I WOKE UP TO NOTHINGNESS. I was alone, walking in the heart of darkness and its cold tendrils wrapped around me like a chilling veil. Each step echoed into the abyss, swallowed by the infinite emptiness. I was navigating the unknown, my heart pulsating in the rhythm of anticipation and dread.
This again. I know. I do know. Once again, I am trapped in my recurring dream.
Like the sudden spark of a dying ember, the immense silhouette of the Victorian house materialized before me. As always, it started like a whirlwind of sand particles that slowly took shape. Like on cue, it settled in front of me. It was the same house that had haunted my dreams over and over again. Its jagged, towering form loomed out of the darkness. Its gothic spires pierced the darkness, reaching out to touch the void, while its arched windows stared out like soulless eyes, reflecting the nothingness around me.
The house was an island in the dark sea of nothingness, of course. As I approached, the intricate woodwork of the front door came into view. The smell of damp earth and aged oak wafted towards me, a welcome respite from the sterile scentlessness of the void. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I saw him. The man who always appears in my dreams. His face was stern, etched with seriousness that was almost palpable. His footsteps echoed ominously as he strode towards me, his coat billowing behind him.
Each step he took was measured and purposeful, like a predator stalking its prey. Then he stopped before me, his piercing gaze holding mine. I felt the weight of his hands on my shoulders, his grip firm yet gentle, grounding me in this surreal reality. Fear washed over me, but I held my tongue. Then, in the eerie silence of the void, his voice cut through like a blade. "Be careful, Prim," he warned, his words carrying a weight that pressed down on my heart. "Please, be careful."
Suddenly, the children ran out of nowhere. They were faceless, their features a blur against the distinct whiteness of their clothes. They moved like apparitions, their forms shifting and wavering as they approached. They gathered behind the man, their blurred faces turned towards me. A shiver ran down my spine as they remained silent, their presence an unspoken threat. Then, the world spun, and reality twisted and turned. Because of the sudden dilemma, I was suddenly jolted awake. My heart was pounding, and my body was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. The digital clock on my bedside table blinked 10:00 AM in bright, white numbers. The sunlight filtering through the blinds painted hues across my room. I remained motionless though, my mind grappling with the remnants of the dream, the warning still echoing in my ears, and the faces of the children imprinted on my mind.
Please be careful.
The void had released me, but the haunting memory of the Victorian house, the man, and the children remained. My dreams had always been a mystery, but never had they felt so real or urgent. The day had just begun, but the shadow of the dream hung over me. My eyelids fluttered open, and for a second, everything was a haze. The last vestiges of my dream clung to me like a cobweb of surreal images and cryptic words that seemed to echo around me.
I then closed my eyes, attempting to shake off the last remnants of the dream. But the man's warning still rang in my ears.
As if on cue, a warm weight landed on my chest, pulling me from my thoughts. I opened my eyes to Ophelia, her green eyes gleaming in the morning light filtering through our threadbare curtains. Her purring was loud and comforting, hushing the silent whispers of my dream. I reached out and ran my fingers through her silky fur, the rhythmic motion easing the tension in my shoulders. With a sigh, I slid out of under Ophelia and rose from the bed, my bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. A quick glance in the cracked mirror revealed disheveled brown hair and tired eyes. A splash of cold water on my face did little to wash away the shadows of fatigue, but it was enough to propel me forward.
I then descened not long after; each step was like a painful reminder of our impoverished state. The peeling wallpaper, the chipped wooden floor, the threadbare furniture—each imperfection was a testament to the life we were leading.
And there, in the living room, was Elliot, slumped in his well-worn armchair. His face was ashen, and the lines were etched deeper due to the strain of his illness. His lung disease had taken its toll on him, and seeing him in that frail state felt like a dagger through my heart. Yet, each day was a small victory. The medications, though expensive, were working. He was recovering, albeit slowly.
As I stood there, observing him in the quiet of the morning, he suddenly looked at me and smiled. The morning sunlight was uncharacteristically warm today, filtering in through the sheer white curtains and painting dappish patterns on the worn-out hardwood floor. The house was filled with a hush, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the clock and the gentle clinking of porcelain from the kitchen. As I strolled into the living room, my eyes were drawn to Elliot's frail figure hunched over the counter. His back was now turned to me, but I could see the strain in his shoulders. His breath came in shallow gasps, like the last gust of wind before a storm, but unlike before, it's now more stable.
