Elena sat still on the edge of her bed, her fingers clenched in the fabric of her dress, knuckles white. The silence in the room felt deafening, a stark contrast to the chaos storming inside her. The vision of Liam's bruised face haunted her mind. The way he turned away from her touch. The way he said… nothing.
She had begged him to deny it, to say it was a lie. But he hadn't.
He hadn't said a single word.
Darius's voice still echoed: "You never know who the enemy is."
Her breath came in shallow waves. She stood and walked to the mirror, bracing herself as she stared into the glass.
She looked beautiful. Her hair was smooth and pinned, her dress expensive and clean. Her cheeks were full now, lips not chapped, and skin unmarked. But she didn't recognize herself.
This isn't me, she thought.
The room felt like a gilded cage. She was fed, clothed, and cared for—like a prized possession. Not a woman. Not a person.
And yet, there had been something in Darius's eyes when he'd said, I'm the only one who can protect you.
A promise—or a threat?
She turned away from the mirror and sat at the vanity, resting her elbows on the table, burying her face in her hands. But her mind was far from resting.
The dream.
It hit her like a wave.
That field of dying flowers.
The sky bleeding red.
The child's laughter turning to screams.
And those glowing red eyes.
"Elena…"
The whisper had felt so real.
She lifted her head and stared at her reflection again. Her eyes were wide, haunted.
Was that really a dream? Or something else?
Her heart thumped hard in her chest. Suddenly, a strange warmth spread through her veins. Her fingertips tingled. She stood up abruptly, her body tense, as if some invisible force moved just beneath her skin.
The vase on the nightstand rattled. Just once. Then stilled.
Elena gasped and took a step back. Her breath shook.
"What's happening to me?" she whispered.
She sat down, this time more slowly, willing her heart to slow. Whatever this was, she couldn't let them know. Not yet.
A knock at the door made her jump. She quickly composed herself. The maid entered only far enough to bow.
"Do you need anything, miss?"
Elena forced a gentle smile. "No. I'm fine. Thank you."
The girl nodded and left, closing the door softly behind her.
Alone again, Elena's thoughts turned to escape.
Liam had planted the seed—and now, it had taken root.
She didn't know who to trust anymore.
Not Liam.
Not Darius.
Not even herself.
But she knew one thing.
She would not wait here until someone else decided her fate.
The night deepened. Shadows crept across the walls, curling like smoke. She wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped to the window. The manor was quiet, lights dimmed.
She pressed her palm against the cool glass.
Her world had changed so fast. And she couldn't shake the feeling that something far worse was coming.
Something her dream had tried to warn her about.
She whispered to the night, "I have to survive this. No matter what."
A soft breeze moved through the small crack in the window, brushing her skin like a secret.
Behind her, the candlelight flickered. And for a moment, the reflection in the mirror behind her… didn't quite match her expression.
She turned sharply—but the image was the same again.
Still, she didn't breathe easy.
Because a voice echoed in her mind—low and ancient.
The enemy is closer than you think.
---
The room felt colder than usual. The silence after the earlier chaos was deafening. Elena sat curled on the bed, arms wrapped around her knees, heart thudding like a trapped bird. The memory of Darius's words, Liam's betrayal, and the strange incident with the vase kept replaying in her mind.
She couldn't stay here. Not another day. Not another night.
"I have to leave," she whispered to herself.
Without another thought, she hurried to the edge of the bed and pulled the sheets free. Her fingers worked quickly, knotting them together like she'd seen done in stories. Her breaths came fast. She opened the window—rain lashed in violently, and a cold breeze slapped her face, soaking her skin almost instantly.
Elena hesitated, teeth chattering. Still, she tore the lower layers of her dress to free her legs and began climbing out. Her foot slipped once, scraping against the wall, but she bit her lip and kept descending. The last knot gave a slight tug under her weight—but it held. When her feet hit the muddy ground, she wasted no time.
She ran.
The downpour blurred her vision. Mud splashed against her legs, soaking the hem of her tattered dress. Thunder cracked in the distance. Behind her, shouts erupted.
"There! She's escaping!"
She gasped and veered off the main path, cutting through a narrow trail she remembered from her first arrival. Branches scratched at her arms and face as she ducked and weaved through the trees, lungs burning.
The gates were close. She could see them.
But just as she stepped forward, a thick black fog unfurled around her, swallowing the path. The air turned heavy. Her legs faltered. She tried to scream but no sound came. The world tilted—and then everything went black.
---
Silence.
She opened her eyes slowly. The world around her was nothing but endless darkness.
"Where… am I?"
Her voice echoed. She took a cautious step forward, her bare feet barely making a sound. A faint shimmer in the distance caught her attention. As she walked closer, a suspended mirror came into view, floating unnaturally in the air. Dust and smears obscured the surface.
Elena reached up and wiped it clean.
Her own reflection stared back—then flickered.
Suddenly, words began to form on the glass, written in crimson strokes as if by an invisible hand:
"Your awakening is near."
She stumbled backward, heart hammering. The message pulsed once before vanishing, and with it, so did the mirror.
"No... no, this isn't real."
She turned and ran—only to find herself standing at the edge of the same eerie forest from her dream. The trees loomed like silent watchers, their branches twisting in unnatural ways. Mist clung to the earth, swirling at her feet.
Then she heard it.
A child's scream.
Her eyes widened as the sound pierced the air, full of anguish and fear. She spun in circles, trying to find the source, but the darkness refused to part.
Elena screamed—
And woke up.
---
She bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath, soaked in sweat. Her hands clutched the blanket tightly.
Her clothes had been changed. Her hair was still damp.
Panic crawled up her throat. "Where… am I?"
A soft voice answered, startling her. "Right where you should be."
Lucien.
He was sitting calmly in the corner, placing a white cloth—stained with warm water—into a small bowl beside him.
"You cut yourself while trying to escape," he said without looking at her.
Her gaze dropped to her foot. A deep cut ran along the side, bandaged neatly.
She remained silent, unsure whether she was still dreaming.
Lucien finally looked up, eyes sharp but oddly gentle. "A little advice, miss," he said. "Instead of running from your problems, perhaps you should face them. Running only leads you back to the beginning."
His words cut deeper than the wound.
She looked past him, eyes landing on the nightstand.
The vase.
It was there again—intact. As if it had never shattered. But she remembered the sound of it breaking, remembered the pressure in her chest.
Something wasn't right.
She slowly pulled the blanket tighter around herself, watching Lucien as he stood and smoothed out his coat.
"It's late," he added, walking toward the door. "Get some rest. You'll need it."
Before she could ask anything—how she got back, who changed her clothes, if he saw anything—he opened the door and left without a backward glance.
The room returned to silence.
Elena stared at the vase, heart pounding, the words from the mirror echoing in her mind.
"Your awakening is near."