I always had strange dreams. The same one, over and over again — the forest near my grandfather's house. I could hear birds singing, and the peace of nature would calm my soul.
But one day, the forest turned darker. I felt like someone was watching me.
Suddenly, an old, intricately framed mirror appeared before me. The glass was foggy, yet something inside it shimmered faintly. When I looked closer, I saw only one creature — a wolf, unnaturally white, its fur as pure as snow, its eyes calm yet radiating an intense light.
Its gaze pierced through me. It felt like it wanted to protect me, but at the same time, as if it sensed danger approaching.
My head started spinning. It felt like the ground beneath me was slipping away. The only sound I could hear was the thudding of my own heartbeat.
Then, my body stopped mid-air. Someone had caught me.
Cold, firm hands held my waist. My breath hitched.
I looked up — but I couldn't see his face. Everything was blurred and hazy. Only two things stood out: eyes glowing crimson like blood, and a deep, chilling cold.
He held me tightly, but there was no warmth, no compassion in his eyes — only indifference and cold hatred.
Then he whispered in a voice that sounded more like a command than a plea:
"Wake up."
At that moment, I opened my eyes.
My breath was heavy, and my heart pounded in my chest.
Rain tapped against the large window. The sky was heavy with clouds, and each droplet whispered softly as it met the ground.
Listening to the rhythm of the rain, I slowly brought my room into order. I changed out of my nightgown, brushed my hair, and stepped out into the hallway, heading toward the living room.
When I opened the living room door, Emily was standing by the window, staring outside. My father sat in his armchair, flipping through a newspaper, while Charlotte was in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.
I had never seen this kind of calm hospitality in this house before.
"Who's coming?" I asked cautiously.
My father glanced at me but said nothing.
My stepmother, Charlotte, smiled faintly. "Your grandfather is coming," she said.
I froze for a moment.
Grandfather? Finally?
"Why?" I asked.
"To take you with him," my father replied curtly.
Charlotte slammed a spoon onto the table. "This isn't the right decision, Daniel. Layla should stay here!"
Right then, Grandfather Edric appeared at the door. Though his face bore the weight of the years, his eyes were still sharp and full of unwavering resolve.
He stepped inside slowly.
"Hello, Layla," he said.
"Hi, Grandpa," I replied softly.
Grandfather's eyes shifted to my father."I'm taking Layla with me. She doesn't belong in this house."
My father crossed his arms over his chest."This is her home. She's staying here."
"This is not her home," my grandfather said in a cold voice. "You've never truly seen her as your daughter. Layla is returning to her real family."
Charlotte's cheeks flushed with anger."She should stay with us! She's still just a child!"
Then Emily slowly turned to me, her voice quiet."If you want to go, then go, Layla... Maybe you'll be happier there."
Grandfather Edric took a deep breath."You were never able to be parents to her. Now, I'm going to make that right."
My father stayed silent.
He had never shown me affection—not since the day I lost my mother. In his eyes, I was the reason she was gone. After all, she died the day I was born.
Grandfather reached out his hand to me. Without hesitation, I took it.
I knew—I was leaving this house behind.
Outside, a cool breeze brushed against my face.
My long, golden hair fluttered in the wind, falling past my shoulders like flowing wings.
My green eyes, clear like glass, reflected the scenery ahead.
The white vintage lace dress that clung to my slender frame danced softly with each gust of wind.
A simple horse-drawn carriage waited for us.
Grandfather walked ahead of me in silence, his thoughts seemingly far away.
We left the town behind and began our journey toward the Arvendale Forest.
As we traveled, the woods grew denser, the air damp and filled with a strange, earthy scent.
The trees leaned overhead as if trying to block out the sky.
The only sound that pierced the stillness was the gentle creaking of the carriage wheels.
"This forest is never truly silent," Grandfather said softly.
I looked at him. He scanned the surroundings with quiet intensity.
Eventually, the carriage came to a stop. My heart raced as I stepped down.
The air was thick with moisture, and the earthy scent of fresh rain lingered in the soil.
Arvendale was hidden among towering trees and veiled in mist.
Grandfather's cottage was wrapped in ivy, and the small, cozy garden overflowed with roses and peculiar blooms.
Inside, a comforting warmth embraced me. The scent of burning wood and dried herbs filled the air.
Grandfather looked at me.
"This is your home now," he said gently. "It may not feel like it yet... but in time, it will."
I nodded.
He stood still for a moment, then said, "You must be tired. Your room is upstairs."
I picked up my bag and climbed the staircase.
My room was simple, but cozy.
When I opened the window, a breeze rushed in—familiar and mysterious.
The sky was overcast, and a light rain began to fall.
The trees swayed gently, and Arvendale stood as always—quiet and filled with secrets.
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Dawn had yet to break. A dim light filtered through the tall windows of the Eisenhardt estate.
Fog drifted outside, blanketing the world in eerie stillness, while silence reigned inside the mansion.
Magnus Von Eisenhardt sat in his study.
His presence was one that no one could ignore—tall, refined, with sharp and elegant features. His pale skin contrasted with his deep, sea-blue eyes that held a cold intensity.
His dark brown hair was neatly swept back, the front lifted slightly and the rest falling in soft waves. He wore a black suit with the top buttons of his shirt casually undone. He was focused on the documents spread across his desk when a knock echoed through the quiet room.
"Come in," he said in a low, composed tone.
His servant, Felix, entered and bowed, adjusting his glasses.
"My lord," he began, "Mr. Edric, who recently retired, arrived yesterday morning... He brought his granddaughter to your lands. He had requested your permission three days ago—to bring her here."
Magnus lifted his head slightly. "Hm. I remember."
Felix gave a polite nod."Yes, sir. The girl… she is now staying with Mr. Edric in the Arvendale forest cottage."
"I see," Magnus replied shortly, his tone indifferent.
Felix hesitated for a moment before speaking again, this time more gently. "Do you have any further orders, my lord?"
Magnus turned his gaze back to the papers. "No. Not for now."
Felix bowed once more and exited the room.
Magnus resumed reading, as though the news meant little to him.
Yet, for a brief second, a flicker of something—an old, forgotten feeling—flashed through his eyes.
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I walked along the forest path toward my grandfather's cottage.
In my hand was a light basket filled with freshly picked strawberries, still carrying the sweet scent of spring.
Around me, birds chirped and the leaves rustled softly in the breeze.
Today, the sky was clear, and the sun was warm and bright—it was the most beautiful day of spring.
When I reached the cottage, my grandfather was sitting on a wooden bench, a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other.
He smiled warmly as he saw me.
"Ah, Layla," he said, "that lovely scent... Are you planning to make jam again?"
I held up the basket and smiled.
"Of course. I picked only the best ones—bright red, clear, and sweet. Just the way you like them. I remember the last time, you finished the whole jar by yourself."
Grandfather chuckled.
"I can never get enough of it, Layla. Especially when it's made by you."
Just then, I heard light yet hurried footsteps behind me.
I turned around.
A silhouette was approaching from the forest path.
"Layla!" a familiar voice called out with excitement.
It was Jasper —my dearest childhood friend.