Chapter 1
Time is irrelevant when you’re frozen.
POV: Noveline
Somewhere deep within still, enchanted water.
Noveline (thoughts):
Let me out...
The things that change us, the ones that curse us— We. Are. Gone.
Time folds over me like water. I forget my name. I remember the stars. There used to be stars, didn’t there?
Frozen doesn’t just mean cold.
It means silenced. Forgotten.
A stillness so loud it rings.
…
POV: Cassian
3 years before the prophecy
Location: Our House, where time passes but never heals anything properly.
My fingers tighten around the notebook. The same page. The same ink, smudged in the corner where I kept going back to her name.
I shouldn’t keep thinking about her. It’s been—
It doesn’t matter how long it’s been.
Salem strolls over like they’re floating on a joke no one else heard.
Salem:
“Y’know…”
He clicks his tongue at me like I’m a child caught brooding again.
Salem:
“For a guy who claims he's not into pain, you sure spend a lot of time looking like a tortured Victorian scholar.”
I don’t look up from my notebook. It’s not even full of answers—just guesses that don’t satisfy.
Cassian:
"I'm not into pain. I'm into answers. Which is more than I can say for you. What exactly are you doing?"
Salem’s smirk softens into something smug.
Salem:
“Providing moral support,”
(cue the eyelash flutter)
“In the form of being hot and mildly distracting.”
He does spirit fingers under his chin, like I’m supposed to be dazzled.
Cassian:
“You’re succeeding—”
Salem leans forward, expectant.
Cassian:
“At one of those.”
He beams like I gave him a flower. Disgusting.
Salem:
“Awwwww, don’t flatter me unless you mean it, Cass. I’m emotionally fragile.”
I look up, finally. Glaring.
Cassian:
“You’ve been emotionally fragile since Linnea stole your eyeliner.”
Salem:
“That was a personal attack and I’m still in mourning.”
He swoons backward off the arm of the couch like the world’s most dramatic ghost. I go quiet. I didn’t mean to, but—
I’m distracted.
And of course, they notice. Somehow, behind all that noise, Salem always knows when to get serious.
Salem:
“…You’re thinking about her again, aren’t you?”
I don’t answer.
I don’t have to.
Cassian:
“I always am.”
He debates saying more, then drops it. Settles deeper into the cushions, limbs sprawling everywhere like always. The quiet actually helps.
Salem:
“We’ll get her back,” he says finally. His voice is softer than usual.
A pause.
Salem (continued):
“Even if it means dealing with enchanted crystals, ancient curses, or—Roselynne forbid—group therapy.”
Cassian:
“If group therapy’s what it takes, we’re leaving you behind.”
He laughs, bright and loud again.
Salem:
“Fair.”
At a later time
(pic of Linnea)
Linnea Any pronouns Cisgender (amab, femboy) Sexuality unknown Vampire ••• POV: Linnea Where: house Time: 3 years pre-prophecy I sit in my room thinking to myself Aveline walks in
(pick of aveline)
aveline
she/her
cisgender
heterosexual
(an ally, of course)
vampire
I sit curled up on my bed, knees drawn to my chest. The sun barely filters through the curtains. It doesn’t need to—I’m not going anywhere. Not yet.
The door creaks open, and Aveline steps in like the warmth she always is.
Aveline:
“It’ll be okay, Lin…”
I nod.
That’s all I’ve been doing lately. Nodding like it’ll fix anything.
But she keeps talking.
Aveline:
“I have good news for you, y’know.”
I glance up. Barely.
Aveline:
“We found it. The list. The things we need to get Noveline out of her ice prison.”
I blink. My breath catches.
A list.
My chest tightens — not in panic this time, but hope. That dangerous, glittering thing.
I can’t stop myself from asking—
Linnea:
“Really?!”
Aveline (smiling):
“Yeah. Everyone’s in the main hall. We’d… really like you to come.”
And somehow, I do.
We walk down the stone corridor, our footsteps echoing off the walls.
The air shifts as we reach the heavy doors. Aveline opens them. The others are already waiting.
…
in the main room
pickture of cassian
he/him transgender male (afab/FtM)
bisexual
vampire
The room has that low golden glow from the chandelier candles, and I can feel how heavy the air gets when Cassian's thinking.
He’s staring at the paper like it personally insulted him.
Cassian:
“Six things?”
Aveline:
“Unfortunately.”
Cassian:
“When are we going?”
