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期刊 Fall 2025 Edition :Lexicon's journal edition from the Fall semester of 2025 Spring 2025 Edition :Lexicon's journal edition from the Spring semester of 2025 Fall 2024 Edition :Lexicon's journal edition from the Fall semester of 2024 2024 年春季版 ：Lexicon 2024 年春季学期期刊版 过去发布 ：2023 年秋季学期之前的 Lexicon 期刊版本

:Lexicon Spring 2026 View the Spring 2026 edition of :Lexicon digitally by downloading a .pdf version of it. If you'd like a physical copy, feel free to email or DM us. 下载期刊 The Poison Between Them Tessa Markham 下载期刊 Lorelei ducked behind a column as a Hunter strode past, the golden compass of a magic finder at his waist making her tense. Thankfully, the Hunter wasn’t touching the instrument, which meant it could not sense her. When he was gone, she slipped from her hiding spot and continued up the marble steps toward the palace entrance, her neck prickling from being so exposed on the steps. With the king’s recent death and Prince Armel’s coronation, the queen mother had sent out a request for the finest seamstresses in the kingdom to craft a suit jacket for her son to celebrate his ascension to the throne. Lorelei was determined to participate, not because her sewing skills were exceptional, but because this was the opportunity she had been waiting for to get close to the royal family. She wasn’t used to the feel of long skirts brushing her ankles as she walked or the sound of high heels clicking against the marble stairs, and she almost felt the allure of being born to a higher class. If only she could change the shape of her features to be more objectively beautiful, then she really would fit in with the court. She had to remind herself of the illusion she cast around herself, careful not to become the type of person she so despised. When she reached the top of the stairs, two guards held open the large double doors for her, another thing she wasn’t quite used to. Careful not to look into their faces lest her fear break her illusion, she hurried into the wide halls of the palace, grateful only Hunters carried magic finders, not guards too. She didn’t want to think about the brutal death that awaited her should she be discovered before her mission was accomplished. Marble archways rose on either side of the hall, each leading to a different wing. Her footsteps echoed as she turned the corner to start up the central stairwell toward the new king’s chambers, where she would take his measurements so that she could begin sewing. She knew she had arrived when she saw the guard standing outside the doorway. She passed him the letter she received at the front gate of the palace, declaring her reason for being here. The guard grunted and handed the letter back to her before stepping aside and pulling the door open. Lorelei stepped into a grand sitting room, the marble floor covered by a thick rug that squished beneath her shoes. Two large couches sat in the center of the room, the velvet a deep red color that resembled how her sister’s blood looked dripping from the knife of the Hunter that killed her. King Armel lounged on one of the offensive couches, feet propped up on an arm of the couch, and his arms tucked behind his head. His dark hair was loose and messy, curls tumbling onto his forehead and almost into his eyes. Given his position, it was hard to tell, but she suspected he had broad shoulders like his father. Despite the hard gleam of his dark brown eyes, his face still had a soft edge as if he hadn’t fully outgrown his youth. “So you’re seamstress number three,” he said, not moving from his stretched-out position. Lorelei resisted the urge to pull out the knife tucked beneath the illusion of her dress. Killing him now would only expose her deception. She needed to get to the queen mother before she lost her reason for being in the palace. “My name is Lorelei,” she said, staring evenly at the king. She refused to give him the satisfaction of addressing him as his title demanded. “And if you don’t get up from that couch, I can’t take your measurements and do my job.” Her voice was harsher than she intended, but the less time she spent around him, the better. She was only here to keep up appearances. A seamstress couldn’t sew a garment without measurements, after all. Besides, if her plan was to work, she needed to know what size to make the king’s jacket before she laced it with poison. “I have been measured all day,” King Armel said, though he dropped his feet to the floor. Lorelei rounded the couch between them and dropped the sewing bag she carried onto the seat. “It’s not even noon,” she said. “Most of your subjects would love to stand all morning while seamstresses take their measurements for an expensive jacket. Instead, they are working tirelessly to put food on their tables.” “Yes? And what did you do this morning?” Lorelei thought back to what she had laid out on her borrowed bed in the furthest reaches of the palace. First was her knife in its bejeweled sheath, the one she had stolen from