"Good morning," he said without turning, his voice a mere whisper carried across the room by the quiet. I wondered how he always knew it was me. He held up a plate bearing a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, cut neatly into triangles, just the way I liked it.
"Morning," I replied, my voice teetering on the brink of cheerfulness. I accepted the plate with a warm smile, my heart aching at his thoughtful gesture. "Did you take your medications?" I asked, trying to keep the worry from seeping into my voice.
He nodded, a hint of a smile gracing his pale lips. "I did."
I settled into a chair by the kitchen table, taking a bite of the sandwich. The familiar taste of the smooth peanut butter mingling with the sweetness of the jelly was comforting—a taste of normalcy amidst everything.
"How are you feeling?" I asked, my eyes scanning his face for any signs of discomfort.
"Better," he said, a little too quickly. His eyes, however, betrayed him; they were dull, a clear contrast to the vibrant blue I remembered. "The breathing's better," he added after a pause, a futile attempt to reassure me.
I smiled in response, although the worry never left my eyes. As I ate, the gentle brush of fur against my ankle made me turn. Ophelia was rubbing herself against my foot.
It was then Elliot spoke, his voice barely above a whisper, "Thank you, Prim." His words hung in the air, filling the room with unspoken sentiments. "For being here."
I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. "What are you even talking about? It's only natural, Elliot," I found myself saying. Even though the blood that ran in our veins was not the same, he was more of a father to me than anyone else had ever been. "You're family," I added, my voice choked with emotion. He's family.
His eyes shimmered with gratitude. "I can't tell you how much I appreciate you," he said, the sincerity in his words making my heart ache.
I wanted to tell him then to say those three words that had been weighing heavily on my heart. I love you. But the words clung to the back of my throat, an unspoken promise that seemed too fragile to voice. So, I just smiled, hoping he understood everything my words failed to convey.
"By the way, have you seen the bills?" Elliot asked.
Elliot's voice was barely a whisper, the words rustling through the silence like leaves caught in a soft breeze. His body reclined in the old armchair, the worn-out upholstery outlining his frail form. The pale hue of his skin was a stark contrast against the heavy woolen blanket draping his skeletal frame. Every breath he took was a symphony of struggle, the rasping sound echoing ominously in the sparsely furnished room.
"I've taken care of it," I reassured him, my voice threading the air like a comforting melody. I was perched on the edge of our battered couch, my fingers absently fiddling with the frayed edges of the cushion.
"When I get better..." he began, his voice trailing off into a fit of coughing. I watched as he gripped the armrest, the knuckles on his hand turning white. His determination, even in his weakened state, had an admirable yet heartbreaking quality.
"...I'll return the favor, Prim. In time. I promise," he finally managed, a weak smile playing on his lips. The promise, though sincere, was laced with uncertainty.
I shook my head gently, my chest tightening at his words. "You don't have to," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper. I let my gaze wander around the room, our humble abode bearing the marks of our struggles. The worn-out furniture, the second-hand utensils, the threadbare curtains—they all spoke of our state.
I then returned my gaze to Elliot, his eyes reflecting the weak light in the room. "Seeing you recover... that's more than enough for me." The words were simple, yet they held the depth of my feelings, my yearning for his health more precious than any favor he could ever return.
A smile slowly spread across Elliot's face, his eyes twinkling with gratitude. It was a beautiful sight. The smile was a sign of hope in our world of uncertainty, a silent vow that he would fight and that he would not give up. Then, as quickly as our conversation ended, the room fell silent, the air heavy with our unspoken words. I let my eyes linger on Elliot, and then to Ophelia. And despite the hardships and struggles, I knew that as long as we had each other, we could face anything.
The final morsel of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich now vanished into my mouth. I loved the way the sticky sweetness of the jam danced with the earthy nuttiness of the peanut butter on my tongue, a flavor that reminded me of simpler times. As the echoes of my meal faded, I rose from our small, worn-out kitchen table and headed to the sink.
