The dream came in fragments, blurry and disjointed, like a film playing on a scratched disc. I was back in that place—the cold stone room stretching endlessly before me. The air was heavy, oppressive. My bare feet made no sound against the floor, and the silence was suffocating.
Last time, the door had been locked, guarded by that hideous stone gargoyle, its eyes following my every move. This time, the door stood wide open, gaping like a hungry mouth. Darkness bled from the opening, seeping into the room like ink in water. I couldn't see what lay beyond, but I felt it. Something was waiting, and watching.
I tried to move, but my body felt like lead, my limbs heavy and useless. My scarred hand throbbed, a dull ache that pulsed with my heartbeat. I took a step qforward, then another. The darkness seemed to reach for me, tendrils of shadow curling around my ankles.
And then I woke up.
A cool, damp cloth pressed against my forehead. My eyes shot open, and I slapped the hand away, sitting up sharply. My heart was racing, and my breath was shallow. The person standing beside me stumbled back, eyes wide.
"Who the hell are you?" My voice came out harsh . I rubbed my temples, trying to steady myself. "And where am i?"
The maid clasped her hands in front of her, lowering her eyes. "We're at the estate, Miss Blakely. You fainted on the plane, and Mr. Torres had you brought here immediately."
I exhaled, the tension in my shoulders easing just a little. "Leave," I muttered, waving her off.
She bowed slightly and hurried out, the door clicking shut behind her.
I leaned back against the headboard, pressing my hand to my forehead. My skin felt clammy, and my head throbbed with a dull ache. Half-unconscious to fully out cold. What the hell happened back there?
And that dream again. Always the same room, the same door. But it was changing. Morphing. I glanced down at the scar on my hand, tracing the jagged line with my thumb. It was faint now, but the memory of how I got it still hasn't come to my head.
Some wounds never really healed.
I reached for my phone on the nightstand and almost dropped it when I saw the time. 8:00 AM. Tomorrow already. Did I really sleep that long? The last thing I remembered was being dragged back into my seat, and now… a whole day had passed?
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The room was immaculate, everything perfectly arranged. My things were neatly organized, the scent of fresh linen lingering in the air. It was unsettling how quickly everything had been put in place, tailored to my exact taste.
I stood up, crossing the room to the full-length mirror. The vines carved into the frame were intricate, almost delicate. I stared at my reflection, taking in the shadows under my eyes, the slight flush on my cheeks.
Reaching for the straps of my nightdress, I let them slide down my shoulders, the fabric pooling at my feet. My skin felt cool, exposed. The tiny mole at the back of my neck was barely noticeable, a tiny imperfection in an otherwise flawless image.
I traced my fingers over my collarbone, my gaze hardening. Weakness wasn't an option. Not for me.
Without another thought, I turned and walked into the bathroom, the cold tiles against my feet.
After freshening up, I made my way downstairs, the scent of breakfast drifting through the air. My hair was still damp, and I wrapped it loosely over one shoulder, not really in the mood to care.
I was directed by another servant but froze when I stepped into the dining room. My mother and stepfather were sitting at the long table, laughing like they didn't have a care in the world. Across from them sat my step-cousins and their parents, all smiles and warmth. The room buzzed with their forced cheerfulness, the kind of scene you'd find in a bad family sitcom.
I scanned the room, my eyes landing on Blanche. She was at the far end of the table, tapping away on her phone like nothing else existed. Her breakfast sat untouched, the steam still rising from her plate. She didn't even look up, just smiled shortly, scooped a forkful of eggs into her mouth, and went right back to her phone.
My mother's laugh rang out again, grating my ears. Jackson leaned in, whispering something in her ear that made her giggle like a teenager.
Disgusting.
I walked over to the table, sliding into an empty chair. All eyes turned toward me, and my mother wasted no time. "Elizabeth dear, meet the Windsors," she said, smiling too brightly. "This is Frankie, Asher, Landon, and Marilyn." she pointed to each of them.
She didn't even asked how I was doing.
Frankie's eyes lit up, practically glowing with excitement, her sleek black hair bouncing. "Hi, Elizabeth!" she chirped, grinning like we were long-lost friends.
"Blakely," I corrected.
She nodded, "Hi, Blakely"
Asher gave me a brief nod, barely looking up from his plate, then went right back to eating.
Landon, sitting across from me, stretched his hand out to ruffle my hair. Instinctively, I leaned back, narrowing my eyes. His hand froze mid-air before he pulled it back, clearing his throat awkwardly. "Right. Well... it's good to see you," he mumbled, clearly embarrassed, and sat back down.
Marilyn just smiled politely, her eyes flicking between us, like she was trying to read the room. She then stood up, her eyes soft as she looked at me. "How are you feeling, Elizabeth?" she asked gently, a hint of genuine concern in her voice.
Uh…
I blinked, taken aback. She looked like she cared—at least more than my own mother ever seemed to.
Before I could answer, my mother chuckled, waving dismissively. "Oh, Marilyn, don't worry. She's fine."
I looked up at Marilyn and nodded. "I'm fine now," I said, my voice was more steadier than I felt.
She smiled warmly. "Good. Wait a minute," she said, moving toward the kitchen. "I'll get an extra plate and dish up some food for you."