the Hunter, after she had killed him first, of course. Her sister’s blood was still crusted on the edge, and Lorelei had left it there as a reminder of why she mustn’t fail. Next on her bed were the vials of poison she would lace the king’s jacket with and use against the queen mother. Third was the locket her sister had worn, the last piece of her that Lorelei had left. The simple chain and heart pendant heated where it lay against her neck as she faced the king, the missing diamond replaced as part of her illusion. “Let me take your measurements and I’ll tell you,” Lorelei said. She reached into the bag she had put on the couch, her fingers wrapping around the measuring tape she had stolen from one of the other seamstresses last night when everyone was asleep. She had been delighted to find there were no guards in the part of the palace where the seamstresses were staying. Armel’s lips quirked to the side in a half-smirk as he unfolded himself to his full height, about three inches taller than Lorelei expected. He held his arms out in a low “v” and shrugged out of his brocade jacket. The fabric pooled against the red velvet, a pile of precious coins sitting in her sister’s blood. The urge to steal the jacket so she could sell it was so overwhelming that she took a step forward before realizing what she was doing. “Here I am,” he said. His voice jerked Lorelei back to her mission. She could steal all the crown jewels she wanted after the king and his mother were dead. Her sister’s vengeance was more pressing right now than Lorelei’s financial struggles. She unspooled the measuring tape and moved forward to stretch it across his chest. As soon as she entered his circle of space, the scent of vanilla enclosed around her until she gagged from the strength. Her vision flashed red, and her dress’s illusion threatened to dissolve. She stumbled backward and turned to her bag again, rifling around as if she needed something. As she did, she sucked in large amounts of unscented air, strengthening the illusion she covered herself with. The vial of poison she intended to use on the queen mother later found her hand. Lorelei glanced over her shoulder at Armel in contemplation. “For an esteemed seamstress, you’re quite unorganized,” Armel said. His words incited the rage she barely held back, and with a flick of her fingers inside the bag, the vial of poison transformed to look like a pad of paper. She pulled the paper and a pencil from the bag and held them up for him to see. “Organized isn’t what I think of when I think of us seamstresses,” Lorelei said. Stepping closer again, she prepared herself for the vanilla. Now that she knew what to expect, the scent was almost pleasant. Before the king could respond, she pressed the measuring tape against his shoulders again, her fingers digging into his skin harder than was necessary. She marked the measurement down on the paper pad. “You never answered my question,” Armel said. “What were you doing this morning?” “Is this what you ask all your seamstresses?” Lorelei asked. She grabbed his arm, which was more muscular than she expected, and wrapped the measuring tape around his bicep. “Just you,” he said. His gaze landed heavily on her neck as she tilted her head down to focus on her work. Her hand tightened on the pad of paper that was actually the poison vial. Only the need to remain undercover stayed her hand. “Stop avoiding the question, or I’ll have to assume you were plotting my demise.” “Who says I wasn’t?” The words slipped free before she could contain them, and her head snapped up to lock eyes with him. There was a moment where neither said anything, and she was certain he would call out for the guards to come in and remove her from the palace. Her sister would have died for nothing. She would have come all this way only to fail. Her hand tightened on the paper. She could release the illusion, tip the poison into his mouth, force him to swallow— A laugh burst from Armel, the sound too loud in the silence that had fallen over the room. Lorelei forced a smile and wrapped the measuring tape around his wrist to distract herself. She needed to be more careful about what she said to him. Standing this close and breathing in his cologne, she was no better than all the other girls who swooned when they caught sight of him. His presence was its own kind of poison, intoxicating in that it tricked her into letting her guard down. She saw the humanity in him that she hadn’t when she watched the Hunter slit her sister’s throat, knowing the royal family was behind the order to kill those like her, those who had magic. “If you were, I wouldn’t be standing here right now,” he said. His eyes narrowed on her as he scrutinized her more closely. “I suppose not,” she said, shifting to his other arm and going through the same process as she did on the previous arm, marking down measurements as she went. When she reached his chest, she had to reach around behind him until she was almost flush against him. He was warm, and for a