The cool water flowed over my fingers. I took a moment to admire the soap bubbles, and then I reached for my toothbrush; its familiar handle fit perfectly in my palm. The taste of minty toothpaste filled my mouth, and after brushing my teeth, I immediately washed the dishes.
"Elliot," I called out, turning to find him slumped in his chair. I wiped the plates dry as I patted my hands on my jeans. "I'm going to see Mamori."
He lifted his gaze, his eyes heavy with a mixture of worry and exhaustion. "Okay, just be careful on your way there," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, the words hanging in the air like an omen.
I smiled at him, a reassurance more for his sake than mine. "I always am."
As I moved to step out of our house, my eye caught a strange sight on our porch. A small piece of paper, crumpled and discarded, lay in stark contrast against the worn wooden boards. I bent down to pick it up, but the paper stuck on my fingers, cold and slightly damp in my hand. I unfolded it, my eyes scanning the cryptic message inscribed in a hurried, almost panicked scrawl: "We know."
Beneath the words, a logo of a swan, its graceful neck curved into a perfect arc, stared back at me. I turned the note over in my hands, my mind racing and my heart pounding a frantic rhythm in my chest. I looked up, scanning the desolate expanse of our town. The houses stood like silent sentinels, their windows dark and empty, and their gardens overgrown and wild. There was an eerie stillness, a quiet that seemed to echo the cryptic message on the note.
A chill ran down my spine, and a prickling sense of unease creeped into my heart. The same feeling I had when I encountered the man under the street light. But my mind was rationalizing. Could Raunn be behind this?
The memory of his bitter defeat still stung. It was just like him to hold a grudge and to play mind games.
"That must be it," I murmured to myself, stuffing the note into my pocket. I took a deep breath, steeling myself against the wave of uncertainty that threatened to overwhelm me. I stepped off the porch, my boots crunching on the gravel, and as I set off towards Mamori's, the image of the swan burned into my mind.
***
Mamori and I headed to the hospital after we met at her house. The morning dew had now vanished from the grass, and the world was waking up to noon. The hospital had an air of quiet efficiency, a hive of activity beneath the calm exterior. The white walls were sterile and uninviting, but the nurses at the reception desk greeted us with warm smiles that belied the chilly atmosphere. We were there to see Dr. Welsh and discuss Elliot's condition. Elliot was at home recuperating since he insisted on staying.
As we waited, I found myself fidgeting through the whirlwind of thoughts that seemed to circle my mind. Mamori noticed my unease as she asked about my discomfort.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"Nothing," I said. But I know Mamori: she won't stop inquiring until she's satisfied with my answer. Just like when we were kids, she used to ask me about the time I stole the candy from the matron's office. I lied, but she caught me. Mamori is inquisitive, and I sometimes find that amusing and irritating at the same time. "I mean, not really nothing. It's just that I received this weird message propped on our porch the moment I stepped out of our home," I added.
"The other day," I continued, "there was this man I had seen under the dim glow of the streetlight, his face hidden under the brim of his hat, his eyes darting mysteriously as they met mine."
Mamori listened intently, watching me shift as I tried recalling the haunting moment that somehow made me feel anxious. "The memory of the man's silhouette, as he watched me from a distance, sent a shiver down my spine. I could still feel the discomfort, like a cold hand clutching at my heart. I do not know who he is, but there was something off about him—something that I couldn't explain."
Mamori listened attentively, her dark eyes filled with concern. I also told her about the message scribbled on the cryptic note I had received, including the logo of the swan, which was very elusive and mysterious. The paper was crumpled and the handwriting was a scrawl, but the underlying threat was palpable.
"It must've been them," Mamori murmured, her gaze distant. Her reaction puzzled me. I didn't clearly catch what she meant and asked her to clarify. Startled, she looked at me and waved off my question. "It's nothing," she said a little too quickly. "I said that what you said was weird."
I wanted to press further to ask, but I knew she wouldn't give me any information. I replied a little, "Yeah," until the sound of footsteps approaching interrupted us.
