The night was too still.
Seraphina lay in her royal bed, staring at the ceiling as the moonlight kissed her sheets. Her body ached with weariness, but her mind would not rest. The words of the High Priestess echoed in her head.
"These are not dreams. They are visions."
At last, sleep pulled her in like a tide.
She stood once again in the forest.
Cold. Twisted trees. No stars. No moon. Only darkness and the sound of her own breath.
Then, ahead, a soft glow.
The girl—the same glowing girl—stood waiting, hand stretched forward. She didn't speak. Her light warmed the air.
Seraphina stepped toward her, drawn by something she didn't understand.
Then the shadows shifted.
Another figure appeared beside the girl—a man.
But this time… he was not hideous or monstrous.
He was beautiful.
Golden hair, flawless skin, soft robes that flowed like mist. His face was calm, gentle—almost divine. His eyes shimmered like the sky at dawn.
He raised his hand and smiled.
But something in that smile felt... wrong.
"Come to me," he said, voice like a soft wind.
"And I will give you rest."
Seraphina stopped.
The girl still said nothing, still held out her hand.
But now two choices stood before her:
Light and warmth...
And beauty that felt like a lie.
Seraphina took a step toward the girl. She lifted her hand—
And vines burst from the earth.
Dark, thorn-covered vines shot up, wrapping around her ankles and legs, pulling her back. She gasped, trying to break free, but they held her tight.
The girl's face didn't change. She only watched.
The man took another step closer, his radiant face still smiling—but now, his eyes darkened, just for a second.
"Let go of your burden," he said.
"You've suffered enough. Come to me. I will give you peace."
Seraphina's heart pounded. His voice was soft—too soft, like silk hiding a knife.
She screamed.
And woke up.
Her hands clutched her sheets. Her body soaked with sweat. The dream was gone—but its grip remained.
She threw off the blanket and looked down.
Her legs were covered in red marks—thin, winding lines where the vines had been. Her skin was still stinging.
They were real.
Not a dream.
She pressed her hands to her mouth to keep from crying out.
Two faces.
Two hands.
Two voices.
One calling her to peace.
The other watching in silence.
And now… marks on her skin.
The battle had begun—and it wasn't just in her sleep anymore.