moment she envisioned what it must feel like to be trapped within his arms. She must have frozen, because he touched her arm. She flinched away, reaching instinctively for her knife before her better sense could catch up. The tip rested against the hollow of his throat, his eyes wide and hands raised in alarm. When Lorelei came back to herself, her hand dropped to her side as she stumbled a step back. Her face flamed as red as the couches. “I’m sorry, I… I thought you were…” Lorelei tucked her knife away and gathered her things. “I should go.” “Lorelei, wait. What were you—” * * * This next part of her plan was more difficult than blending in with the seamstresses or doing her best not to kill the king while he was within arms’ distance of her. If she could create an illusion to alter the way she herself looked, her entire plan would be different, but as it was, she could only alter the appearance of her clothes and other objects. She strode through the palace in the direction of the queen mother’s chambers, a vase of roses in her hand. A servant’s simple brown dress swirled around her as she walked. The feeling was still foreign to her, but at least she could hide her knife and sewing materials under the skirt without them being seen. When she reached the queen mother’s chambers, the guards let her pass without a second glance. Lorelei almost laughed at how easy this was. After noticing the roses the queen mother had lined up on the tables against the walls in her sitting room, she knew servants would need to replace them every few days, providing her a perfect opening. A servant entering the queen mother’s sitting room with a vase of roses wouldn’t raise suspicions and wouldn’t be out of the ordinary. The queen mother’s sitting room was almost an exact replica of the king’s sitting room she was in the day before, except the couches were a midnight black color instead of blood red. A round table for receiving letters sat behind the couch, turned away from the entrance, and there were already three letters piled there. Lorelei placed her vase of roses on the letter-receiving table, twisting it so that her own letter stuck out quite obviously from the flowers within the vase. The roses themselves were an illusion, but the letter wasn’t. The letter was laced with poison that, with one touch from the queen mother, would work through her body, paralyzing her until her heart stopped. With the poisoned roses placed, Lorelei ducked behind a group of servants as they exited the room. The last thing she needed was to be implicated in the murder of the queen mother, not when her goal was still incomplete. A door opened farther into the room, and the queen mother and an advisor entered the sitting room. The advisor moved over to the letter-receiving table. “Your Majesty, someone sent you a letter with roses.” “Well, who is it from?” the queen mother asked. Her voice was softer than Lorelei had imagined. From the type of influence she had over her late husband, and now her son, a sharper tone would have suited her better. “What does the letter say?” Oh no. Lorelei glanced behind her in time to see the advisor reach for the letter stuck in the roses before she ducked from the room and hurried down the hallway. Still, she wasn’t far enough away to outrun the queen mother’s scream that followed from the advisor collapsing from Lorelei’s poison. * * * “I’m surprised my mother allowed the fittings to continue,” the king said, startling Lorelei awake where she sat on one of his couches. She had been up all night preparing the base jacket for her illusion to alter. She could conjure brocade, gold, and diamonds from nothing, but not an entire jacket the king was expected to wear. If she were to stay in the palace long enough to succeed in her revenge mission, she needed something convincing enough that the king would want to wear. “My mother fired our captain of the guard over this, but somehow these fittings are supposed to continue,” he went on. Lorelei didn't miss the disdain in his voice when he referred to his mother and the fact that she controlled whether Armel could get a new jacket. “I can never understand her. I get the feeling she likes it that way.” If you don't understand her, and therefore don't resist, you're easier to control. The thought came unbidden, and Lorelei lifted her gaze from the floor to where the king stood before his mirror, admiring the fit of the jacket. His fingers ran over the gold beading Lorelei claimed had kept her up all night. “Why wouldn’t they continue?” she asked, distracted by the way his fingers trailed carefully over her hard work. Despite not sewing the jacket herself, she told herself she could still be proud of the design she chose, the downward chevron patterned in gold beading and tiny diamonds quite complementary to the dark chestnut color of his hair. His fingers stalled on the beading. “You didn’t hear? My mother’s advisor was murdered yesterday by a witch. We don’t know how she got in, only that she couldn’t have gotten