“My lady?”

  When was the last time the golden sun had touched her skin? Dawn had come so often, yet darkness had remained, with little else to mark the passing of time. The small solstice had passed without revelry. She was the tiniest of moons, a shard of what she had once been, and now—now, she could see the glow of golden light. No longer tethered to the dark side of the moon.

  “One moment, Jjkry. I need this.”

  The glow of light filled her, and the core of her being no longer felt depleted and empty. It was replaced by warmth and promise. Possibilities. She let it stretch on for a long moment, knowing that as she stood on the balcony of her manor, those who had once been trapped as guests were now free to leave.

  With memories.

  “Aedyra.”

  The name had not been spoken to her in so very long that it broke her from the meditative reverence of her stance below the rising dawn. Turning, just a few steps into the room where they had last spoken, stood the human who held her very last wish. Behind Raelin, a silent stone wreathed in gold and silver runes.

  She tilted her head, regarding the impossible, and refrained from crying out in sheer gratitude.

  “You were successful.”

  She wished she could feel guilt for the simplicity of the statement, but she was still lost in the warmth wrapping itself around her skin. There was no doubt she was glowing with golden light.

  “Are you Aedyra? The goddess?”

  She was not about to deny it, and there was little reason to.

  “I am. And you have my eternal gratitude, Master Raelin.” She bowed her head. “Because of you, I am finally free.”

  “Free from what?”

  The tone was accusatory, and Aedyra noticed that not once had Raelin spoken kindly since returning from the dead part of the manor. Pressing her lips together, she closed her eyes for a moment, letting the lingering warmth comfort her before the memories of the curse weighed upon her once more. It was too long a story, too old for any reference this young one would know. She debated what to share. What to hold back.

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  “The cycle of night, in its simplest form.” She folded her hands in front of her, pulling in the glow that still hummed within her. There was too much and not enough, the light threads pulsing with promise and warning.

  “Master Raelin. You were the one to wake him.” She looked to the golem, then back to them. “At his core is the core of my own magic. It was the only place I found safe from the curse that locked me here. I understand that you distrust me—a goddess, no less—when I cannot return to you what you have lost.”

  There was a visible wince on Raelin’s features, and Aedyra recognized that pain immediately. It was one she saw so often in the mirror.

  She continued, “If my magic, my light, was so terrible, would you not have sensed it? Heard it, even?”

  “Is that why you could not hear her?” Raelin turned to the golem, and even Aedyra did not miss the shift in pronouns.

  “Her?”

  “Byne.”

  Aedyra could not help the small tear that welled at the edge of her eye, a soft smile curling at her lips.

  “It is a good name.”

  Raelin scuffed their foot against the floor before looking back at her. “I wouldn’t have been able to wake her up without… her. But that doesn’t mean you are good.”

  “No,” Aedyra agreed. “I suppose that will depend on what you remember when you leave, won’t it? Either I am good, or I am bad. Benevolent or dangerous.”

  Raelin snorted. “Sounds ominous.”

  Aedyra couldn’t help the laugh that escaped—light, tinkling, like stars and chimes.

  “Isn’t that the same as living? Careful, Master Raelin. Too much pessimism can lead you to miss the most wonderful of moments.”

  She glanced over the balcony, where a glittering crowd now exited the manor, their masks finally removed.

  “I think you should take off the mask and open your eyes. The world is not quite as dark as you might believe.”

  As the final echoes of our revelry fade and the first light graces the horizon, I extend my deepest gratitude to each of you. You were not merely guests but witnesses to a moment long bound by time—one that will never come again.

  This Masquerade of Marvels was the last of its kind, for the doors of Witchrift are no longer hidden, and the enchantment that once wove secrecy into its halls has unraveled at last. The spell is broken, the cycle complete, and the masquerade—like the whispers of forgotten years—now belongs to memory alone.

  Each of you was chosen not for what could be granted by magic, nature, or will, but for what lay beyond their reach. Yet even in this fleeting night, perhaps you found something—a whisper of clarity, an answer you did not know you sought, a burden momentarily lifted. Not all miracles are eternal, but sometimes, even the briefest of mercies can be enough.

  So let us not mourn what has passed but cherish the mystery we were privileged to share. Though the masks are removed and the night has ended, may the enchantment of this evening linger in ways words cannot capture.

  With deepest reverence and eternal remembrance,

  Lady Aedyra Witchrift

  Mistress of Witchrift Manor

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