The carriage wheels rolled up the gravel path of Blackthorn Mansion, crunching like faint thunder under the quiet night sky. No one spoke on the short walk from the courtyard to the grand front doors. The air still carried the metallic tang of blood from earlier, though the skirmish itself was behind them.
The door pushed open , letting the ladies pass. Kael steps were deliberate, his posture rigid — a predator still on alert even within his own domain. Penelope murmured something to her brother seeing him before bed, but he only inclined his head. His thoughts were elsewhere.
Nerine said nothing at all. She ascended the staircase slowly, her back straight, concealing the small, burning ache along her waist. The injury throbbed in time with her heartbeat, but she would not let either Kael or Penelope see her grimace.
When she reached her room, she closed the door behind her and let her shoulders fall. The pain finally contorted her face, pulling it into a grimace she could no longer hide. She moved toward the washstand, intending to clean the blood before it dried further, but her arm felt heavy as stone. She managed to pull away the fabric near her shoulder wound, the crimson smear still fresh against pale skin.
A soft knock came, and before she could protest, Clara slipped inside, carrying a small basin of warm water and cloths.
"My lady…" Clara's eyes widened at the sight of the wounds. "You're injured."
"It's nothing," Nerine said quickly, even as the ache flared. "Just a scratch."
Clara did not argue, but the look on her face said she did not believe her. She set down the basin and knelt beside her, gently taking Nerine's arm. The first dab of warm cloth made Nerine hiss softly.
"Nothing, is it?" Clara muttered under her breath, but she kept her touch careful. She cleaned the gash on Nerine's arm first, then helped her lift the hem of her gown enough to expose the wound on her waist. The sting of the water made sweat bead instantly on Nerine's forehead.
"You should let me call the physician," Clara said firmly. "These need to be properly—"
"No." Nerine's voice was quiet but decisive. "It's not serious. Just… disinfect it, wrap it, and it will heal."
Clara studied her for a moment, as if weighing whether to press the matter, but finally nodded. She fetched clean bandages, winding them gently around Nerine's waist and shoulder.
By the time Clara tied off the last knot, Nerine's hair clung damply to her temples.
"You're sweating," Clara said softly.
"I'll be fine," Nerine replied, though the words felt like paper on her tongue.
When dinner time came, Clara returned to ask if she would join the others. Nerine shook her head. "Tell them I'll rest tonight."
Downstairs in the dining room, Kael sat at the long polished table. Penelope joined him, her hair pinned neatly as though nothing unusual had happened that day. He waited, gaze fixed on the doorway, as if expecting someone else to appear.
Footsteps echoed on the marble. He did not look up at once, pretending instead to busy himself with his glass. But when the figure entered, it was not Nerine — only her maid.
"She won't be joining you, my lord," Clara said with a respectful bow.
Kael's jaw flexed. "Make her porridge and take it to her room."
"Yes, my lord."
As Clara turned to leave, he smirked faintly to himself, hearing Nerine's earlier words echo in his memory: Humans aren't that weak.
Not weak indeed.
Upstairs, the porridge was brought in. Nerine thanked Clara, saying she would eat later, though her stomach felt tight and hollow. She set the bowl on the small table beside her bed. The steam curled in the lamplight for a few moments before fading into nothing.
No matter how brave she pretended to be, the truth was unshakable — the memory of blood on her face, of claws raking across her skin, was still too fresh. She was terrified, though she'd never admit it aloud.
She lay down, curling slightly to take pressure off her waist, ignoring the ache. Her eyes slid shut despite her efforts to stay awake, the room dimming into soft shadow. The porridge cooled beside her, untouched.
She was back at the house.
The cracked stone path, the weathered shutters, the faint smell of lavender from the garden — all as she remembered. Only now, unlike the last dream, she felt no dread pressing down on her.
This time, she was determined. No matter how tired she felt, she would step inside.
The door gave way easily, swinging open on silent hinges. Light streamed through the windows, warm and golden. Her mother stood there — alive, whole, and radiant.
She looked healthy. Her dark hair was pulled back neatly, her eyes bright as she hummed softly to herself. She didn't look toward Nerine. She didn't seem to see her at all.
"Mom…" Nerine called softly.
Her voice echoed strangely, as if the walls swallowed it and sent it back to her, fainter. Her mother didn't turn.
Puzzled, Nerine followed her out the front door. They walked together — though her mother's steps didn't slow for her — down the road into the small town. The air smelled faintly of bread from the bakery, and children's laughter drifted from somewhere unseen.
Her mother stopped at the post office, greeting the clerk with a smile. She accepted a letter with careful hands, her joy so pure it was almost startling.
Nerine watched her turn toward home, but then a voice called out behind them.
"Mama!"
Her mother turned.
A little girl ran toward her, black hair bouncing, face lit up.
Nerine froze.
It was her.
Not as she was now, but as she had been — small, barefoot, grinning as if the world itself loved her. Her mother scooped the child up effortlessly, laughing as she carried her back toward the house.
Inside, the two played together. Nerine stood in the doorway of the room, watching her mother chase the girl in circles, both giggling until the child collapsed in her lap.
Her throat tightened. She felt her eyes water. She hadn't seen this — not like this — in so many years.
Her mother smoothed the girl's hair, humming softly again. Then, setting the child down gently on the couch to nap, she took the letter from her pocket.
Nerine stepped closer, curiosity pricking her. She saw the way her mother's smile faded as she read. The brightness in her eyes dimmed.
Nerine's own chest tightened.
She drew nearer, trying to see the contents. The letters on the paper blurred, then sharpened into a single name — Alicia.
She had just read it when her mother's head snapped up, eyes locking directly with hers for the first time.
Pain seared through her side, sharp and sudden. Nerine jolted awake, breath catching. She had rolled in her sleep and pressed directly onto the wound.
Her mouth felt bitter, dry. She tried to remember the dream — the laughter, the letter, the sudden shift in her mother's face — but it all tangled together with the ache in her body.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her skin was clammy, her nightdress clinging damply from sweat. She poured a glass of water with shaking hands and took a long sip, hoping it would clear her head.
But as soon as she stood, the room tilted.
A sharp bang echoed inside her skull.
The glass slipped from her fingers.
Darkness swallowed her.
And Nerine fell, unconscious, to the floor.