Chapter 38 Lost In a Snow Globe.
Damien
She stands at the threshold like she’s afraid to breathe too hard and wake the room. The light from the windows catches the white in her hair, turning it silver, like she’s made of the same moonlight spilling across the floor. And she just… looks. I’ve walked these floors a thousand times, and yet somehow, it feels like I’m seeing it new through her eyes.
The dragon hums in my head, low and smug. She likes it.
“She does,” I murmur, half under my breath.
Bella turns her head slightly. “Did you say something?”
“No,” I say quickly.
She hums in suspicion, narrowing her eyes at me, but thankfully goes back to wandering, her fingers grazing the edges of the shelves.
Every step she takes is delicate and thoughtful. Like she’s walking through a temple, not a room full of old books. She stops at one of the lower shelves and pulls a book free, holding it carefully as if it might crumble. “This is incredible,” she whispers. “You could live a thousand lives in here.”
I swallow, my throat tight. “That was the idea.”
She looks up at me, curiosity flickering across her face. “Yours?”
“My mother’s,” I say, the words coming easier than I expect. “She built this room before I was born. Said the mind needs as many walls as the heart does… but softer ones. She wanted me to read every story that ever taught someone to hope.”
Bella’s expression softens in a way that makes it hard to stand still. “She sounds kind.”
“She was.”
The dragon rumbles quietly, a sound like distant thunder. She was fierce. You forget that part.
A small smile pulls at my mouth. “Also terrifying. You probably would have gotten on well with her.”
Bella runs her thumb along the spine of the book, her gaze sweeping upward. “She must have loved you a lot to build something like this.”
“She did.” I glance toward the high windows. “And I burned half of it once.”
That earns me her full attention. Her head snaps to me, and the book she holds is pressed protectively to her chest. “You what?”
“The night she died,” I admit, the words dragging out of me like gravel. “I couldn’t control it... My fire. Grief makes dragons unpredictable.”
She doesn’t speak for a while. Just looks at me like she’s trying to see inside of my bloody soul. Then she says softly, “You rebuilt it?”
“I tried.”
Her gaze lingers a little longer on me before she smiles faintly and goes back to the shelves, humming under her breath as she reads the titles. The quiet between us feels… easier than I remember quiet ever being.
She pulls out another book, this one heavier, and flips it open with a little gasp. “These are all handwritten.”
“Many are originals,” I tell her. “Some are copies of older works, others are unique to this kingdom. They all took a lot of time to aquire.”
“Unique?” she echoes, eyes glinting with intrigue. “Like what?”
I step closer, gesturing to a section by the window. “That row there holds myths of transformation. Dragons, sirens, wolves, old gods. The one beside it holds stories written by those who swore they met them.”
Bella laughs, light and melodic. “So it's a fairytale library in a fairytale castle. How very poetic of you.”
“I didn’t plan it that way.”
She smirks. “Sure you didn’t.”
The dragon stirs again, warm and heavy inside my mind. She belongs here.
I grit my teeth. “Don’t start.”
You’re the one staring.
“I’m not—” I stop, catching myself mid-denial.
Bella is crouched now, skimming the lower shelves, hair falling over her shoulder like frost. Gilfred perches nearby, watching her like a miniature guard. Something in my chest shifts, an ache I can’t quite name. She looks over her shoulder suddenly, catching me mid-thought. “Can I borrow one?”
“Borrow?”
“Well, unless you’re planning to guard them all with your dragon hoard.”
I hesitate, then shake my head. “No. You don’t have to borrow. You can have any you like.”
Her eyebrows lift. “You’re just giving away your mother’s collection to a girl you met yesterday?”
“Not giving,” I correct softly. “Sharing.”
That makes her pause. Her expression falters for just a second before something gentler replaces it.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
I nod, unable to look directly at her for a moment. “You’re welcome.”
She picks a smaller book from the nearest table. It's bound in pale blue leather, gold lettering fading along the edges. Then she drifts toward one of the wide windows, curling up in the light like she’s found her corner of the world. I stand there, uselessly, for a while. Watching her read. Watching her lips move silently along the lines. And gods help me, the castle feels alive again.
The dragon hums low and content. The storm in her heart speaks to ours. Let her stay.
“She’s not a storm,” I whisper back. “She’s… something else.”
Exactly, the dragon says, almost purring. And that’s why we’ll keep her safe.
I lean against the nearest column, exhaling slowly. The light shifts across the floor, painting the room in gold and shadow. Bella flips a page, lost in whatever world she’s fallen into, and honestly, it brings me a sense of calm that I haven't felt for a very long time. Not since I was a boy and my mother sat in that exact spot, reading to me. I take a seat at one of the tables and I just watch her. I'm sure if she finds it unsettling, she will tell me. Although there's a big part of me that wishes she won't, that she will allow me to stay on the outside of her snow globe, looking in at the beauty that is simply her, lost in her own world. If there is a duty that needs me right now, I don't care. The world outside this room can wait. For now, this is enough.