Chapter 61 Seraphine
I leaned my forehead against the mirror.
“So I’m not human,” I whispered. “And I’m not… enough.”
My throat burned.
“I’m just a chubby, messy dragonborn,” I murmured, tears finally spilling, “who doesn’t even get to be wanted for herself.”
Behind the door, Dante spoke again—softer, urgent.
“I’m attracted to you,” he said. “This isn’t about that.”
But it felt like it was.
Every insecurity I’d ever buried clawed its way up at once.
Every date that didn’t go anywhere.
Every man who’d looked but never stayed.
Every time I’d wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with me.
No, my mind whispered cruelly.
Just not enough to keep someone like him.
I straightened slowly, wiping my face with shaking hands.
I was dragonborn.
I couldn’t change that.
But gods help me—I didn’t know how to live with it yet.
“Just—give me a minute,” I called through the door, my voice cracking despite my effort. “Please.”
The fire retreated completely.
The absence of it hurt more than the heat ever had.
And for the first time since all of this started, I wasn’t afraid of war.
I was afraid that the one person who made me feel powerful only wanted the part of me that wasn’t human at all.
A few minutes passed.
Maybe more.
Time didn’t work right when you were unraveling.
Then—soft knuckles against the door.
Not demanding. Not authoritative.
Careful.
“Seraphine,” Dante said quietly. “The food’s here.”
I closed my eyes.
Of course it was.
I opened the door anyway. Slowly. Like stepping out of cover.
The living area smelled incredible—warm bread, herbs, something rich and savory that made my stomach flip violently. My body reacted before my pride could stop it, a sharp twist of hunger that felt almost painful.
I hated it.
“I’m not hungry,” I said immediately.
Dante’s eyes flicked to my face. Then my hands. Then my posture.
“You are,” he said gently. “You need to eat. Now. Before you pass out or hurt yourself.”
The concern in his voice made everything worse.
“I can’t,” I whispered.
He stepped closer. Not touching me. Just there.
“You can,” he said. “I’ll sit with you. You don’t have to—”
“I can’t,” I repeated, louder this time, tears spilling again. “I just—please. I can’t.”
My chest caved inward like something had finally snapped.
He reached for me instinctively—and I broke.
I turned away, choking on a sob, retreating back into the bathroom like it was the only place left that couldn’t judge me.
“I’m sorry,” I said, though I wasn’t sure for what. “I’m sorry, I just—”
The door shut again.
This time I locked it.
I stripped out of my clothes with numb hands and stepped into the shower, turning the heat up until steam swallowed the room. The water hit my skin hard—too hot, almost—but I welcomed it. It drowned out everything else.
I looked down at myself.
At my stomach.
My hips.
The soft places I’d learned to apologize for without ever being asked.
The tears came fast then. Uncontrollable. Ugly.
“I tried,” I whispered to no one. “I really tried.”
My legs gave out.
I slid down the tiled wall until I was sitting on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, arms wrapped tight around myself as the hot water poured over me.
The dragon inside me—once bright, once curious—dimmed.
Not extinguished.
Just… tired.
Too tired to fight. Too tired to burn.
The hatred crept back in quietly, settling deep in my bones like it had always been there, just waiting for permission.
I pressed my forehead against my knees and let the water hide my sobs.
I was done.
I stayed there longer than I should have.
Long enough for the water to start cooling and my skin to wrinkle, long enough for the steam to thin and reality to creep back in. My chest hurt in that deep, aching way that meant I’d been crying hard—really crying—the kind that leaves you empty afterward.
I didn’t try to stop it.
I let myself sob until there was nothing left to pull from my lungs.
My forehead rested against my knees. My arms wrapped tighter around myself, like if I held on hard enough, I wouldn’t fall apart any further.
This isn’t me, I thought.
Not the fire.
Not the power.
Not the way everyone’s eyes changed the moment they realized what I was.
I squeezed my eyes shut.
“I’m done,” I whispered aloud, the words shaky but real. “I’m done with this.”
Done with Dante’s careful distance and dangerous intensity.
Done with Lucian’s warnings and the way everything suddenly had stakes I never asked for.
Done with kings and territories and power plays and being looked at like a weapon instead of a person.
Done with being dragonborn.
The thought felt wrong the moment it formed—like trying to deny a limb—but it was also the first thing that felt mine since all of this started.
I didn’t know how I did it.
There was no spell. No dramatic moment. No surge of power.
Just… refusal.
I turned inward, to that heat that had always been there, even before I had words for it. The warmth that flared when I was angry. The pull I’d felt around Dante. The fire everyone else seemed so hungry for.
No, I told it.
Not violently. Not with fear.
Just… firmly.
I can’t be this.
The fire resisted at first—not angrily, just confused. Like it didn’t understand why I was pulling away from something that was supposed to be natural.
“I can’t live like this,” I whispered. “I can’t live knowing that without you, I’m nothing to them.”
That hurt the most to admit.
Because maybe it wasn’t entirely true—but it felt true enough to poison everything.
Slowly, the heat receded.
Not extinguished.
Contained.
Like a door closing gently but decisively.
The warmth that had once lived under my skin faded to something distant, muted. The bathroom felt colder immediately. Quieter. Emptier.
Human.
I exhaled, a shuddering breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.
“I choose me,” I said hoarsely. “I choose being human.”