The castle's kitchen was oddly quiet for such a vast, imposing place. Lyra sat at a long, scarred wooden table, a bowl of steaming porridge in front of her. The warmth of the fire crackling in the oversized hearth should have been comforting, but it wasn't enough to push away the lingering chill in her bones.
Across from her, perched on the edge of the table like an ominous centerpiece, was Eryss. The black snake's coiled body gleamed faintly in the firelight, her silver eyes glinting with sharp curiosity.
"You eat like you're being forced," Eryss said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "I thought humans *enjoyed* breakfast. Isn't it the most important meal of the day?"
Lyra shot her a look, tearing a piece of crusty bread. "It's hard to enjoy anything with a snake watching me like I'm next on the menu."
Eryss flicked her tongue lazily. "Please, darling. If I wanted to eat you, I'd have done it the moment you touched Caelan and upset the delicate balance of this cursed hellhole."
Lyra's spoon froze midway to her mouth. "Charming," she muttered, setting it back in the bowl.
Eryss tilted her head, her voice turning mockingly thoughtful. "I must admit, though, you're fascinating. Most people who stumble into this castle are either dead within a day or too terrified to think straight. Yet here you are, sulking into porridge like you're at some dreary inn."
Lyra leaned back, crossing her arms. "Is there a point to this little monologue, or are you just here to make breakfast unbearable?"
"Both," Eryss replied smoothly, her silver eyes narrowing in amusement. "You see, I've been tasked with babysitting you. Ensuring you don't wander off and accidentally awaken something we'd all regret."
Lyra scoffed, ripping a piece of bread. "I didn't ask for a babysitter."
"And yet here I am," Eryss said, slithering closer. "Believe me, I'm as thrilled about it as you are. I've got better things to do than trail after a brooding human with a penchant for attracting trouble."
"Oh, I'm so sorry to disrupt your busy schedule," Lyra shot back, sarcasm dripping from every word. "What exactly do you do around here, anyway? Nap on cold stones and hiss at the mirrors?"
Eryss let out a low, hissing chuckle. "Careful, little flower. I might actually start liking you if you keep that up."
Despite herself, Lyra cracked a small smile. She tore another piece of bread and dipped it into her tea, the warmth starting to loosen the tightness in her chest.
"Why *are* you helping Caelan, anyway?" Lyra asked after a moment. "You don't seem like the loyal servant type."
Eryss shifted her coils, her tone turning dry. "Oh, darling, I'm no servant. Let's just say Caelan and I have… an arrangement. He tolerates me because I'm clever, and I stick around because he's useful. It's a delicate balance, much like this castle's tenuous hold on reality."
Lyra raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like the most toxic friendship I've ever heard."
Eryss smirked—or as much as a snake could smirk. "And yet, it works. Besides, Caelan's not as unfeeling as he pretends to be. He's just terrible at showing it. You, on the other hand…"
"What about me?" Lyra asked, defensive.
"You wear your emotions like a banner," Eryss said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Every fear, every doubt, every little flicker of hope—it's all right there for anyone to see. It's both your greatest strength and your biggest weakness."
Lyra looked away, her throat tightening. She didn't want to admit the snake was right, but the words hit too close to home. She busied herself with her tea, staring into the dark liquid as if it held the answers she needed.
Eryss tilted her head, her sharp gaze softening slightly. "What brought you to the garden, Lyra? What were you running from?"
Lyra froze, her grip tightening on the cup. For a moment, she considered brushing the question off with a sarcastic remark. But something in Eryss's tone—a rare note of genuine curiosity—made her pause.
She sighed, setting the cup down. "I wasn't running from something," she said quietly. "I was running to someone. My sister, Maeve."
Eryss didn't interrupt, which was surprising. Lyra took a deep breath and continued.
"She was sick. Really sick. And the doctors… they couldn't help her. So I did what anyone would do—I started looking for answers, even in places I shouldn't have."
"The garden," Eryss guessed, her voice unusually gentle.
Lyra nodded. "I'd heard rumors. A place where the flowers could heal anything, even death. I thought if I could just find it, I could save her." Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard. "But by the time I got there, it was too late. Maeve was gone."
The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the crackling fire.
Eryss slithered closer, her sharp humor absent for once. "You blame yourself."
"Of course I do," Lyra whispered, tears stinging her eyes. "I wasted so much time chasing a fairy tale. If I'd stayed with her…"
"Then you'd still have lost her," Eryss said firmly. "And you wouldn't be here now."
Lyra looked up, startled by the conviction in the snake's voice.
"You've got power, Lyra," Eryss continued. "Whether you realize it or not, this place *chose* you. Maybe it's unfair. Maybe it's cruel. But sitting around blaming yourself for something you couldn't change won't help anyone—not Maeve, not you, and certainly not whatever mess Caelan is about to drag you into."
Lyra blinked, her tears threatening to spill over. "That's… surprisingly good advice for a snake."
Eryss chuckled, the sharp edge of her usual wit returning. "Don't get used to it, darling. I have a reputation to uphold."
Lyra managed a small, shaky laugh, wiping her eyes. "Thanks, Eryss. I mean it."
The snake tilted her head, her silver eyes gleaming. "Don't thank me yet. You're still in the middle of a cursed castle with a brooding immortal and a prophecy hanging over your head. But if you survive breakfast without wandering into disaster, we'll call it progress."
Lyra smiled, her heart feeling just a little lighter. For the first time in what felt like ages, she didn't feel entirely alone.