Dr. Welsh walked in, his white coat fluttering behind him. He had a kind smile on his face. "Elliot should take his last medications. He'll be okay," he said, his voice filled with a comforting assurance.
Gratitude washed over me, and I thanked Dr. Welsh. We left his office after a few small chitchats, and Mamori went to buy a bottle of water.
As Mamori and I walked outside, we immediately meandered back to our homes. Birds chirped in the trees, filling the air with their delightful melody. The hospital doors closed behind us, sealing off the clinical, sterile environment and releasing us back into the warmth of the day. Yet, even as the sun rose higher in the sky, the sky is still gloomy. I don't know how to explain, but the clouds were gray despite the sun's presence. Suddenly, droplets of rain started cascading from the heavens.
"It's raining," Mamori said. She offered to let me stay in their house until the rain stopped pouring, but I insisted on going home. For some reason, a wave of discomfort made me want to go to Elliot in an instant. Like something was going to happen.
Mamori frowned and insisted; however, I told her that I still had to do something.
"Are you sure?" she asked. I just answered her with a gentle nod. I can see the worry etched on her eyes—a sign of her worries that spread across her face.
Mamori's then waved, with a gentle swoop of her hand, a fluttering bird against the backdrop of the now darkened sky. "Take care." Her voice carried a trail of worry, a melody that danced with the wind. I offered a smile, the corners of my mouth lifting in an echo of her joy, and set off down the quiet road towards home.
Suddenly, the rain poured even harder. The sun has now disappeared from the horizons, with only dark clouds blanketing the skies above. The moment I neared my home, the first thing that struck me was the silence. It was a stillness that hung heavy in the air, a thick, stagnant quietude that was out of sync with the usual cacophony of life that greeted me. I felt a chill snake snake its way up my spine. Something was off.
Our home was modest, a patchwork quilt of recovered wood and secondhand bricks. It was worn and weathered by time, yet it still held a charm that only familiarity could bring. The door seemed to hang a little crooked, and the knob was colder than usual. As I turned it, a creak echoed through the silent air, a mournful sound that resonated with the unease bubbling within me.
Then, as I entered, the sight that awaited me was a thunderclap of chaos. Our humble living room was a battlefield, chairs overturned, cushions strewn haphazardly, and shards of pottery painted a mosaic of disaster on the floor. Elliot's chair was empty, an eerie void that sent a wave of dread crashing over me. Desperation seized me, and I called out Elliot's name, my voice a lone echo in the ravaged room. I raced through our home, fear pounding in my chest like a war drum.
What's happening? Where is Elliot? Why is everything so chaotic?
And then, I saw it.
The moment I entered the back door, in the dim light of the dying sky, a figure cloaked in black was standing. At first, I was unsure as to what was happening. At first, I was oblivious to the event in front of me. Then, as I finally entered, my eyes grappled at the sight of the scene in front of me. The man was raising his hand, and there, cornered near the table, was Elliot. Just as I was slowly making my way inside, the man noticed my presence. So did Elliot. And just like that, the man raised his hand higher, holding Elliot aloft. His hands were raised high, and an unseen force wrapped around Elliot's throat, squeezing the life out of him. I could see Elliot's veins straining, his eyes bulging, and his lips a ghastly shade of blue.
And I panicked.
"Elliot!" I screamed.
The man in black turned toward me. His face was a parchment of horror, devoid of eyebrows and facial hair, and marked by a terrible scar that slashed through his left eye. His eyes were as cold and lifeless as the moon.
"Prim!" Elliot's voice was a ragged whisper. A plea that tore my heart apart. But my feet were rooted to the ground, my mind reeling from the nightmare unfolding before me.
"Get away from here! "He screamed, but I was glued to the floor. What the hell is going on?
Fueled by a surge of desperation, I launched myself at the specter, my hands outstretched and my heart screaming in protest. But with a casual flick of his wrist, he sent me hurtling backward as if propelled by an unseen force. I crumpled onto the ground, the taste of dirt and despair filling my mouth. My eyes widened in disbelief. H-How...?
"Prim, leave! "Elliot screamed. Just as the man was squeezing the life out of him, the medications I had for Elliot came rolling to the ground. Tears then descended from my eyelids.
