The Forgotten Pulse of the Bond-Chapter 108: The Womb Mirror

"Look at her. She’s still standing there."

"Talking to her own reflection."

"No. Not her reflection. Something else."

Whispers slipped through the stone walls of the east wing like smoke. The maids wouldn’t go near the room. Not anymore. Not since Camille had taken to the moonlit mirror.

Camille stood barefoot in front of the ancient mirror etched into the wall of the fortress. It was rimmed in tarnished silver, older than the keep itself, and cold as the bite of steel in midwinter. Her silk nightgown clung to her skin, damp with sweat though the chamber was freezing.

Her hands trembled at her sides.

The mirror didn’t show the room behind her. It didn’t even show her.

It showed two versions of her instead.

One was serene, calm, a perfect queen, face glowing with maternal light, hand resting over her stomach like she was already cradling a life within.

The other?

The other Camille was monstrous.

Skin cracked like dried blood. Eyes pitch black. Hair floating as if underwater, writhing like serpents. That version smiled. Smiled with teeth not made for a woman. Smiled like she wanted to be seen.

Camille blinked, and the mirror flickered. For a breath, she was alone. Her own face. Pale. Lined with exhaustion. But then the flicker returned.

"Which of you is real?" she whispered.

The words didn’t sound like hers.

A soft voice answered her. It came not from the mirror but from her own mouth.

"We are both real. One to bear. One to break."

Camille stumbled backward, her heel hitting the cold stone. Her hands flew to her stomach, breath catching. A low hum had started in her ears. The same sound she’d heard when the prophecy was first spoken.

The womb is the gate.

She heard it again. As if whispered by a thousand women through time.

The womb is the gate.

She clutched her belly tighter. "I think I’m pregnant," she said.

But her voice wasn’t hers. It was deeper. Hungrier.

And from the mirror, both versions smiled.

Outside the room, Rhett paced. Magnolia stood with him, arms crossed, her expression sharp.

"You think she knows?" Magnolia asked.

"She knows something," Rhett muttered. "But I don’t know if it’s her who knows... or something inside her."

Magnolia tilted her head. "She said she was having dreams. About children. Blood. Crimson water."

"She also said she hasn’t bled in weeks." Rhett stopped pacing. "I need to know if it’s true."

"You think she’s carrying something?"

"I don’t know what I think anymore." He moved toward the heavy oak door. "But I’m going in."

Camille didn’t turn as the door creaked.

"Stay back," she said softly.

Rhett stepped inside anyway, closing the door behind him.

"Camille."

She turned then. Slowly. Her eyes were glowing faintly. Not the familiar silver of wolf-sight. This was different. Like moonlight through blood.

He froze.

"What did you see?" he asked.

"Myself." She gave a bitter laugh. "And not myself."

"You said you think you’re pregnant."

She didn’t deny it.

Instead, she walked toward him, steps quiet on the stone floor. Her hands rested over her stomach.

"There is something inside me," she said. "And it’s not just a child."

"Then what is it?"

She looked past him, eyes glassy.

"It feels like... like I opened a door. And something walked through. And it didn’t come alone."

Rhett’s heart clenched. "What door?"

"The one carved into my blood. Into all our blood."

She raised her hand. Her fingers traced the air in front of his chest.

"You opened it when you marked her," she said. "And now it can never be closed."

He grabbed her shoulders. "Camille, focus. Is it true? Are you carrying a child?"

Tears welled in her eyes. "I think so. But sometimes I feel it kick before I sleep, and other times, it kicks when I wake. Like it never sleeps."

"That’s not how it should be."

Camille laughed then. Sharp and wild.

"Nothing has ever been how it should be, Rhett."

She pulled away and turned to the mirror again.

Both versions stared back now. And behind them, for just a moment, Rhett saw something else, a forest burning, a silver cradle, and wolves crawling from the flames.

"What did you see?" Camille asked, as if reading his thoughts.

"Nothing."

"Don’t lie to me."

He didn’t answer.

Camille placed her palm against the mirror.

The glass rippled.

In the hallway, Magnolia backed away from the door, heart racing. She’d seen the light leaking from under the threshold. Felt the tremor in the air.

She turned and ran to Celeste.

Back inside, the mirror pulsed.

Camille began to hum. Low and haunting.

Rhett took a step back.

The reflection changed again.

And this time, he saw not Camille’s face.

He saw the child. Eyes glowing. Mouth open. Screaming.

And then Camille collapsed.

He caught her.

She whispered one last thing before darkness took her.

"It’s not just me."

"She’s in the eastern wing now. No one goes in. No one."

