The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 80: Camille’s Mirror Shatters

You’re not real," Camille whispered, her breath fogging the cracked surface of the ornate mirror. The bedroom was drenched in blue moonlight, casting a cold pallor over everything, the bed’s velvet canopy, the ivory carpet, the untouched silver brush on her vanity. Her eyes were wide, haunted, red-rimmed from sleepless nights and screaming silences.

But her reflection didn’t match her trembling lips.

In the mirror, Camille stood taller. Straighter. Her skin was radiant, her belly round and glowing, and her eyes, those eyes, burned crimson, deep as blood clotted in snow.

"You know me," the voice from the glass said.

"No," Camille shook her head. "No, I don’t."

"You carried me. You made me."

"You’re not mine!"

The mirror image smiled, not kindly. It was the smirk of a queen, of a curse, of something ancient that had waited too long. "I am prophecy. I am the flame reborn."

Camille staggered back from the vanity, knocking over a porcelain lamp. It shattered on the floor like a scream swallowed in a cathedral.

Behind her, the shadows lengthened. The drapes moved even though the windows were closed. The air thickened.

"You think you can undo fate?" the voice asked.

She clutched her abdomen instinctively. The child moved, again. It had been happening more often. Too often. But this time... this time the kick was not a child’s. It was a clawing. A drag from inside her womb that made her knees buckle.

"Stop," she gasped, collapsing beside the broken lamp. "Just stop."

The mirror darkened, then flickered. Her reflection began to shift. Skin blistered. Eyes rotted. Mouths opened on the cheeks, whispering words in tongues her waking mind couldn’t comprehend. Camille screamed.

That was when the glass exploded.

She felt the shards slice into her arms, her legs, her face. Warmth oozed from her cheek, sliding like tears. She didn’t even cry out. Not at first. Not until the silence returned and her own breath sounded alien in her ears.

And then, from behind her, came a soft voice.

"So... it begins."

Camille turned, slowly, too slowly.

Sterling stood in the doorway, tall and unnervingly serene in his midnight coat. His skin caught the light like marble, and his eyes gleamed like the broken glass around her. His hands were clasped behind his back, as if he’d been waiting for this, watching her spiral until the last thread snapped.

"You," she hissed. "You did this."

"No, my dear," he replied, voice as smooth as poisoned silk. "You did this the moment you accepted what grew inside you."

"I didn’t ask for this!" she shouted. "You forced it. You forced him on me!"

Sterling’s lips curled. "Fate doesn’t ask permission."

She tried to crawl backward, dragging herself across the rug, but her limbs were trembling. She looked for something, anything sharp, but all she had were slivers of her own madness around her. The glass shimmered with residual magic, symbols glowing faintly where blood had landed.

"Please," Camille whispered. "Make it stop."

Sterling stepped into the room, the floorboards creaking beneath his boots. "It won’t stop, Camille. Not now. The prophecy has awoken in you. You’re the vessel, the voice, the flame."

"I’ll kill it," she snarled. "I’ll end it before it ends me."

Sterling stopped inches from her. He crouched, hand reaching for her face. She flinched, but he didn’t touch her. Not yet. Instead, he hovered near the wound on her cheek, and with a faint murmur, the bleeding stopped. The skin sealed, leaving only a thin scar that shimmered faintly.

"You can try," he whispered. "But you won’t. Because part of you wants this. To matter. To burn the ones who scorned you. Magnolia. Beckett. Celeste. Even Rhett."

"Rhett," she whispered his name like it hurt to say it.

"He forgot you. Replaced you. You were never more than a pawn to him. But with this child... with me... you will be queen."

Camille stared at him, shaking, the blood drying in streaks across her collarbone. "And what happens when the queen outlives the king?"

Sterling grinned, slow and amused. "She becomes legend."

She stared at the remains of the mirror. In the scattered shards, she saw visions flicker, visions of fire, wolves howling at a shattered moon, Magnolia bound in silver thorns, Celeste screaming, Beckett vanishing into a black sea, and Rhett... Rhett chained to a pyre, reaching for her as flames consumed him.

"No," she whispered. "No, no, no..."

Her nails dug into her palms until they bled. "It’s not real."

"It’s already happening," Sterling said softly. "Your blood sings to the old gods. The child is waking them. And when it’s born, Camille, the world will break."

She pressed her hands to her ears. "Shut up."

"You are the mirror," Sterling said. "And now, you have shattered."

He stood, towering over her, the light bending oddly around him. "Let go, Camille. Let the prophecy fill you."

She screamed, but this time it wasn’t fear, it was fury.

The floor beneath her trembled. Dust spiraled into the air. The window shutters banged open. Outside, the wind howled. Something ancient had stirred. She could feel it rising in her chest, something not hers, not entirely, but fused to her bones.

And she welcomed it.

Camille stood, slowly, blood dripping from her fingers. Her eyes no longer brown but glowing gold-red, flickering like the reflection of a fire long buried. Her lips curled back into a snarl.

"You want the queen?" she growled. "Then kneel."

Sterling’s smile faded for a split second.

Then he laughed.

"Ah," he whispered. "There she is."

The room convulsed.

Books flew off shelves. Curtains ripped. The shattered mirror pieces rose in the air, orbiting Camille like blades ready to be unleashed. Her breath came in slow, controlled pulls. She was still trembling, but now with power, not fear.

"You will never control me," she said.

Sterling took a step back, but it was deliberate. He bowed his head slightly, in mock respect.

"I don’t need to control you," he said. "I only need you to burn everything you love."

The floor cracked beneath her feet.

And from outside, a low howl answered her pulse.

The prophecy... had taken root.