far. Witches, with their bloodlust, can never help themselves from returning to the scene of a murder. Besides, we think the wretch was after my mother. She’ll come back to finish what she started.” “Bloodlust?” Lorelei echoed. Armel turned to look at her, an amused grin tilting his lips to the side. “What do you mean?” “One would think you’d never met a witch,” the king said. “If you haven’t, you’re lucky. All they want is to kill. That’s why they need to be eradicated.” “Right,” she said, her voice so soft she wasn’t sure he heard. Was she that easy to figure out? Was it obvious she would be back to finish what she started, or that she hadn’t gone far to ensure her plan succeeded? Before Armel could ask her any more questions, she jumped to her feet with a box of pins. “I need to take in the collar,” she said, shifting the illusion while he wasn’t looking at his reflection so that the collar gaped open a little more. “No, I think it fits well,” he said, returning his gaze to the mirror, only to pause and lift a hand to the collar of the jacket. “Oh, I suppose you’re right.” “That’s why I’m the seamstress,” Lorelei said, taking the fabric of the collar in between her forefinger and thumb. The urge to push the pin through the jacket and into his neck was almost too strong to ignore in the wake of his words on witches like her. Her vision narrowed in on the tip of the pin where her finger rested. Her hand shook as she dipped the pin into the fabric and out again, careful not to prick him. After placing a few others, she stepped back. He was staring at her, his eyes sparkling in a way that should have scared her. “You’ve never called me ‘Your Majesty’,” he said. “The other seamstresses don’t say much, but you’ll quip back at me.” “Why shouldn’t I?” Lorelei asked. “I prefer to work in peace, but you won’t let me.” “If quiet was what you wanted, you should have just said.” “And you wouldn’t say anything?” “Nothing.” “I don’t believe you.” The king didn’t respond, but somehow his face was now only inches from hers. Her heart beat faster, her hands shaking for an entirely different reason now. His lips parted as he leaned closer and— Lorelei jerked away from him. “I pulled a knife on you last time, and now you want to kiss me?” Lorelei stumbled backward into the couch. “Disgusting. Give me the jacket.” Silently, the king shrugged out of the jacket. She struggled to maintain the illusion of gold beading and the chevron pattern as the full notion of the king’s desire sank through her. Revulsion knotted in her stomach. Even so, as she packed up her bag and stepped into the hallway, she could still feel his breath brushing across her face. She could still feel the shift of muscles beneath his skin as she worked on his jacket. Lorelei forced herself to focus instead on how she would get into the queen mother’s chambers that night. The subtleties of poison had failed her. It was time she used the knife. Besides, she couldn’t deny the bloodlust inside her that Armel had mentioned. He was right, after all. She wanted to see the queen mother bleed out the way her sister had. It was poetic, in a way, for the cause of her sister’s death, and other witches’ deaths, to feel what so many had in their last moments. * * * Lorelei slipped out of her room later that night, the Hunter’s knife tucked in the skirts of servant clothing she had created an illusion for again. When she reached the hallway nearest the queen mother’s chambers, she would shift the illusion to guard clothing so as to fit in better. The last thing she wanted was to appear as she did the day the queen mother’s advisor died. This time, she would be certain she killed the right person. Her footsteps echoed on the marble floor, and her heart thundered a little too loudly in her ears. After tonight, she would be one step closer to fully avenging her sister. Her hand reached up and touched the locket around her neck. She hadn’t removed it since her sister’s death. “Lorelei?” She spun, her hand flying to the handle of the knife hidden in her skirt illusion. Her hand fell when she saw Armel striding toward her with a grin on his face. “What are you doing up so late?” he asked, stopping a few paces from her. Lorelei tried to wipe the guilt from her face, hoping he wouldn’t see the nerves causing her fingers to tremble. What she was attempting was risky, and though she had already lost all her family and friends, she didn’t wish to be caught until her mission was accomplished. “I could ask you the same,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest and scowling. “I could also ask you what you’re doing walking around without your guards? Didn’t you say there was a witch loose in the palace?” “I never said she was still in the palace,” the king said. His lips quirked up in that side grin that was his way of pretending he wasn’t nervous, the grin he did so often around her. “As for my guards, they’re never too far behind. Tonight I lost them in the servant hallways. It’s a game I play, seeing how long