Erdaline felt it before she understood it.
The warmth didn't fade.
It didn't retreat.
It was severed.
The living presence anchoring the dream-space vanished so abruptly that reality itself seemed to flinch. The vines froze mid-growth, petals turning translucent, then brittle. A heartbeat later, they shattered, breaking apart into fragments of green light that evaporated before touching the ground.
The chamber recoiled.
"No—"
Her voice echoed once, then snapped in half, swallowed by the sudden emptiness.
The stabilizing pressure around her skin faltered. The pale fractures along her arms pulsed violently, light spilling through them like stars bleeding through cracks in glass. She gasped, clutching her chest as the familiar pull returned stronger now, directionless, tugging her existence in opposing ways.
Then it stopped.
Not healed.
Balanced.
A dangerous equilibrium.
Silence followed.
Not the peaceful kind.
The kind that watched.
Erdaline wrapped her arms around herself, breath uneven, teeth clenched against the chill creeping through her bones. The dream-space still existed, but it no longer felt attentive. Platforms drifted lazily, reacting slower than before. Distance hesitated, as if uncertain whether it still needed to obey her.
Something had left.
Something powerful.
And it hadn't gone willingly.
The last echo of its presence pressed gently into her awareness, not as sound, but as meaning.
All will save you.
The words carried no comfort.
They weren't a promise.
They were a will.
Time stretched.
She couldn't tell how long she remained there. The chamber rotated slowly, stars rearranging themselves without urgency. Space no longer rushed to protect her. It waited to see what she would do.
That was worse.
Then—
Something intruded.
Not dream.
Not space.
Intention.
A distortion formed where no edge should exist. The light bent away from it, refusing to outline its shape clearly. Even the stars seemed hesitant, dimming as though embarrassed to witness its arrival.
Black hair spilled loosely around a blurred silhouette, swallowing the glow behind it.
The figure smiled.
Not warmly.
Not cruelly.
Invitingly.
"So this is where you've been breaking yourself," it said.
The voice overlapped itself, layered with echoes that didn't come from the chamber but from somewhere deeper like memory scraping against possibility.
Erdaline forced herself upright. Her legs trembled, but she stood.
"Who are you?" she demanded.
The figure tilted its head, amused.
"Names complicate agreements," it replied casually. "I prefer functions."
It took a step forward.
Space did not bend for it.
Space made room.
"I am what listens when prayers fail," it continued. "What answers when guardians hesitate. What remains when mercy is cut away."
Her heart hammered,"You're not allowed here."
The figure laughed softly. "Neither are you."
" But atleast I let you know I belong everywhere wherever my legs leads me."
It raised one pale hand. Symbols flickered briefly in the air complex, ancient sigils that made her vision ache. Oaths ,Exchanges and Clauses embedded into reality itself.
Her breath caught.
"You recognize them," the figure noted with satisfaction.
"Good. That means you're close enough to understand."
"Understand what?" she asked, voice tight.
"That your suffering is not an accident."
The chamber dimmed, stars retreating like witnesses stepping back.
"Long ago," the figure continued, pacing lazily across empty space, "a desperate guardian made a choice and Not for power. Not for conquest."
It stopped in front of her.
"For permission."
Erdaline's chest tightened, "Permission for what?"
"To delay collapse," it said calmly. "To bind a fracture instead of healing it andTo trade continuity for time."
Images flooded the chamber.
A towering figure kneeling, wings folded not in defeat but restraint. Chains forged from law rather than metal wrapping around their form. A signature pressed into existence itself burning, final.
"You were never meant to survive this long," the figure said gently. "But someone loved you enough to cheat the structure."
Her vision blurred.
"That's not true."
"Isn't it?" the figure countered. "Then tell me why does your condition worsen only when you dream? Why does space bend to protect you instead of tearing you apart?"
It leaned closer, eyes unreadable.
"Because you are collateral," it said softly. "A clause buried deep in an agreement written by a trembling hand."
Her knees nearly buckled.
"My life… is a condition?"
"A balance," the figure corrected. "One soul held together so a greater framework does not fail."
" Should I call you snow white?"
"Who?"
" A princess maybe?"
Tears slipped free, drifting upward before dissolving.
"Then why are you here?" she whispered.
The figure straightened.
"Because agreements can be revised," it replied. "And wishes true wishes are leverage beyond authority."
It extended a hand toward her.
"I grant desires," it said lightly. "Even the ones no one dares to voice."
She stared at the offered hand, shaking. "And the cost?"
The figure chuckled.
"Oh, child," it said. "You're already paying it."
The chamber began to warp. Strands snapped and reconnected in erratic patterns. Distance collapsed, then stretched violently, as though the dream-space itself was panicking.
"Think carefully," the figure advised. "You can remain a fracture held together by borrowed mercy…"
Its smile sharpened.
"…or you can wish for something real."
The world rejected her.
The chamber collapsed inward, ejecting her consciousness violently.
As she fell toward waking, the figure's voice followed her, threaded through collapsing geometry.
"When you decide," it whispered, "I will be listening."
Erdaline woke gasping.
But it was too brief the curse 'Snow White' is powerful.
Far away, unseen hands tightened around an ancient contract that had never been meant to endure this long.
