She ran.
Faster.
Her feet slamming against the damp earth, her gown torn at the edges, catching on unseen thorns. Her breath came in ragged gasps, chest heaving, heart pounding like a war drum against her ribs. The towering trees swallowed the moonlight, leaving only shifting shadows—long, clawed fingers stretching toward her, reaching, grabbing—
No. She couldn't stop.
Her body ached, her limbs burned, but the whispers followed.
Run.
The forest stretched endlessly, a labyrinth of darkness with no exit. The night air, once crisp and fragrant, now carried a chilling stillness. The stars above—the only witnesses—offered no path, no solace.
Where was she?
She stumbled, catching herself against a tree. Bark scraped against her palm, grounding her in the reality. Behind her, nothing...
No sounds but the pounding of her own heartbeat. Yet, she could feel it—an invisible weight pressing against her senses.
She wasn't alone..
The whispers… soft, just at the edge of hearing. Faint voices curling through the cold air, weaving through the trees like unseen specters.
"You traitor..."
Not real. It wasn't real.
She shut her eyes for a moment.
Why had she run? What had she seen?
Then—
___
The wind whispered through the leaves, rustling them like a quiet melody. A silver glimmer flickered in Claire's blonde hair beneath the moonlight. She stood on the balcony, gazing at the night sky, her blue eyes reflecting the stars above. Her pointed chin complemented her delicate beauty, lending her an air of elegance and refinement. The night carried the fragrance of blooming flowers, wrapping around her like an embrace.
A voice called from within. "My lady, the preparations are almost complete."
She turned away from the moon's glow. "Yes, I'm coming."
Her maid, Elise, stood at the doorway with a polite bow. "The final arrangements for tomorrow's event are complete, my lady. The seamstress has delivered your gown. Would you like to see it?"
Claire nodded and followed Elise into her chambers. The gown, a masterpiece of silk and embroidery, shimmered under the candlelight. "It's beautiful," she murmured, tracing her fingers lightly over the fabric."What of the event itself?"
Elise smiled. "It will be grand, my lady. As it is
your eighteenth birthday, your father has taken great care in its arrangement. And..." she hesitated slightly before continuing, "the Lord has hinted at discussions regarding your marriage."
Claire merely nodded, unsurprised. It was expected—an inevitability that had loomed over her since childhood. "I see. That is not unexpected."
The next morning, she awoke to the gentle warmth of sunlight spilling through her windows. Stepping outside, she inhaled the crisp morning air, her gaze sweeping over the estate. The gardens were a breathtaking sight—vivid flowers blooming in perfect harmony, trimmed hedges standing tall, and the distant lake reflecting the golden hues of dawn.
Preparations for the evening were already underway. Servants bustled about, setting up lanterns, arranging decorations, and ensuring every detail was flawless. As Claire wandered through the estate, she noticed a young stablehand struggling with a restless horse. Without hesitation, she approached, murmuring soft words to calm the beast. The stablehand looked at her with gratitude, marveling at how effortlessly she understood what was needed.
"Thank you, my lady," he said, bowing his head. Claire simply smiled before continuing her stroll.
"Elise," she called as she entered the main hall, her gaze scanning the elegant drapes being hung.
"Yes, my lady?"
"Ensure my father's chair faces the east wing. The sunset will be at its peak when the toast begins, and he enjoys the view most at that hour."
Elise smiled knowingly. "You always think of these things."
"He deserves a perfect evening," Claire replied simply.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the estate transformed into a dreamlike vision. The grand hall glowed with soft candlelight, chandeliers casting a warm radiance over the golden decorations. Noble guests arrived in their finest attire, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Music swelled as Claire made her entrance, clad in her elegant gown, radiating grace and poise.
She moved through the sea of refined faces, her gown a cascade of silken blue, adorned with delicate gold embroidery that shimmered under the candlelight. A practiced smile graced her lips, and when addressed, she responded with effortless charm, her voice carrying the lilt of nobility.
"You look radiant this evening, my lady."
"Such grace, such refinement—truly a daughter of House Valen."
The evening carried on in indulgence, yet every movement, every exchange felt orchestrated, as if she were playing a role carved for her since birth.
At the head of the hall, her father, Lord Aldric Valen, observed with quiet satisfaction. Finally, he stood, lifting his glass and clicking it gently to gain the crowd's attention. A hush fell over the hall as all eyes turned to him.
"Tonight is a very special night," his voice resonated with authority. "Not only does my daughter Claire celebrate her eighteenth year, but it is also time for her to step forward—to be recognized not just as my daughter, but as one worthy to represent House Valen."
A murmur spread through the guests, anticipation thick in the air.
"Therefore," he continued, "I wish to announce that the time has come to consider her future. Her marriage will be arranged to secure an alliance befitting our house."
Applause erupted, smiles exchanged, goblets raised.
Claire, poised and elegant, dipped her head in acknowledgment. She did not falter, did not waver. The perfect daughter.
The celebration continued, the grand hall brimming with life. Yet, as the night deepened and the echoes of joy and chatter began to fade, the final notes of music lingered in the stillness.
One by one, the guests took their leave, the
grandeur slowly retreating into quiet.
And then—silence.
The once-bustling hall stood empty, the last remnants of the evening lingering in the faint glow of candlelight.
Yet, Claire was nowhere to be found.
The night had been perfect. A vision of joy and promise.
But perfection is fleeting.