Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105939 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 353(@300wpm)
And he was just another variable in an equation that had been running for over a century.
“You snake.” The words came out as a growl, primal and raw. “You’ve been playing us all along.”
“Playing?” Maestro tilted his head, genuinely puzzled. “No, dear Bastien. Playing implies frivolity, games without consequence. I’ve been curating you. Every moment, every choice, every heartbreak—all carefully orchestrated to produce the exact emotional resonance needed for the final awakening.”
Something inside Bastien snapped. All the careful control he’d maintained, all the patient investigation and measured responses—it all crumbled in the face of this casual admission of manipulation. He lunged forward, iron blade singing as it cleared its sheath, but his fist connected first. The punch landed square on Maestro’s jaw with a satisfying crack that echoed through the phantom opera house like a gunshot.
The fae staggered back, more from surprise than pain, his form flickering like a candle in wind. Blood—if it could be called that—shimmered silver where it touched his lips, and for a moment the glamour around them wavered, revealing glimpses of the building’s true decay.
“Careful, angel,” Maestro warned, but his voice carried approval rather than anger. He touched his lip with one finger, examining the silver blood with detached interest. “Violence is just another note in the symphony. Another thread in the weaving. Even this—your righteous fury, your sense of betrayal—it all serves the greater composition.”
“I’m done being your puppet.” Bastien raised the iron blade he kept hidden, its metal singing with cold fire in the magical atmosphere.
“Are you?” Maestro began to fade, his form becoming translucent silk and smoke. “Because from where I stand, you’re performing your role perfectly. The devoted protector, the righteous guardian, the man who loves her enough to fight gods and monsters for her sake—exactly what Delphine needs to complete her transformation.”
The opera house began to blur around the edges, reality reasserting itself as Maestro’s presence diminished. The phantom audience was applauding now, a thunderous ovation that seemed to come from all directions at once.
“She’ll need you more than ever in the days to come, Bastien,” the fae’s voice came from everywhere and nowhere, fading like the last notes of a lullaby. “The final awakening is always the most dangerous. The vessel must be strong enough to contain what it’s about to become, and love—true love, the kind that would sacrifice everything—is the only foundation strong enough to build upon.”
“She doesn't even remember me,” Bastien said, his voice barely above a whisper.
“But you remember her. And that's enough. The bond exists in you, stronger than ever because it's been tested by separation. That pain you carry—it's made the connection nearly indestructible.” Maestro's smile was genuinely appreciative. “I couldn't have designed it better myself.”
“I won't let you use her.”
“You think you have a choice?” Maestro laughed, and the sound echoed through the opera house like thunder. “My dear boy, the ritual is already beginning. Every time she hums that melody, every time she reaches for a pendant she doesn't remember buying, every time she looks at you with recognition she can't explain—the bond grows stronger. Soon it will be visible even to mortals, a thread of light connecting your souls across space and time.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Simple. When the time comes, don't fight the harvesting. Let the bond flow into the ritual matrix willingly. The process will be . . . gentler that way. Less chance of damaging the delicate resonance patterns.” Maestro's tone was almost clinical now, as if discussing the weather. “In return, I'll ensure Delphine's memories of you are pleasant ones. She'll live out her life believing she once knew a kind man who helped her research old books. Nothing more.”
“And the rest of the world?”
“Will be reshaped according to my vision. No more war, no more hatred, no more meaningless suffering. Isn't that worth the sacrifice of one bond, no matter how precious?”
“Wait!” But Bastien was shouting at empty air. The fae had vanished, leaving only the scent of jasmine and the fading echo of harpsichord music. The opera house began to dissolve around Bastien, reality reasserting itself with jarring suddenness. He found himself standing in an abandoned mansion, surrounded by rotting furniture and broken windows. The glamour had lifted, leaving only the mundane decay of a building that had been empty for decades.
Rats scurried in the walls, and somewhere water dripped with monotonous persistence. But the taste of copper and honey lingered on his tongue, and his knuckles ached where they’d connected with Maestro’s jaw—proof that what had happened here was more than just illusion.
He pulled out his phone with shaking fingers, speed-dialing Maman’s number. She answered on the first ring, as if she’d been waiting by the phone.
“Bastien? What—”
“He’s not playing us,” Bastien said, his voice hoarse with fury and realization. “He’s curating us. Delphine, me, probably you too—we’re all specimens in his experiment. And it’s been running for over a century.”