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Her voice trembled.

"He died a horrible death. And I... I fell apart. The bond was broken, and the grief—without his touch, without that link—my daughter grew within me unguarded. Unshielded. And I was too lost to protect her."

She looked up briefly, but her eyes didn't meet anyone's. They were elsewhere—trapped in a memory.

"She was beautiful when she was born. Eyes like crystal-clear spring water. Skin like snow, her hair the colour of sun-ripened wheat. The happiest child, or so I thought."

Her fingers tightened around the ribbon.

"She was five when she first shifted—into a wolf pup, small and golden. Quite late, but still. I thought the trauma of losing her father while she was still in the womb was the reason. I was so proud of her, grateful to have her. Until..." Her voice faltered.

"I found her one morning, crouched in the underbrush, playing with a baby bird. When I got closer, I realized she wasn't just playing. She was hurting it—slowly. Letting its mother watch from a nearby branch. The cries..." She swallowed hard. "I ended its suffering quickly. But the way she looked at me—calm. Curious. Not a trace of remorse."

"She was cruel to the weak," the oracle whispered. "Always."

She turned the ribbon over in her hand now, softer, like touching a memory.

"She loved this. Always wore it in her hair, weaving it like a crown. She was almost unearthly beautiful."

Her voice softened as if speaking to herself.

"We named her Lilja... Lily. Sweet to smell—deadly to taste. Lily of the valley."

There was a long pause, and then she looked up, her eyes glassy with something between fear and sorrow.

"This ribbon... it smells of her. She's the one who left it."

Seren felt a tightness in her chest.

"She was born into our tribe," the oracle continued, "but she dreamed of power beyond it. When she was small, Draken followed her everywhere. His mother was pregnant with him when my fated passed. He was protective of Lilja. Infatuated, like so many others. He was her uncle by blood, but only months apart. They grew together. She believed they were destined to rule together. When I saw the bond twisting into something unnatural, I left. Took her away when they were twelve."

"They never forgave me."

Her voice dimmed to a whisper.

"She accused me of betrayal. Of infidelity. She hated me for separating them."

The oracle closed her hand around the ribbon now, her knuckles white.

"When they turned twenty, we returned to Vargrheim. By then, Draken was promised to Astrid. Love came slowly to them, but truly. My daughter... couldn't bear it."

"She vowed to have her revenge. And she disappeared soon after. I heard whispers she was taken in by the Starnheim tribe. Bonded to one of their warriors."

Her voice cracked.

"We never spoke again."

Silence settled again in the room, heavy and absolute.

Then, softly—almost too softly to be heard—the oracle repeated:

"She smells like this. Lily of the Valley. Beautiful. Poisonous."

"She was my daughter. Lilja," she said to herself, lost in memories.

The oracle set the red ribbon aside, her fingers still trembling, and rose from her seat. The others watched in tense silence as she crossed to another shelf—this one darker, dustier. Her hand hovered over the tomes until she found the one she wanted. It was older, bound in cracked leather, its spine nearly split.

She returned to the centre of the room and laid it open on the table with a soft exhale, flipping the brittle pages until she came to a sketch—rough but distinct. The ink faded with time, but the shapes were clear.