Page 128 of The Devil's Canvas

The air tastes electric. The space hums with something sharp, like a held breath at the edge of a scream. A stool waits in the corner, simple and shadowed, as if carved from memory itself. I take it. It fits, just like it’s been waiting for me to arrive.

I reach toward the threads. And they move.

Not all—just the ones that know me. A gold strand grazes my fingertips and flares, stuttering with a rhythm I know too well. Another twines with it, barely pulsing. Fading.

I don’t question. I don’t flinch. I don’t think. I begin. The threads twist around my hands, guiding me—not like a teacher, but like a partner. Like the loom isn’t just a tool, but a listener. A witness. A participant.

I find the thread that broke. The one that tore when he fell. And without apology, I start to weave.

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, threads humming through my hands, but something inside me has shifted. I can feel again. I want to create again. I want to live.

I turn on the stool and look over to Julian. He's still there, arms crossed, and smiling wide at me.

But he's not alone. His parents and brothers are standing to his right. His aunt and uncle along with his cousins to his left. Right beside him is a woman I almost forgot.

Not in truth—but in detail. Time softened her edges. I held on to fragments and prayed they were real.

But now she’s here.

And I remember everything.

The way her curls fall in soft spirals, always scented with lavender and honey. The faint dimple in her cheek that only appears when she smiles—like a secret she never meant to share. Her eyes—blue, wide, and full of that look she only gave me, like I was the center of every story she ever wanted to tell.

“Mom?” I whisper, breath snagging in my throat.

She nods, and tears spill before her smile can reach me.

I run to her and throw myself into her arms. She still feels the same. Like lullabies and warm sweaters. Like the safest place I’ve ever known. She pulls me tighter, hands cradling the back of my head.

“My sweet girl,” she whispers, voice trembling. “I’ve missed you every day.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, burying my face against her shoulder. “I thought I’d forgotten you.”

“You didn’t.” She leans back just enough to look at me, brushing hair from my face. “You remembered the parts that mattered.”

I nod, unable to speak, afraid that if I try, I’ll fall apart all over again.

She presses her forehead to mine, her thumb catching one of my tears. “You’re here now,” she says softly. “That’s all that matters.”

I can't even put into words how good I feel. It’s like spring bursting through my chest— every flower blooming at once just to say, you made it.

"We need to talk about the Infernal Union," Selene says, practically vibrating with excitement.

"Really?" Julian groans. "Ophelia just came back to me and is reconnecting with her mother. Is this really the moment?"

I laugh, walking straight into his arms. He wraps me up without hesitation, his warmth sinking into me like sunlight through skin. I tip my head back, and he leans down—

But this kiss isn’t light.

It’s lingering. Deep. A promise pressed to my mouth like he’s afraid to let go again. Like the only way to prove I’m real is to kiss me until I forget we were ever apart.

When we finally pull away, my heart is pounding—and his smile tells me he felt it too.

"Yes! Julian, this is our first Infernal Union!" Selene practically squeals, clapping like a schoolgirl at a blood ritual. “Do you even know how rare it is to plan a wedding where the vows might summon an elder god?”

Julian groans. “We just got back together. Can we wait, I don’t know, five minutes before picking out hellflowers and soulbond fonts?”

“Son,” Liora cuts in, her tone as regal as ever. “We just want what's best for you. Both of you.” Her gaze sharpens. “And I will be reviewing your guest list.”

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