Page 11

Terror seizes me.

I’m paralyzed by fear.

Screams fill the air.

“RUN,” a voice begs me. “RUN AND DON’T LOOK BACK!”

I only have a split second to decide.

Someone with black gloves reaches for my arm.

I slip out of their grasp, running into the woods.

My lungs and legs burn, but I have to keep running.

I jump over fallen limbs and tree roots.

The woods seem stranger now—darker.

I hear screams in the growing distance behind me.

I look for somewhere to hide.

Suddenly, someone is gripping my arm.

I want to scream.

To run .

To fight.

But their hold is tight against my wrist.

My captor spins me around to face them, and to my surprise, it’s the woman from the path.

Her lavender eyes are wary and haunting.

“They’re coming,” she says.

My book topples from my lap as I jostle awake. My heart is beating wildly against my chest, like it could claw its way out. My hands tremble as I brush them across my clammy skin. My simple sage green night dress is slightly damp from the combination of cold sweat and evening dew drops.

I adjust myself into a more upright position, reaching for the book that fell from my grasp.

I rub my fingers over the worn leather spine of a book that I’ve read so many times.

It’s a beguiling story about a time long forgotten.

When abilities weren’t used as weapons, but restorers of life and balance.

I release an unsteady breath, demanding my tense body to relax.

It is just another dream.

Nothing more.

I’m sitting outside my bedroom window on the side of the roof.

A beautiful starry night is spread out before me.

A countless array of shimmering orbs dance in the skies above as a reminder that the light cannot be so easily distinguished.

They’re simple, yet elegant. Though they are just tiny specks on the horizon, they’re vast in their ranks as millions glow above, hoping to illuminate the darkened world below.

They’re ethereal.

I lean my body against the side of the dormer window as I gaze up at the stunning display.

I’ve always loved watching the stars. There’s an immense calm that overtakes me every night when I come out here.

They remind me of the stories about the light that used to fill this land before the Drakhul’s ascent—before it corrupted everything within Malvoria .

My eyes roam to the distant woods that surround the outskirts of Aurelius.

Rolph used to tell us stories of a time when the trees and the creatures within it were kind and gentle.

Back then, it’s said that if one listened closely enough, the trees would whisper their secrets through the breeze.

Amelia also remembers how the faeries and creatures in the woods enjoyed playing harmless tricks on the children who dared to enter.

Before the Drakhul, everything in Malvoria shone brightly, and every living thing existed in perfect harmony.

Now, they are shells of their former selves.

The faeries, goblins, elves, and minotaurs were warped into bloody-thirsty creatures that punish anyone who enters into their domains.

The beautiful creatures within the lakes and rivers became kelpies with pensions to drown any who dare venture across.

The spirits of the wood, who once loved to dazzle travellers with their songs, are now haunted as they scream and howl all hours of the night.

I believe the cursed mist is the cause of my recurrent nightmares.

If the Drakhul can cause the rest of our kingdom to crumble into chaos, surely it can corrupt the rest we find in sleep.

I’ve been plagued by them every night for the last ten years.

The nightmares are usually the same sequence of events: someone screaming, a house burning, and the woods that are now filled with darkness.

However, tonight’s dream came with a new addition.

“They’re coming,” the lavender-eyed woman’s voice echoes in my mind.

I’ve never seen a woman with teal skin except for on the path earlier this evening.

Somehow, her words still haunt me, like a warning.

I shake my head at the ridiculousness of my own thoughts.

For all I know, the woman is conjured from my imagination, inspired by something I was reading before drifting away to sleep.

Otherwise, wouldn’t Cara have seen her too?

She isn’t real, nor are the nightmares.

However, this roof?

Real .

The book currently resting in my lap?

Real.

My room just inside my window?

Real.

The stars glowing above me?

I really hope they are real.

Amelia taught me this exercise years ago when I first arrived in their home and the nightmares made their first appearance:

Amelia is busy rushing around the kitchen, making breakfast before the family wakes up.

She pours piping hot coffee into a tankard, stirring in two sugar cubes and a splash of cow’s milk. She crosses the kitchen, placing it in my hands.

“It felt so real,” I whimper, sipping the warm liquid.

“Dreams are nothing more than a combination of your imagination, and what you ate for dinner the night before,” Amelia coos. “You simply have to wake up, and they’ll plague you no more. You like the stars, don’t you?”

I nod.

“Well, look at the stars next time you wake from a nightmare,” she replies. “Have you ever noticed how they shine at night, illuminating the darkness?”

I nod again.

“They’re a reminder to us that the darkness can never fully snuff out the light.

When the torments in your mind take over, find the spark within you,” she says, placing a hand over my heart.

“The nightmares aren’t real, Darling Flower.

Whenever they feel too real or too much, remind yourself of what’s real.

Look to the stars. The dreams might take your mind to dark places, but they can never steal the illumination of your soul. ”

I crawl back through the window of my darkened room.

It’s small, but cozy with wool blankets and different sketches of flowers that Deidre drew for me.

My bed rests on the left side of the wall, and right now, it beckons for me to come closer.

My exhausted body and mind do not protest as I fall into its warm embrace.

As I drift off to sleep, I think of that day with Amelia all those years ago.

I don’t think I will ever have the words to thank Amelia for her motherly wisdom.

She’s been a steady voice of guidance for me over the years.

She’s never belittled me or made me feel as if my fears were witless.

When I look at the stars, I will always remember her and the valuable lesson that she taught me:

The darkness might be vast, but it will never fully extinguish the light.