Chapter 3: Her Face, My Fury

In the last life, Aubrey never went to the back ridge.

Nor would she in this life.

Because she was busy sobbing and making a scene in front of my mother—the Matriarch, which in our clan is a formal role, not just “Mom.”

Aubrey had a knack for drama. Our family home in the hills near Flagstaff was no stranger to her theatrics—echoing through the halls like some melodramatic soap opera. She’d station herself in the living room, clutching a tissue, playing her part, while wood polish and citrus cleaner scented the air and the mantle clock ticked loud as guilt.

She wanted to ask for the treasure of our Phoenix clan—the Mirrored Visage Elixir.

It was the kind of request you hear whispered about in old family stories, the miracle cure or forbidden potion nobody talks about at Thanksgiving. The Elixir is taboo—take it and you borrow beauty at a cost: mirrors crack, reflections go wrong, and the debt shaves years off your life. Aubrey, desperate as ever, wanted a new face—a second chance at beauty.

When I went over, my mother, the Matriarch, was holding her and weeping: "My child, so ill-fated."

The room was thick with perfume and grief, my mother dabbing at her eyes with a lace handkerchief. Aubrey’s sobs rattled the picture frames, her wailing drawing sympathetic glances from the staff. Mom played the part of the suffering matriarch, her heart always bleeding for a lost cause.

My arrival broke the warmth filling the room.

I stepped in, boots thudding against the old hardwood, the drama coming to a sudden halt. The air shifted, a chill running through the room.

My mother stroked Aubrey's sleek black hair, but when she looked at me, her brows knotted and her temper soured.

"Your younger cousin just wants your face; what would it matter to give it to her?

"It's not like she wants—like some mirror‑witch—to take a knife and cut off your face. You only need to take the Mirrored Visage Elixir together with your cousin, and then she can look exactly the same as you.

"I've long wished for a pair of twin daughters; just looking would make me happy.

"And you won't even agree to this—so selfish; you shame our name as Phoenix Matriarch."

Her accusations rained down on me.

Mom had a talent for guilt trips, her words slicing sharper than any knife. She compared me to stories of generosity, measured me against her own longing for perfect harmony.

I didn't even lift an eyelid.

"If she actually trained her glamours, changing into anyone's appearance would be child's play."

I let my gaze settle on the mantle, refusing to engage. Aubrey’s sobs grew louder, as if she could drown out the truth with enough noise.

Aubrey struggled out of my mother's arms, tearful: "Those are just illusions; anyone whose power is higher than mine can easily see through them and see my true face. I don't want that; I want to truly, for real, grow to look like Lillian."

Her voice cracked with desperation. She clung to my mother’s sleeve, playing the part of the misunderstood ingenue. The room was thick with old family tension and new heartbreak.