Nerine had gone to bed early that evening, exhaustion pressing down on her like chains. But despite her aching limbs and throbbing head, sleep did not come easily. When it did, it was not restful.
She stood in the long, dimly lit passageway she vaguely remembered exploring once—where an old, haunting painting of a regal woman hung. The passage was eerily quiet, the only sound the whisper of wind curling along the high ceiling. Her bare feet touched the cold marble floor, and she shivered, glancing down at herself. She was dressed only in her thin nightgown, the fabric clinging to her skin like dew on morning grass.
She looked around, confused. "How did I get here?"
The last thing she remembered was lying on her bed, the ruby pendant resting against her collarbone, the vampire novel closed on her lap.
Now she was back in this ghostly hallway.
Drawn forward as if by some invisible tether, she approached the painting. The woman in the portrait had fierce, elegant features and hair that glowed like diamond. Her eyes—those eyes—felt too familiar. Nerine stared up at the regal face and wondered again, Why do I look like you?
Was this her grandmother? Or someone else altogether? She didn't know. But it was unnerving.
She raised a trembling hand to touch the frame, but before her fingers could meet the canvas, a sound echoed from the far end of the passage. Voices. Footsteps.
Panic gripped her.
Not even stopping to think, Nerine turned and ran. The long gown tangled around her ankles, but she kept going, driven by pure instinct. She didn't know why she was running. It was just a dream, wasn't it?
She dashed down the hallway, turned a familiar corner, and exited into the garden. The cold air kissed her skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and legs. She breathed heavily, her hair wild and loose, and collapsed onto the nearest stone bench.
She looked around, panting. "That was ridiculous," she muttered aloud. "It's a dream, Nerine. You didn't have to run." She scolded herself.
She shook her head and exhaled. The garden looked different in the dreamscape—softer, as though mist clung to the edges of the hedges and flowers. Moonlight bathed everything in silver, and time seemed to still.
Drawn once more by a strange urge, Nerine wandered toward the flowerbeds. One bud in particular caught her eye—a tightly curled rose, pale violet in color, hidden among the others.
She bent down and gently touched the soft petals.
Instantly, the flower bloomed beneath her fingertips.
She gasped and pulled her hand back. The bud had opened with such speed it was almost violent, as though her touch had awakened something slumbering. She stared at it in disbelief.
"What…?"
Her heart thudded. That couldn't be normal, even in dreams.
"Maybe I'm reading too much fantasy," she muttered, trying to shake the dread pooling in her chest. Still, she walked away from the flower bed with a lingering unease.
Wanting to see more, Nerine wandered around the back of the mansion. The backdoor stood open—something that should've alerted her to the unreal nature of the dream—but she was too engrossed in the strangeness of the world to care.
She moved quietly through the servant's quarters, winding through unfamiliar paths. Everything felt both surreal and vivid—the creak of wooden floors, the scent of old soap, the distant rustle of leaves.
Eventually, she tried to head back, but the mansion seemed to twist around her like a living maze. No matter which corridor she chose, the way back to her room eluded her.
Panic returned. "Why am I scared? This is a dream," she reminded herself, but her heart didn't believe it.
She paused near a storage room, about to retrace her steps, when she heard a voice.
"Nerine?"
She turned.
No one was there.
"Nerine!" The voice again—female, soft, familiar. It echoed unnaturally, coming from everywhere and nowhere.
She backed up against the wall, heart thumping.
"Nerine, wake up."
Hands gripped her shoulders.
And just like that, she jolted upright.
She was in her bed.
The maid stood over her, concern written across her face. "My lady, it's time to get ready. Breakfast will be served shortly."
Nerine blinked. The dream clung to her skin like morning dew.
"I… I was in the hallway," she murmured.
The maid tilted her head. " What's that?" She asked.
Nerine nodded numbly. "Nothing… just a dream."
She sat up slowly, glancing around her room. Everything was where it should be.
But the sense of wonder—and fear—hadn't left her.
The morning began like the others....routine, rehearsed, and far too quiet.
Nerine let her maid help her dress, slipping into another soft, jewel-toned gown chosen by Lady Kate. Her newly dyed black hair was pinned into tight curls. She sneezed twice as her maid tightened the laces of her corset.
"Have you caught a cold, my lady?" the maid asked, concerned.
Nerine shrugged slightly. "Seems so."she replied .
She made her way to the dining room, steps light, eyes still distant from the dream.
Only Sofia was seated.
The younger woman sipped lazily from a china cup, her eyes never leaving Nerine as she entered and took her place.
Nerine didn't bother asking where Sir Marudas or Lady Kate were. They weren't her parents....not really. She had long stopped trying to assign them roles in her life.
She hadn't taken more than three bites of her food when Sofia spoke.
"You're getting married."
Nerine's spoon paused mid-air. "Am I?"
The words weren't entirely surprising. A piece of her had suspected.
Still, she felt the shift in the air, like a door opening she hadn't wanted to walk through.
"Yes," Sofia said, watching her reaction. "To a very powerful man."
Nerine raised an eyebrow. "Wonderful. I do hope he enjoys silence while eating."
Sofia leaned in, voice dropping like poison into honey. "You're being wed to a vampire."
Nerine blinked slowly, then smiled as if the idea were a jest. "Did you hit your head this morning? Or perhaps the tea is spiked?"
But inside, her blood ran cold.
"You think I'm joking?" Sofia snorted. "Why do you think Father brought you back so suddenly? If it was a noble match, I'd be the obvious choice. But no. He chose you."
Nerine stared at her, spoon forgotten.
Sofia tilted her head, satisfied by the flicker of doubt on her face. "Ask yourself, Nerine—why would our dear father go through the trouble of retrieving a forgotten daughter?"
The words burrowed deep, unsettling every foundation she'd clung to.
Before she could respond, Sofia turned her attention to her plate and began slicing into her meat with exaggerated grace.
Nerine stood abruptly, ignoring the voice of her maid calling after her.
She stepped into the garden, her pulse racing. Sunlight painted everything golden, but nothing felt warm.
She walked to the flowerbed where she had stood in her dream—and stopped.
The same violet bud she had touched… had bloomed.
Just that one.
The rest remained tightly shut.
She stared at it, heart thudding. "No. It's just coincidence. It has to be."
She turned and walked back into the house, heading straight to her room.
Inside, the vampire novel still sat on her nightstand. She picked it up, stared at the cover for a long moment, then shoved it into the bottom of her bag.
No more fantasy.
She lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Her fingers curled around the ruby pendant resting at her chest.
Sofia was trying to scare her. She had to be.
"She's wrong," Nerine whispered to herself. "I'll ask him. I'll get the truth."
But no matter how many times she repeated the words, the dread remained.
And outside the window, the single violet rose swayed gently in the morning breeze.