Rhett’s voice carried down the corridor, low but final. The guards at the marble arch exchanged a nervous glance, then nodded in silence. Behind them, thick ironwood doors loomed like sealed gates to a forgotten crypt. Inside, Camille waited. Or whatever version of Camille now occupied her skin.

Magnolia stood at the curve of the hallway, cloaked in shadow. She hadn’t moved since Rhett issued the decree. Her heart was loud in her chest, thudding like warning drums. She wanted to speak. To scream. But something in Rhett’s eyes held her still.

He looked like stone. No fury, no heartbreak. Just granite resolve.

"You’re sure this is the right move?" she asked softly, barely above a whisper.

Rhett turned to her slowly. His golden eyes were dull, almost ash-gray, drained from nights of sleepless strategy and relentless worry.

"Until we know what she is, she stays there. Protected. Contained. Watched."

Magnolia folded her arms, watching the slow way his fingers twitched against his thigh. The bond between them buzzed with tension. Not rejection, but restraint. Like he wanted to fall apart in her arms but couldn’t afford the luxury.

"She said she’s pregnant," Magnolia reminded him, stepping closer. "What if it’s true?"

Rhett flinched. A bare wince. But he didn’t look away.

"Then we find out what that means for us."

Inside the chamber, Camille paced. Her bare feet whispered across the floor, the marble cool beneath her soles. She traced the veins in the stone with her toes, trying to ground herself. But the mirror still stood at the center, veiled in silk now, like a body laid to rest.

She could feel it humming.

She could feel her humming.

They spoke less now, the voice that wasn’t hers, the one who lived behind her eyes. But when it did speak, it said things that made Camille want to peel her skin off and run.

"They think they can cage us. They always have."

Camille laughed, bitter and quiet. "You’re me. You are me. Why do you talk like we’re separate?"

Silence. And then:

"Because we are."

Outside the door, Magnolia leaned her head against the wall. She had half a mind to go in, to confront Camille, to hold her hand again and see what she saw in that other memory. The baby. The fire. The gold and red eyes. That cry.

But fear kept her fingers still at her sides.

Rhett turned to go, boots echoing against the stone floor.

"Where are you going?" Magnolia asked.

"War table. The elders have questions."

She didn’t respond. Just watched him go, watched the tight pull of his shoulders, the scars at the nape of his neck, the part of him that always looked like it was already carrying the end of the world.

Inside, Camille walked to the window. The eastern wing was cold. No sun reached this side of the fortress. Only mist and ivy and the moon when it was high.

She pressed her hand to the glass.

"You know they’ll come for you," the voice said.

Camille smiled.

"They always do."

Her stomach twisted again. Not pain. Not quite. A pulsing, warm sensation low in her belly. She held it with both hands.

"Is it you?" she whispered.

The voice laughed. No. It’s him.

The knock came sharp. Once.

Camille turned. Magnolia.

"You’re not supposed to be here," Camille said.

Magnolia pushed open the door. "Since when do I follow rules?"

The moment stretched long. Magnolia stepped inside slowly, her fingers tracing the blade strapped beneath her robe. Just in case.

Camille turned to her fully, arms wrapped around her belly protectively.

"Is it real?" Magnolia asked. "The pregnancy. Or just another game?"

Camille walked toward her, slowly, her eyes too calm.

"Would it matter? If I said yes?"

Magnolia hesitated. "It would mean I need to keep you alive. Even if I don’t know who you are."

Camille tilted her head. "I’m both. Me and the other. The mirror cracked, Magnolia. We can’t go back."

Magnolia stepped forward. "Then tell me the truth."

Camille exhaled, then lifted her hand, palm glowing faintly. Her eyes fluttered closed.

For a second, just one, the room blurred, and Camille’s face shifted. Not physically. Spiritually. Her posture changed. Her breath slowed.

When she opened her eyes again, they were red.

"He is coming. Through me. And when he arrives, this world will burn."

Magnolia raised her hand toward her blade.

"Try it," the thing in Camille said, smirking. "Let’s see how much of her you want to bleed."

Camille dropped to her knees, shaking.

Magnolia stood frozen, tears burning her lashes.

"Tell Rhett," Camille whispered, voice barely her own. "Tell him I tried to fight. I tried."

She collapsed, unconscious. The glow faded.

Magnolia dropped to her knees beside her, touching her wrist.

The pulse thudded. But it wasn’t alone.

Another rhythm beat inside her. Tiny. Fast. Terrifying.

"Gods," Magnolia whispered. "It’s true."

Behind her, the mirror cracked down the middle, soundless and precise.

Outside, Rhett looked up from his war map, brows furrowing.

Something had shifted. Something irreversible.

And the real war hadn’t even begun.