I looked at the man as he lowered his hand. Just as he stopped, Elliot let out a soft wheeze. As his body hit the ground, a guttural cry of loss escaped my lips. His eyes, once warm with life, were now vacant, mirroring the cold indifference of the moon above. I collapsed next to him, my tears falling like rain onto the parched earth.
But before I could fully comprehend the horrifying sight of Elliot sprawling lifelessly next to me, the ominous figure in black moved in my direction. Before I could even react, feel grief, or cry, my instincts told me to leave, as Elliot screamed.
I ran out of the tiny room and took Ophelia, who was sitting on a distant side, as I cradled her in my arms. My heart pounded like a drum in my chest, each beat resonating with fear. Panic seized me, icy fingers curling around my mind and stealing away any rational thought. I turned on my feet and ran. Desperation fueled my flight, my shoes pounding against the cobblestones, echoing in the cold, lonely street of Perthlochry. Tears streamed down my face, blurring the world around me into a watery kaleidoscope of despair. I could taste the salt of my own fear; I could feel it coursing through me, urging me to keep running.
Where should I go? Where should I hide?
Then, a single thought guided me. Mamori.
I sprinted towards her place, the familiar path now a terrifying maze beneath the gloomy sky. Finally, I reached her house. With trembling hands, I hammered on the door, the pounding a stark contrast to the silence that permeated the air. After what felt like an eternity, the door creaked open, revealing Mamori. Her bewilderment was evident in the soft, glowing lamplight. Her eyes, wide and startled, darted over my disheveled appearance. "Prim?" she breathed. "You look like you've seen a ghost. Come in."
She ushered me in. The smell of incense and old books enveloped me, a strange comfort in the chaos. Then, Ophelia quickly leapt out of my arms as I shivered, my clothes soaking wet with rain. Mamori waited a few seconds for me to finally calm down before offering a cup of warm water. "What happened? "She asked.
I was shaking, barely able to string together coherent sentences as I recounted the horror of Elliot's murder. The words stumbled out of me, raw and painful, like shards of glass ripping through my throat. With that, I sobbed.
Esther arrived then, her footsteps making a steady rhythm against the wooden floor. Her gaze, usually sharp, softened as she took in my trembling form. Mamori, her face a mask of seriousness, relayed the story I'd stammered out. And just as I thought everything was not making sense, what Mamori said made it more confusing.
"They must've known," Mamori said, her voice a low whisper in the quiet room. The words hung heavy in the air, a grim prophecy that sent a shiver down my spine.
"W-what?" I stammered, my mind still reeling from the shock. I felt like a puppet; strings violently yanked in every direction.
Mamori's gaze was unflinching. "We need to leave, Prim. Martha; we need to leave."
Martha? Who the hell is Martha? And why is she calling Esther that?
Esther, with a determination I'd never seen before, began to gather their belongings. The room buzzed with a new sense of urgency.
"What's going on?" I blinked back fresh tears, a sense of loss and confusion washing over me. Mamori gently took my hand, her grip firm yet comforting.
"We'll explain on the way," she said, her voice steady. She peeked through the windows before finally turning her attention towards me.
She then grabbed my arm as Esther cradled Ophelia. We then left their home using their backdoor. My world had turned upside down, and all I had was Mamori's firm grip guiding me through the chaos. As I looked into her eyes, I saw not just fear but determination.
At this moment, I am utterly and completely confused. The world around me was swirling like a vortex of confusion, an elaborate dance of questions and half-understood answers. Mamori and Esther were leading me away from our familiar town, their faces etched with a seriousness that made my heart flutter like a trapped bird. I felt my mind racing, trying to comprehend what was happening. My voice, hoarse from the dust and exertion, kept asking Mamori the same question over and over.
"Mamori, what's happening?" I panted, my breath coming out in ragged gasps as we sprinted through the underbrush. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I cradled my cat. The moonlit path was barely visible under the canopy of leaves and branches. But Mamori, her eyes focused and determined, didn't utter a word. Her silence only added to my growing sense of panic.