I can avoid them before they tattle to my mother and I get lectured about kingly duties. I figure she gets on my nerves enough that I owe her some.” Lorelei laughed. His antics were so similar to when she and her sister would hide in the forest so that their parents wouldn’t know where they were. Only after her parents’ deaths did she understand the fear she and her sister put them through. Guilt for having done so churned through her, given that she now knew what the word ‘witch’ meant to people in town. “How long have you managed so far?” she asked, surprised to find she was actually curious about the answer. “About an hour,” he said. From around the corner, footsteps grew louder. Soon they would hear the voices of his guards. He grabbed her arm and tugged her down the hallway. “You were right about the witch potentially still being here. I’ll walk you back to your room.” Lorelei didn’t stop him as they rounded a corner and jogged down the new hallway. “Why do you run from your mother?” she asked, looking at him from the corner of her eye. His frown sent her heart racing faster than it already was. Perhaps she had made a mistake in asking. “Haven’t I told you she’s insufferable?” he asked. “All her rules and opinions on how to make the kingdom a better place. I’m bored half to death whenever she starts talking about how this lord owes us some debt, and so we must use that to our advantage, or how we need to spy on this kingdom because they trust witches now.” When they reached her door, he stretched around her and twisted the handle so that it swung open, revealing the darkness of her room beyond. She positioned herself carefully between him and her room. The jacket illusion was not visible at the moment, and she didn’t want him to see lest her ruse be discovered. “I sent the other seamstresses away,” he said. Her mouth popped open. “You what?” “I sent them away. I want the jacket you’re making.” His guards were upon them then, stumbling to a halt behind the king. “Your Majesty,” the first guard said. He was out of breath, lending his voice a breathy note that undermined the anger he most likely wanted to get across. “We are only trying to protect you, especially when a witch got close to your mother just yesterday.” “I was only helping Lorelei back to her room,” Armel said. His lips tipped in that grin again, and he lifted her hand, which she hadn’t realized he still held. He brushed a quick kiss to her knuckles before dropping her hand and stepping back. He dipped his head. “Good night, Lorelei,” he said. “Good night,” Lorelei said. She immediately regretted the wistfulness that crept into her voice. Her back pressed against her door as the sound of the king and his guards faded down the hallway. She brought the back of her hand against her lips, placing them where his had been moments before. She could still vaguely smell the vanilla his presence left behind. Her eyes snapped open, and she dropped her hand. The king was her enemy. His prejudices were the reason her sister was dead. She couldn’t view him as a friend, especially not as anything more. She had to stop this train of thought before she tumbled somewhere she could not claw her way back up from. * * * The next four days consisted of a few chances to corner the queen mother. Disguised as a guard, Lorelei caught Armel exiting his mother’s chambers one evening after a particularly fierce argument about her not letting him rule the kingdom. “I don’t care that a witch got into your chambers. We have bigger problems than some girl who wants you dead. A neighboring kingdom is threatening to invade. Get over your witch hunt obsession and let me rule,” was the last thing he said before he shoved through the door and stalked down the hallway. Lorelei had to duck down a different hallway so that he didn't recognize her, and by the time she returned, the queen mother was nowhere to be seen. The deadline for the jacket approached quickly. The ball was that evening, and servants would arrive soon to pick up the jacket. Lorelei sat on her bed, staring at the poison bottle in her palm. She had wrapped the jacket in the box that had arrived that morning to transport the jacket to the king. The illusion of the chevron was different now. After the king kissed her hand, she had convinced herself to have palace servants locate the fabric and beading she would need to achieve such a design. She had to ensure the illusion was flawless. Her magic was strong, but the effort would put too much of a strain on her. The more reality she used as part of her illusion, the more irresistible the jacket would be to him. He would have to pick it up, regardless of any servants who try to dress him instead. At least, that was what she told herself. She had spent the last four days locked in her room, hand stitching the golden beads and little diamonds to the crude jacket she had made before. The end result was slightly asymmetrical, but her illusion magic fixed that easily. Now all she had to do was dump the poison on the