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The Ritual

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Sylvia had imagined it so many times that when it finally happened, she did not believe it.

The air was still after the ritual, heavy and quiet like the moment before a storm. Andreas had said it was done, but she had not dared to look. The candles were nearly gone, wax running down to the table. The scent of incense clung to her skin. Her hands were trembling.

Then she heard it.
A breath.
Soft, human, alive.

She turned and saw her.

Madison.

Her grandmother.
Alive again.

She looked nothing like the faded photographs or the stories her mother told. She was young, beautiful, and full of light. Her eyes were bright blue, the same shade Sylvia saw in her own mirror every morning.

For a few seconds, Sylvia could not move. The weight of what she had done pressed against her chest until she could hardly breathe. She thought she might faint, or cry, or fall to her knees.

Then Madison smiled.

“You must be Sylvia,” she said in a voice that was soft and certain. “You have our eyes.”

Sylvia swallowed hard. “You know me?”

“I have always known you,” Madison said. “I was only waiting for you to find me again.”

The words were beautiful, but they frightened her. There was love in Madison’s eyes, deep and endless, but there was also something else. Something that reached too far, that wanted too much.

Sylvia wanted to hug her. She also wanted to run.

“I did not think it would actually work,” she whispered.

Madison tilted her head slightly, almost smiling. “Of course it worked. You were born for this.”

Sylvia felt tears start to rise. Behind her, Andreas stood quietly, his expression calm and proud. He did not need to speak. His eyes said it for him: You did it.

But Sylvia did not feel proud.

Now that it was real, she was not sure peace was what she had called back.

She had wanted love.
What she brought back might be something far greater. And far more dangerous.