A knock came on Rowena’s door. She was seated by the window, her hands resting on her lap, her thoughts elsewhere. The knock came again, softer this time.

"Come in," she said.

The door opened carefully, and Elowen stepped inside. She held a scroll in her hand, tied with a simple piece of string.

"What took you so long, Elowen?" Rowena demanded.

"My Queen, I am sorry," Elowen said, bowing her head slightly. "And the artist sends his apologies for the delay." She held the scroll out with both hands.

Rowena took the scroll. Then her eyebrows creased. "Did anyone see you?" she asked, looking at the maid.

Elowen shook her head. "No, my Queen. I was careful. I took the secret passage to make sure no one followed me."

Rowena nodded. "Good. You can go."

Elowen curtsied and left the room, closing the door softly behind her.

Rowena waited until she heard the footsteps fade down the corridor. Her fingers tightened slightly around the scroll. Then she moved to the vanity. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, calm but tired. She sat down on the cushioned stool, took a deep breath, and untied the string. Her fingers were slightly shaky as she unrolled the parchment.

The moment the image was fully visible, she gasped. It was her mother’s face. Eirene’s features stared back at her with the hint of a smile that Rowena remembered so well. And every other detail was clear. She had requested it in secret, sending word through Elowen to an artist she had been told could be trusted. It was a risk, but she had not cared.

The days in Drakwyne had stretched into months, and Rowena had found herself thinking of her mother constantly. She kept wondering if she was doing fine and wished they were together.

Her chest tightened. Her fingers were hovering over the portrait, but not touching. Her eyes moved across every part of the image, as if trying to confirm it was real.

"I miss you, mother." She said.

Rowena let out a long sigh and looked up at the mirror in front of her. Her own reflection stared back. But something felt off.

She could see her face, her hair, and her shoulders, but her reflection was smiling. It was a wide, full smile that she herself was not making.

Rowena blinked. Once. Twice. Thrice. The reflection returned to normal. Her face was calm but tired. She blinked again, and it was still normal.

She exhaled slowly. She was tired. The days were long, and sleep did not come easily.

"My mind must be playing tricks on me because I am tired." She murmured.

She looked back down at the portrait again. She lifted her hand and let her fingertips trace the outline of her mother’s jaw, the curve of her cheek. As her finger moved, the smile in the portrait shifted. It widened. The corners of the mouth curved upward, the lips parting slightly.

Rowena jerked back from the vanity, almost tripping off, her hand flying to her mouth. Her eyes darted briefly to the mirror, and her reflection was laughing. The mouth was open, the head tilted back, and the shoulders shaking. The laughter was not silent for long.

The laughter filled the room, a high, sharp sound that bounced off the walls. It grew louder until the surface of the mirror began to crack, thin lines spidering from the center outward, splitting her laughing face into fragments.

Rowena opened her mouth and screamed in terror.

Draven was walking down the corridor towards her chambers when the sound hit him. A high, piercing wail. Then he broke into a run.

He reached her door and pushed it open. He found Rowena crouched near the bed, her body pressed against the wooden frame, her hands clamped over her ears. Her eyes were wide and her mouth still open in a continuous shriek.

Across the room, Draven saw the vanity mirror, its frame still hanging, but the surface a web of shattered glass. He crossed to where she was in a few strides and dropped to his knees beside her. He grabbed her shoulders.

"No! Don’t touch me!" She fought him, her arms flailing, her hands striking at his chest and arms.

"My Queen, it’s Draven. You are safe." Draven held her tighter, pulling her against him, pinning her arms to her sides. "You are safe. You are safe." He said, his mouth close to her ear.

Draven kept repeating the words, his voice low and steady until her screams faded into ragged sobs. Her body trembled against his, but he kept his arms around her, waiting.

After some time, her breathing began to slow. The sobs became hiccups, then silence. She slumped against him, exhausted.

"It’s alright. I’m here with you." Draven helped her to her feet and guided her to the edge of the bed. "Sit."

Rowena sat down on the bed, her hands clamped together and shaky. He poured a glass of water from the pitcher on the side table and handed it to her.

Draven noticed her hands were shaking, so he pressed the cup to her lips, and she drank, water spilling down her chin.

"Is that enough?" He asked.

She nodded once. He returned the cup to the table. Then he sat beside her on the bed and placed a hand on her back, rubbing slow circles between her shoulder blades. She did not pull away, as she always did, whenever he reached out to her.

"What happened?" he asked.

Rowena stared ahead for a few seconds, then she told him. The portrait. The weird smile. The laughter. The mirror.

When she finished, Draven let out a slow breath. He kept his hand on her back.

"This is not random," he said.

Rowena looked at him. "What do you mean?"

"It is the Witch Queen." He replied.

Rowena’s face went pale. "What?"

Draven nodded. "What you just experienced is the Witch Queen trying to take control. Fully. And if she succeeds, you will never be in control again."