jacket and send the box to Armel, but her hand hesitated. Armel wasn’t what she had expected when she first planned to avenge her sister. He had been nothing but kind to her since her arrival, and though he held a distaste for witches, wasn’t that mostly his mother’s doing? Wasn’t his mother the one ruling through him? Hadn’t he been running from his mother’s rules the night he kissed her hand? Her hand tightened on the poison vial, her thumb popping the cork. No matter if he could learn that witches weren’t the monsters his mother said they were, his laws were still the reason her family and friends were gone. There was her sister’s blood leaking out onto the forest floor again. There were her parents’ screams as she and her sister ran, the Hunters breaking into their house and slaughtering anything that breathed. There were the stories of witches disappearing from their homes in the middle of the night and never to be seen again. Her hand tilted, and poison flowed from the bottle and onto the jacket. Her illusion flickered momentarily as the poison seeped into the fibers of the jacket, and then it was done. So why did she feel so hollow inside? A knock sounded at the door, and a servant poked her head inside. Lorelei quickly shoved the lid on the box and brought it over to the servant. “Be careful,” Lorelei said. The servant gave her a confused look, and she hurried to cover her mistake, to explain. “I put a lot of time into this, and I want him to like it. He should be the first one to look at it and take it out. I made it for him only.” The servant smiled. “I shall make sure he is the one to open it, if that’s what you desire.” The servant disappeared down the hallway, and Lorelei shut her door. She started packing the clothes she brought with her and the sewing items she had stolen from the other seamstresses in the night. The last item she had left was the Hunter’s knife, and she paused. Armel had been right about her bloodlust. All she cared about was poetic justice for what happened to her sister, so much so that she hadn’t been able to see the potential for Armel to change. His mother was one thing, but the boy who ran from his mother’s rules was someone she could reason with, especially when he had disobeyed his mother for her once when he sent away the other seamstresses, even after she pulled a knife on him. Couldn’t he do so again? Wasn’t there a chance? Didn’t he tell his mother to get over her witch-hunting obsession? Lorelei couldn’t forget the feel of Armel’s touch on her arm, his lips against her knuckles. That meant something, right? Lorelei flung open her door and sprinted down the hallway. She had to reach him before he touched the jacket. What had she been thinking? She burst through the doors to his sitting room in time to see him pry the lid off the box that contained her jacket. He looked up when she skidded inside the room, catching herself on the couch. “Lorelei?” he asked, hand hovering inches from the jacket. “Don’t touch it,” she gasped. “Put it down. Someone, take that away from him.” “Lorelei?” he asked again. His hand lowered an inch in his distraction, and Lorelei did the only thing she could think of. She cast an illusion that made the jacket look like a snake lunging for him. With a cry, Armel flung the box away from him. It landed upside down a few feet across the room. A bright light illuminated the space alongside a high-pitched whine. Lorelei clamped her hands over her ears. If her snake illusion hadn’t already exposed her, the Hunter in the corner of the room holding the magic finder would have. His hand must have gone straight for the magic finder at his waist as soon as the snake appeared. Guards surrounded her in an instant, their spears aimed in her direction. She dropped to her knees before Armel, not bothering to resist the guards jabbing at her. With her subdued, the Hunter released the magic finder, and the whining stopped. Armel’s eyes, so warm when he looked at her before, had gone cold, the brown of his irises seeming almost black. “What are you?” he whispered. “I’m Lorelei,” she said. “The same girl you’ve known…just, I’m not a good seamstress.” “You’re a witch,” he said. “You tried to kill me.” “Yes,” she said. There was no use denying it now. “But I also saved you.” “You only had to save me because of your own actions,” he said. “I trusted you. I sent away the other seamstresses because of you. I defied my mother because of you.” “Your mother has been manipulating you,” she said. “You ran from her before. That night you kissed me, remember?” His face flushed, but the hardness of his stare didn’t relent. “That means nothing now.” “But it did before?” She couldn’t help the hope sparking in her voice. “It meant a lot to me. You were right, I realize, about the bloodlust. I couldn’t see beyond the red haze of anger. But you…you made me see that maybe I can be better.” “No more tricks,” he said. “No more illusions. Get rid of them all and speak plainly. Why were you going to kill me?” Lorelei let