Erdaline returned to sleep an hour later, not because she wanted to, but because exhaustion claimed her body before fear could stop it.
This time, she did not fall.
She arrived.
The dream-space received her without ceremony.
The chamber was smaller now. More contained. Platforms closer together, geometry simplified, as if reality itself were trying to limit how much she could perceive.
A safety measure.
Or a prison.
She stepped forward.
Nothing stopped her.
Nothing helped her either.
The absence was louder than any presence had been.
Then—
Applause,Slow and Deliberate.
It echoed from nowhere and everywhere, folding through the chamber like sound passing through water.
"Well done," the voice said. "Most fracture-bearers panic longer."
The figure stood where it had not stood before, seated casually on nothing at all. Black hair fell loose, obscuring parts of its face no matter how she tried to focus on it.
"You're back," Erdaline said.
"Of course," it replied. "You didn't reject the offer."
"I didn't accept it either."
The figure laughed. "Neutrality is a luxury you no longer possess."
She clenched her fists. "You lied."
"I clarified," it corrected mildly. "There is a difference."
It gestured lazily, and symbols unfolded in the air not sigils this time, but structures. Layers of logic interwoven with intent. She didn't read them.
She felt them.
"Your guardian," the figure continued, "was faced with a collapse scenario. One that would have erased more than a single life."
Erdaline's throat tightened. "Stop talking around it."
The smile sharpened.
"Very well."
The symbols rearranged.
A single thread glowed brighter than the rest.
"Your existence was designated as a stabilizing variable," the figure said. "A living anchor placed between incompatible authorities."
Her breath stuttered. "Between… what?"
"Dream," it replied. "And space."
The chamber responded, shuddering softly, as if acknowledging the words.
"Those forces do not coexist naturally," the figure went on. "One reveals possibility and The other enforces accommodation. When merged without mediation, the result is expansion without boundary."
"Collapse," Erdaline whispered.
"Yes," it said approvingly. "You learn quickly."
She shook her head. "Then why am I still alive?"
"Because a contract intervened."
" Because some one made a wish."
The figure flicked its fingers.
An image formed between them.
A kneeling figure, posture rigid with restraint rather than submission. Wings folded tight, not in shame, but in discipline. Chains of law wrapped around their arms, glowing faintly as if etched into existence itself.
A voice echoed faintly resolute, breaking.
I accept delay.
Erdaline's vision blurred. "That's—"
"Your guardian," the figure finished. "Who traded inevitability for time."
The image shifted.
A clause burned into reality.
SO LONG AS THE FRACTURE REMAINS CONTAINED, THE STRUCTURE ENDURES.
Her knees weakened.
"And I'm the container," she said.
The figure inclined its head. "Precisely."
Tears slid free, drifting upward, vanishing before they could fall.
"That's not protection," she said hoarsely. "That's—"
"Maintenance," it supplied. "Yes."
Her chest hurt.
"Then everything I am," she whispered, "everything I feel… is borrowed time."
The figure watched her carefully.
"Time," it said, "is the most expensive currency."
She laughed weakly. "So what happens when it runs out?"
The figure leaned forward.
"That," it said softly, "depends on what you wish for."
The chamber trembled.
Distance bent inward.
"You keep saying that," Erdaline snapped. "Wishes and Desires Like they're weapons."
"They are," the figure replied. "More reliable than authority. More dangerous than power."
It stood, space parting politely.
"Your guardian made a wish," it continued. "A limited one. Contained. Self-sacrificing."
Its eyes gleamed faintly.
"You could make a greater one."
Her breath caught. "You want me to overwrite the contract."
"I want you to understand that you can."
The chamber darkened, stars dimming.
"You are not merely a clause," the figure said. "You are a negotiator who was never informed of the terms."
It stepped closer, lowering its voice.
"And every system breaks eventually unless someone chooses a different outcome."
She shook her head, backing away. "If I change it, everything could collapse."
"Yes," the figure agreed pleasantly. "Or it could be reborn."
The word echoed too loudly.
Reborn.
Her fractures flared painfully, light spilling through her skin. The chamber reacted violently, platforms shuddering as space scrambled to compensate.
"Enough," she gasped.
The figure raised both hands.
The pressure eased.
"See?" it said. "You already influence the framework."
She stared at her hands, shaking. "I never asked for this."
"No one ever does," the figure replied. "That's what makes wishes pure."
Silence stretched between them.
Finally, she looked up. "If I refuse?"
The figure smiled, unbothered.
"Then the contract continues," it said. "Until it fails."
"And if I accept?"
"Then," it said softly, "you stop being a consequence and start being a choice."
The chamber began to dissolve.
Again.
Erdaline felt herself being pulled away, rejected by the waking world.
"One last thing," she said quickly. "Why tell me all this now?"
The figure's smile deepened.
"Because someone else is approaching the fault line," it said. "And when they arrive, neutrality will no longer be an option."
The dream-space collapsed.
Erdaline fell and woke with a cry caught in her throat.
Her room was still intact.
Her breath shook.
But deep beneath the stone of the world, ancient laws strained, rewritten inch by inch by a clause that had begun to realize it could speak back.
Again it only took 2 seconds before she fall asleep.