak.
Seeing him like that… she didn’t know how to carry it. Not after everything he had once carried for her.
And she never returned.
She told herself it was out of respect.
But truthfully, it was cowardice.

And Eli. Sweet, soft-spoken Eli, who never stopped searching for a cure. She remembered the sound of his voice as he read to her, not knowing if she could hear. His hand over hers, warm and steady. She had wanted to tell him so many things. She never did. And then he was gone, too.

And the child.

The one no one knew. The one she carried during her imprisonment. There had been a moment when she thought everything might still be okay. A second of hope. Then came the pain. Then the silence. She hadn’t held them. Hadn’t seen them. Only knew they were gone by the way her body changed, by the way the world didn’t.

Then Eleanor. A friend who drifted away. One of the few who’d known Allesandra without needing her to be strong. Who had stayed until she didn’t. Like everyone else.

She was someone once. An alchemist, yes. A lover. A survivor. A storm, a wildfire, a fool who danced on rooftops and swam in poisoned lakes because no one else would. She had been joy. Recklessness. Love.

Before.

Before Gray.

Before the blood-slicked floors of the cave where she’d lost her unborn child. Before the rot that seeped into her skin during the long nights of her captivity. Before Ermina had given her life in a quiet, noble sacrifice no one had asked her to make. Before Allesandra had screamed her throat raw in chains, promising the gods she’d trade anything, anything, to undo what had been done.

And then, she had disappeared.

Not by force. Not like when Gray had taken her.

This time, she had done it. She had locked herself away in the dark. Day after day, potion after potion, surviving but not living. Too afraid to love again. Too afraid to lose again.

---

Runewick. The day after.

She had gone there to clear her head. To work.

Instead, she found Malchus. The conversation hadn’t mattered. Not really. She said things she shouldn’t have said. Words with too many jagged edges. She didn’t mean them.

Or maybe she did, but not like that.

Runewick had always reminded her of Eli. Of poisoned waters and sleepless nights. Of rituals and prayers and hands trembling over her skin as life slipped away.

The wind through the trees whispered things she didn’t want to hear.

She left before dusk.

---

Galmair. Now.

The snow hadn’t yet begun to fall, but the chill of Galmair clung to her like a second skin by the time she reached the iron hatch to her flat. Her boots were wet from the slush, her cloak heavy with the damp scent of pine smoke and old regret. The forest air of Runewick still clung to her hair, wild, windblown, and beneath it all, the sour trace of liquor still lingered on her breath.

She descended into her old flat like she was walking into a tomb. A place where sun had not kissed the walls in years. No torches were lit. No fire crackled. The only light came from the soft, pale glow of the ring on her finger, her only companion through sleepless nights and shapeless days.

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

She tried to be fine.

She unpacked her satchel. Laid out the tools. Uncorked a few vials. Pretended the silence was just silence, not memory pressing in from every angle.

But it came anyway.

She turned, and suddenly she was back in the cave.

Gray’s letter. “The wench dies.”

Chains. Pain. Blood. The aching void in her belly where life used to be.

Ermina.

Exelous.

Eli.

S’rrt.

The child.

Eleanor.

She couldn't breathe.
Her eyes, dull and shadowed, settled on the faint reflection in the glass of a potion bottle. There was no sparkle in them anymore. Just that ache, faint, constant, like a wound that never quite healed. She barely recognized her face.
She moved without thinking, grabbing the nearest bottle from the shelf. It was something old, one of the first brews she made in Galmair. Her hand tightened around the glass. Then released.

It flew.

Shattered against the stone.

The next followed.

And another.

Then another.

The air filled with the sharp sting of herbs and oils, with the sound of glass breaking into memory.

Her chest rose and fell. Her face was stone.

Then, just a sound.

A breath hitched in her throat.

And finally, tears.

Not loud. Not dramatic.

But real.

She leaned against the edge of the bench, eyes closed, the scent of alchemy and grief clinging to the air around her. Her shoulders trembled once.

She let herself cry.

No one would see.

No one ever did.

---

Later.

She stood again.

Wiped her face with the back of her sleeve.

The room was a mess. But it could wait.

The order could not.

She stepped over the broken glass, moved back into the lab, and began to work. Her fingers were steady. Her voice, silent.

There was nothing healed in her. Not yet.

But there was still a duty to fulfill.

And that would have to be enough.

For now.
---