all her illusions crumble. Her dress disappeared, transforming back into the mud-stained tunic and trousers she wore beneath. Her heels changed back into the boots she had worn for years. “I came here to kill you and your mother,” Lorelei said, “because you are the reason my family and friends are dead.” Armel drew back from the force of her words. “Because of me?” The red haze of anger that had crossed her vision the first time she stepped close to him returned. Her hands fisted at her sides, and she had to struggle to resist casting enough illusions to allow her to get close enough to strangle Armel. “Two weeks ago I watched one of your Hunters kill my sister, the last family I had,” she spat. “He slit her throat, and watched in enjoyment as she bled out on the forest floor.” The guards around her shifted uneasily, sensing how close she was to the edge of no return. The tip of a sword pressed against her skin, a dribble of blood rolling down her neck. She barely noticed, her full attention locked on the silent war happening inside Armel that played out across his face. “I didn’t order the death of your family,” Armel whispered. “Your laws did. The laws your mother insists you uphold.” Armel sank onto one of the couches, running a hand through his hair. He looked conflicted, and satisfaction slid down Lorelei’s spine. “Your Majesty?” one of the guards asked. “What should we do? You must prepare for the ball soon.” The Hunter stepped forward from his place in the corner of the room. His hand had returned to the magic finder, only it wasn’t going off because she had relinquished all her illusions. His other hand gripped his knife, a replica of the one she had stolen. “Do not listen to her, Your Majesty,” the Hunter said, sending Lorelei a disgusted look. “Illusions aren’t the only kind of power a witch holds. She lies so that you trust her again. Let me deal with her.” Armel glanced at the Hunter, and Lorelei held her breath as she waited for his response. Part of her knew she deserved to be handed over to the Hunter and disposed of the way her sister had been, but another part of herself wanted Armel to believe her and prove that he could be reasoned with. “Release her,” Armel said finally. Lorelei released her breath and closed her eyes momentarily. “Your Majesty?” the Hunter questioned. “I want to talk to her alone.” “But—” “She won’t hurt me.” When the guards still didn’t move, Armel raised his voice. “Release her and leave us!” The guards and the Hunter finally did as they were told, and Lorelei sank the rest of the way to the ground. “Why did you change your mind?” he asked softly. “Because of what you said about bloodlust,” she said. She lifted her head from the ground. He was looking at her with an inquisitive look. His eyes were still a dark brown, but not the deep black of betrayal she had seen earlier. She took that as a good sign, and chose to be honest. What else did she have to lose? “I want to show you that witches are not the monsters your mother has always told you we are. Yes, we create illusions, but never to change who we are. I cannot change the way I look, only clothes and objects.” “The poisoned letter and roses,” he said. “That was you.” “Yes.” He tipped his head back against the couch and ran his hands through his hair again. She hated the way that made her heart race. “There are other methods of eliminating someone, you know,” he said. “Something a little less… violent.” “Not after what I’ve had taken from me so brutally,” she said. “Your Hunters have made us into the monsters you always thought we were.” “What happened to the Hunter?” “What do you think happened?” Armel closed his eyes and was silent for long enough that Lorelei was doubtful he wouldn’t call the Hunter back in to take her away. All he wanted was to make her think there was a chance of her survival. What he didn’t know was that all she had left to lose was him, and she was certain she already had. “Alright. Come over here.” Lorelei jerked upright. “What?” He waved her over, and after a moment of hesitation, she followed his direction and sat stiffly on the edge of the couch beside him. “I’m willing to give this a try,” he said. He lifted a finger before she could say anything. “If you ever try to harm me, I will turn you over to the Hunters with no remorse, understood?” Lorelei swallowed the lump that formed in her throat and nodded. Then finally, his face softened and the brown of his irises returned. He reached over and lightly grabbed her hand, lifting her knuckles to his lips again. “We’re going to the ball together, and we’ll deal with my mother tomorrow.” Lorelei’s heart soared, leaping from her chest. Still she said, “But I have nothing to wear.” His lips quirked to the side in the grin she was beginning to recognize as all hers. “That should never be a problem for you. Fooling the court is exactly what illusions are for.” Lorelei smiled. She felt, for the first time since her sister died, the beginnings of hope that someday her kind might be accepted.

