I remained frozen, staring at the woman with bright red hair and molten-gold eyes, trying to force words out of my mouth… only to realize nothing happened.

My lips didn't move.

My breath didn't hitch.

My hands didn't twitch.

I wasn't in my body.

Right.

Of course.

This was a memory. a completely sealed part of my mind. And I was only a watcher, not a participant.

The version of me sitting in the booth, young, unscarred, bright-eyed, and painfully earnest, moved instead.

Memory-Belle inhaled, steady and composed in a way I definitely wasn't right now, and opened her mouth.

"Master Stella," she said gently, "why did you call me here? Aren't you busy with the war?"

My throat tightened.

Hearing her voice again my old voice, softer, lighter, untouched by curses or grief, felt like a punch through the ribs. I hadn't realized how much weight I carried now until I heard the version of me who didn't carry it yet.

Across the table, Stella smiled.

And by the stars, it was exactly how I remembered, soft, amused, secretly proud, the kind of smile that made you feel like you'd done something right even if you hadn't done anything at all.

Stella leaned back slightly, her golden eyes locking onto memory-me with a piercing gentleness that made my chest ache.

"What?" she teased lightly. "A teacher can't talk to her student?"

Memory-me huffed in that stubborn, overly responsible way I used to. "You're needed at the Western Front. The war with the demons won't fight itself."

A faint blush dusted her cheeks before she added, quieter,

"…but since I am such a good disciple, I will talk to my old master."

Ah.

There it was.

The way I used to hide affection under irritation, loyalty under professionalism, softness under duty. I remembered that version of myself so vividly it almost hurt.

Stella let out a soft laugh, warm as summer. Then she leaned forward across the table and lifted a hand, ruffling memory-me's hair with the ease of someone who had done it a thousand times before.

Memory-Belle puffed up instantly, scowling. "Master! Not the hair!"

She swatted Stella's hand away, but it was playful, not angry...like a cat pretending it didn't like being petted while actively leaning into the touch.

I watched it all unfold from inside my own mind, and something twisted in my chest.

Stella.

My master.

My mentor.

The person who shaped me into who I became.

The person I had to kill and bury with my own two hands.

I felt the memory through two sets of emotions, hers… and mine.

Memory-me was embarrassed, flustered, and trying to act mature in front of someone she admired far too much.

Present-me?

I was drowning.

Why this memory? Why now? What was my heart trying to tell me?

I tried to reach out, instinctively toward Stella, even though I knew I couldn't touch her, couldn't speak, couldn't interrupt the moment sealed in time.

My fingers passed through the air like smoke.

She's dead, I reminded myself. You buried her. You moved on. You swore you did.

But the warmth in her smile.

The light in her eyes.

The easy affection.

The gentle weight of her hand on my younger self's hair.

Stella pulled back and folded her hands on the table, that familiar, gentle confidence radiating from her like sunlight. Memory-me sat straighter, attentive, disciplined, trying so hard to look like a model disciple despite the faint puffiness in her cheeks from being teased.

Then Stella smiled in a way I hadn't seen in…a long time.

Soft.

Embarrassed.

Glowing.

"I wanted to tell you something important," she said.

Memory-me blinked. "Important? More important than war reports?"

Stella nodded, eyes bright. "I got proposed to. Yesterday."

Memory-me froze.

I froze inside myself too, because I remembered this.

The café.

The stupid wooden spoon stirring itself in my untouched tea. The way the air smelled like cinnamon. But I hadn't remembered what she said next. Not really. I had buried that deep, deeper than her grave.

Memory-me's lips parted. "P–Proposed? As in… marriage?"

"As in marriage," Stella laughed, shoulders relaxing with a joy so pure it made something in my chest twist painfully. "It was the best day of my life."

Stella leaned back slightly, her red hair catching the café lights as she continued, her voice softening into something warm enough to melt stone.

"When I'm with him," she said, "I feel like… the world makes sense. Like I'm grounded. Safe. Like everything ugly gets quiet."

Memory-me nodded slowly, listening with the kind of focused respect she always held for her master.

But I, present-me, felt the words hitting far too close.

Stella kept going, her golden eyes turning fond in a way that felt almost holy.

"And when he's not with me… It's like my chest tightens. Like a string is being pulled taut inside me. I miss him before he even leaves the room. I think of him at the oddest times. And the moment he's gone too long, it feels…" She paused, searching for a word. "…wrong. Like something important is missing."

My breath caught.

Because those words, every single one, matched exactly what I felt around Sebastian.

The warmth when he stood too close.

The ache when he walked away.

The suffocating panic when other girls looked at him.

The ridiculous jealousy I felt when he carried Nora, even for a second.

The fuzzy comfort that spread through me whenever he smiled in my direction.

Memory-me whispered, almost afraid to break the moment, "Master… that sounds like—"

"Love?" Stella finished, smiling as if she could see straight through her.

And in that instant, the world didn't just click.

It slammed into place.

Inside me, present-me something shattered, then reformed in the span of a single heartbeat.

I… love him.

The thought was small at first.

Frightened.

Trembling.

I love him.

It grew.

I—Belle Ardent—am in love with Sebastian Nekros.

And the moment the truth reached the center of my chest...

Everything around me began to dissolve.

The walls melted into drifting particles of memory.

The sunlight fractured into ribbons of gold.

The smell of cinnamon faded into silence.

The voices blurred.

Memory-me stood still, frozen mid-breath.

Stella was the only thing that remained clear.

She turned, not to the Belle in the memory, but to me, the real Belle watching helplessly from within her own mind.

Our eyes met.

Her golden ones softened with the familiarity of a lifetime.

When she spoke, her voice was gentle and weightless, yet it hit like a hammer.

"When you love someone," she said, "you have no control."

The café trembled.

"That's what love is."

My heart stuttered.

"Being powerless."

The last thing that remained, before the memory collapsed entirely, was her smile soft, proud, and endlessly kind.

"Always remember that, Belle."

Then Stella, my master, my past, my buried heart, and my sin, vanished like dust in sunlight.

And I was back.

Back in the control room.

Back in my chair.

Back in my blindfolded, cursed body.

The cloud-screens swirled before me.

Alectra was speaking.

The Aetherium hummed above.

The world returned.

But I didn't.

I sat frozen, breath shaking in my chest, one hand pressed over a heart that suddenly felt too full, too raw, too terrified.

I'm in love with Sebastian.

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