The morning of Celestia's twelfth birthday dawned with an unusual stillness. No celebration would mark the day—the duchy never acknowledged the cursed child's birth. But something in the air felt different, heavy with anticipation. Even the crystal lamps seemed to sense it, their light flickering with uncertain rhythms.
"Young miss," Clara's voice carried barely contained urgency as she entered the laboratory. Her water magic created ripples of tension in the morning air. "Imperial messengers arrived at dawn. They bore the emperor's seal."
Celestia carefully set down the medicinal compound she'd been perfecting. After years of combining holy power with natural elements, she'd created remedies that local healers now quietly sought. The crystal light caught the golden swirls of power in the vial, making them dance like captured sunlight. "What kind of seal?"
"The kind used for marriage arrangements."
The words hung in the air like storm clouds. Through the window, Celestia could see unusual activity in the main house—servants rushing with purpose, nobles arriving in their finest carriages, her parents closeted in the duke's study since daybreak. The grape vines on her window seemed to curl inward, as if trying to protect their mistress from what was coming.
"Lady Rosalind threw quite the tantrum this morning," James reported from his post. At fourteen, his protective stance near the door had become as natural as breathing. "Something about being too young for marriage."
"She's eleven," Celestia murmured, remembering Elizabeth Crawford's own battles against unwanted arrangements. The crystal lamps pulsed gently with her memories. "Of course she's too young."
"The count of Eastmark's son is expected tomorrow," Clara added, her water magic swirling anxiously around the room's crystal vials. "But rumors say he's still fixated on Lady Rosalind, despite the emperor's... suggestions."
Celestia nodded, pieces falling into place like a complex business strategy. The emperor wanted alliances secured. The count's son wanted Rosalind. Her parents wanted to please everyone while protecting their precious younger daughter.
Which left only one solution.
"Clara," she said quietly, watching how the morning light caught her silver-blonde hair—that telling Blackwood trait she'd soon need to hide more carefully. "Implement Protocol Three. James, check our escape routes one last time."
"Young miss?" Clara's eyes widened, her water magic forming protective patterns instinctively. "You think—"
"I think my birthday gift this year will be an unwanted betrothal." Celestia smiled without humor, the crystal lamps dimming to match her mood. "After all, what better use for a cursed child?"
Throughout the day, tension built in the duchy like water behind a dam. Celestia watched from her window as more nobles arrived, their carriages leaving trails of dust in the autumn air. She saw Rosalind throw another tantrum in the garden, her sister's usual golden aura disrupted by storms of emotion. Theodore tried unsuccessfully to speak with their parents, his improved strength—her secret gift to him—evident in how the crystal lamps responded to his passing.
The golden thread connecting her to her twin trembled with his anxiety. They both knew change was coming.
Evening brought a summons she'd long expected. For the first time in years, Celestia was ordered to attend dinner in the main house. The crystal lamps in her study flickered wildly as she prepared, as if sharing her apprehension.
"They can't just—" Clara began, protective instincts flaring in waves of water magic.
"They can, and they will." Celestia changed into one of her few proper dresses, one she'd prepared for exactly this scenario. The fabric whispered against her skin like secrets about to be revealed. "Remember what Elizabeth Crawford knew about survival: sometimes you have to lose a battle to win the war."
The main dining hall blazed with crystal lights that made her holy power hum beneath her skin. Nobles stared as she entered, whispers following in her wake. The cursed child, finally emerged from her exile. Their powers created a tapestry of reactions—fear, curiosity, disdain—all visible to her trained senses.
"Sit," the duchess commanded, pointing to a chair far from both Theodore and Rosalind. Her power crackled with barely contained tension.
Celestia complied, noting every exit, every servant's position, every detail Elizabeth Crawford would have considered important. The crystal chandeliers above cast intricate shadows across the dining table, their light seeming to shy away from her presence. Clara, serving as an ordinary maid tonight, caught her eye briefly. Everything was ready.
"The emperor," the duke announced partway through dinner, his voice carrying over the quiet clink of silver against fine porcelain, "has graciously arranged an alliance through marriage between House Blackwood and the Count of Eastmark."
Rosalind's face crumpled with relief, her usual golden aura brightening noticeably. The nobles murmured approvingly, their powers creating a symphony of satisfied hums in the air. And Celestia...
Celestia remembered Elizabeth Crawford's last moments, reaching for her brother's hand as their world spun out of control. She wouldn't let that happen again. The crystal lights above her flickered slightly, responding to her carefully contained emotions.
"Of course," the duchess added with false sweetness that made the wine in crystal glasses tremble, "we would never force our dear Rosalind into marriage so young. Fortunately, we have another daughter of... suitable age."
The silence that followed felt like glass about to shatter. Even the crystal lamps seemed to hold their breath, their light dimming to match the moment's gravity.
"The count's son arrives tomorrow to meet his... bride." The duke's voice carried finality, heavy as a judge's gavel. "The emperor's will be done."
Through the golden thread, Celestia felt Theodore's surge of protective anger. Across the table, Rosalind wouldn't meet her eyes, though guilt colored her sister's usually bright aura with darker shades.
Later that night, in her laboratory, Celestia reviewed her preparations one last time. "They think they're solving all their problems," she told Clara and James, her voice steady despite the crystal lamps' agitated flickering. "Using the cursed child to please the emperor while protecting their precious Rosalind."
"But?" Clara prompted, her water magic creating protective patterns around the room.
"But Elizabeth Crawford taught me something important about being used as a solution." Celestia touched the grape vines that had grown strong enough to bear weight now, their leaves seeming to reach for her in comfort. "Sometimes the solution becomes a bigger problem than anyone expected."
She didn't know exactly how tomorrow would play out. But she knew change was coming—she could feel it in her holy power, see it in her blooming roses, sense it in the golden thread connecting her to Theodore.
"Be ready," she instructed her loyal servants, watching how the evening light caught Clara's water magic and James's protective stance. "Whatever happens tomorrow, be ready."
In the darkness of her room, Celestia stood at her window one last time as the cursed child of House Blackwood. Tomorrow would bring either a chain or a chance.
And she'd learned in two lives never to waste a chance.