:词典 :Lexicon 是杜肯大学的艺术与文学期刊，旨在展示学生、教师和校友的创意作品。 1/4 重要公告 2024 年秋季：Lexicon 期刊的投稿将于2024 年 8 月 26 日 重新开放。投稿截止日期为2024 年 9 月 25 日 。 关注我们的 Instagram @lexiconduq 了解更多更新！ lexicon showcase, painting display lexicon showcase, lexicon table lexicon showcase, editor-in-chiefs lexicon showcase, painting display 1/10 重要公告 2024 年秋季：Lexicon 期刊的投稿将于2024 年 8 月 26 日 重新开放。投稿截止日期为2024 年 9 月 25 日 。 关注我们的 Instagram @lexiconduq 了解更多更新！

联系我们 让我们聊天 有问题吗？想参与吗？ 填写下面的表格，给我们发送电子邮件或直接留言。我们很乐意为您提供帮助！ 电子邮件 Instagram lexicon@duq.edu @lexiconduq First Name Last Name Email Message Send Thank you for sending a message! We will get back to you as soon as we can!

:词典 2024 年春季 下载 .pdf 版本即可以数字方式查看 2024 年春季版 :Lexicon。如果您想要纸质版，请随时通过电子邮件或 DM 与我们联系。 下载期刊

:词典 2024 年春季 下载 .pdf 版本即可以数字方式查看 2024 年春季版 :Lexicon。如果您想要纸质版，请随时通过电子邮件或 DM 与我们联系。 下载期刊

认识我们的编辑 [泰莎·马卡姆] 联合主编兼版面编辑 Lexicon 三年级成员，专业为数字媒体艺术，辅修为创意写作。 [约翰·弗里德教授] 有缺陷的顾问 杜肯大学英语系创意 写作 和电影教授，自 2008 年起负责：Lexicon。 Corinne Fisher Layout Editor Social Media Coordinator Second year member of :Lexicon, senior English and Communications double major. Aggie Kosasih Website Editor Senior Copy Editor Third year member of :Lexicon, senior English Literature and History double major with a Certificate in Public History. Jack Maxwell Senior Art & Photography Editor First year member of :Lexicon, freshman Psychology and Rhetoric double major. Nina D'Eramo Senior Fiction & Drama Editor Second year member of :Lexicon, senior English and Secondary Education double major. Diva KC Senior Poetry Editor First year member of :Lexicon, sophomore Biochemistry major.

作品展示 从 2024 年 9 月开始，我们将每月选出一次作品在这里和 Instagram 上展示。敬请期待精彩作品！ January 2026 January Submission Spotlight January Submission Spotlight - Content January Submission Spotlight 1/2 January’s submission spotlight goes to Nathan Reynolds’ “Ballpoint Bloodline: The Heir”! “My inspiration for creating the Ballpoint Bloodline: The Heir, is based on my love for drawing comic book characters and for the show Invincible.”

关于我们 :Lexicon 是杜肯大学的学生主导文学期刊。该期刊为不同学年和专业的学生提供了一个安全且支持性的环境，让他们可以探索对写作、摄影和其他媒介的兴趣。典型的 :Lexicon 期刊包含杜肯大学学生、教师和教职员工提交的小说、创意非小说、诗歌、摄影和艺术部分。:Lexicon 每年出版两期，一期在秋季，一期在春季。这些期刊由教职员工在整个学期内选择和编辑的提交作品组成。 认识我们的编辑

艺术展 如果您想参加我们下一场艺术展，请填写表格、给我们发送电子邮件或直接留言。 lexiconsub@gmail.com @lexiconduq First Name Last Name Email Address Submission Link Submit Thank you for submitting!

过去发布 我们目前正在努力在 2023 年秋季学期之前将 :Lexicon 版本数字化。完成后，以前的版本将出现在这里。感谢您的耐心等待。

:词典 2024 年春季 下载 .pdf 版本即可以数字方式查看 2024 年春季版 :Lexicon。如果您想要纸质版，请随时通过电子邮件或 DM 与我们联系。 下载期刊