The night was shattered by the sound of footsteps. As I glanced back, my heart pounded in my chest like a wild drum. Men in black suits were emerging from the shadows, their faces obscured by the darkness. Mamori's face tightened, her eyes reflecting fear and concern.
"No," she hissed, clutching Esther's arm. There was an unspoken agreement between them, a shared understanding that left me on the outskirts, lost in my mounting confusion.
They moved in front of me defensively, their bodies forming a human shield.
The looming figures in black advanced, their voices gruff and demanding. "You're all cornered," they growled, their words slicing through the silence of the night.
Mamori's response was fierce and resolute, her voice echoing through the air. "I will die first before anything happens to Primrose." Her words hung in the air, a promise, a vow.
I was lost, with fear and confusion intertwining within me. The tension in the air was palpable, like the calm before a storm, but I was the only one who didn't know why the storm was brewing. My hand unconsciously went to my necklace, a comforting presence against my pounding heart. It started to glow faintly, a dull luminescence that only I noticed. The sight triggered a memory—a flashback to the time when I had defeated Raunn in the underground arena and how it had gleamed brightly during our duel. I clutched it tightly, the cool metal against my skin grounding me in reality. I was lost, confused, and terrified. But Mamori and Esther stood by my side, ready to face whatever was coming. The men in black were closing in, their faces hidden in the shadows.
I didn't know what was happening, why we were running, or who these men were. But before I knew it, the air thickened around us as we felt them closing in—the men cloaked in obsidian suits, their faces void of expressions or emotions. Their brows were bare, as barren as their souls seemed to be, and something about their aura made the small hairs on my neck stand on end. My heart pounded inside my chest like a wild drum, echoing my terror.
"What's going on?!" I asked.
Mamori stood, rigid and tense, beside me, her eyes reflecting her worries. Esther, usually smiling and joyous, was visibly trembling, her hands clenched in tight fists. The eerie silence was only broken by our shallow, terrified breaths and the ominous crunch of the men's footsteps on the gravel. Who are these men?
As the feeling of despair threatened to consume us, the air shifted. Something in it made me feel at ease despite the growing fears that strangled my neck. As I turned to look to my left, a figure emerged from the shadows—a lady swathed in black, a stark contrast against the silvery glow of the moon. Her lips, crimson as a rose in full bloom, were set in a firm line. Her countenance was strikingly beautiful; her age was difficult to place—somewhere around the mid-thirties, maybe? Her dark hair was coiled into a neat bun at the top of her head, not a single strand out of place.
Mamori smirked, a small and unexpected curl of her lips that made me furrow my brow in confusion. She seemed to know this mysterious lady, or perhaps the newcomers who accompanied her—teens dressed in ethereal white, looking more like celestial beings than mere mortals. Then, the lady's voice rang out in the stillness, a warning to the menacing men: "Leave them alone."
The men in black just stared, their eyes glinting maliciously under the pale moonlight. A chilling silence fell upon us, the air tense with anticipation. The seconds ticked by, each one pulsating with a promise of impending danger.
Then a gunshot shattered the silence, the sound ricocheting off the surrounding buildings. I screamed, my heart lurched in my chest, and my breath hitched in my throat. One of the teens, the boy with ginger hair and a white polo, reacted instantly. His hands moved in a blur, and in the next moment, the area around us was enveloped in a brilliant light, an incandescent flare that seemed to devour the darkness. Flame. Panic surged through me, my heart hammering against my ribcage. As I was about to scream, another of the teens, this one with tousled hair and a very personable face, stepped forward. His hand reached out, his fingertips barely grazing my forehead, but the touch was like an electric jolt. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over me, and my vision began to blur.
"No." I tried to protest, but my voice came out as a whisper. The world around me started spinning, morphing into a whirl of colors. The last thing I remember was the sight of his serene face, looking down at me with a strange mix of pity and determination. Then everything went black. The darkness welcomed me, swallowing me whole, and I succumbed to its call, falling into the abyss of unconsciousness.
You are our salvation. The man appeared in my sight just as I slowly lose my consciousness.
And then, Elliot. His smile.
"If ever something happens to me, Primrose, I want you to be safe and happy. I want you to be in a happier family."