"Aurelia."
The familiar voice, tinged with a sadness she hadn't heard in years, sent a jolt through Aurelia. She tilted her head, her breath catching in her throat, as her gaze fell upon the source. Standing at the opposite end of the hallway, bathed in a warm, golden light, was her mother.
There she stood, a vision from a life long gone. Her mother, with her gentle smile and warm brown. The woman who had been stolen from her, along with her childhood and sense of security, by the very King who now held her captive.
The familiar hallway, with its polished stone floors and intricately woven tapestries, wasn't the sterile corridor of the castle. It had transformed into the hallway of her childhood home, a place filled with warmth and laughter. A place she hadn't seen since the day it was all ripped away.
Was this a dream? A cruel trick of the mind conjured by exhaustion and fear? Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image before her. This couldn't be real, could it?
Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring the image before her. Her mother, an innocent victim of the King's power struggle, reached out a hand, her smile widening.
"Mother?" Aurelia croaked, her voice thick with emotion.
A soft voice, barely a whisper, spoke from behind her. Aurelia spun around, her heart hammering a frantic rhythm against her ribs. There, a smaller figure stood bathed in the same warm light – a younger version of herself, mirroring her childhood attire.
What was happening? Was this some kind of twisted torture, a way for the unseen forces at play to show her what she'd lost? The younger Aurelia seemed oblivious to her presence, her gaze fixed on their mother.
"Are you alright, dear?" her mother's voice, laced with concern, cut through the haze of confusion.
The younger Aurelia nodded, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand. "Just… nightmares," she mumbled.
Her mother knelt before her, a tender smile gracing her lips. "How about I make some tea for you? Chamomile will chase away those bad dreams."
The younger Aurelia pursed her lips, a hint of hesitation in her eyes. "Okay," she finally conceded.
She watched, a silent observer in her own past, as her younger self glanced around the hallway, searching for a familiar figure.
"Where's Father?" she asked, her voice innocent and carefree, a stark contrast to the storm brewing within Aurelia.
Her mother's smile faltered for a fleeting moment. "He's busy in his office, dear," she replied, her voice a touch strained.
A knowing look passed between the younger Aurelia and the unseen version of herself. "Classic Father," they both muttered, their voices barely above a whisper.
Aurelia remained rooted to the spot. A gasp escaped her lips. This… this was the day. The day the King's men had stormed their home, the day her idyllic childhood had been shattered forever.
Aurelia's heart pounded like a drum. They had no idea. No idea of the danger that lurked just beyond the horizon. No idea that this seemingly ordinary night would be the last night of their peaceful life.
A choked sob escaped her lips, tears streaming down her face. This wasn't just a memory; it was a terrifying premonition. She knew what was coming. And unless she could find a way to break free from this illusion, to change the course of history, she was doomed to watch it all unfold again.
Aurelia's hand reached out, desperate to touch her mother, but it grasped at nothing but empty air. The warm, golden light flickered and died, replaced by the cold, silvery glow of moonlight streaming through the windows. The familiar hallway, the comforting scent of her childhood home –.
A chilling premonition settled over her. The gruff grunts of men, the clash of metal on metal, and the bloodcurdling screams pierced the silence. This wasn't a peaceful memory; it was the night of the attack. The night her world shattered.
A choked sob escaped her lips as she watched, a helpless spectator, as the King's men tore through the castle like a whirlwind of violence. They moved with inhuman speed and chilling precision, leaving a trail of carnage in their wake.
Suddenly, a small figure brushed past her. It was her younger self, a whirlwind of brown curls and wide, terrified eyes. The younger Aurelia called out for her parents, her voice filled with a desperate urgency.
Aurelia, trapped in this spectral realm, could only follow, a silent guardian angel unable to offer protection. They reached a heavy oak door, its surface polished to a sheen. With a trembling hand, the younger Aurelia pushed it open, revealing a scene that froze Aurelia's blood.
Inside the room, bathed in the harsh light of torches, her parents knelt before a figure shrouded in darkness. The unmistakable figure of the King. The very man who now held her captive, who haunted her every waking moment.
Her younger self gasped, a sound ripped from the very depths of terror. Aurelia knew what was about to happen. She knew the cold, emotionless pronouncement of the King's sentence, the flash of steel, the sickening thud of bodies hitting the floor.
"No," she whispered, her voice hoarse with a grief that echoed through the ages. "No, no, no!" But her pleas were lost in the void, unheard and unanswered.
A cold dread settled in Aurelia's stomach like a stone. This wasn't just a memory anymore, it was a horrifying premonition. Another figure, cloaked in darkness passed through her. A glint of moonlight reflected off the crimson sheen of a sword held loosely in their grasp.
Her father, his voice thick with desperation, broke the suffocating silence. "Your Majesty," he pleaded, his voice cracking, "I beg you, spare my daughter. She… she has nothing to do with this."
Tears streamed down Aurelia's face, blurring the spectral scene before her. She didn't want to watch, couldn't bear to witness the replay of her parents' murder. A primal scream tore from her throat, a desperate plea lost in the echoing emptiness.
"No, not again!" she shrieked, but her voice was a whisper in the wind.
The air crackled with a tension so thick it was almost tangible. Aurelia's breath hitched in her throat as her gaze drifted to the figure on the chair, the one who held her captive, the King. His face remained obscured in shadow, but she knew the coldness in his eyes, the cruel twist of his lips.
The cloaked figure with the bloodied sword, however, moved with chilling efficiency. In a swift, merciless motion, the blade arced through the air, and a choked scream shattered the tense silence.
"Ahhh, no!" Aurelia screamed, her voice raw with despair. She lunged towards her parents, a desperate attempt to shield them, but her hand passed through them like smoke. They were phantoms, existing only in this spectral realm of memory and impending nightmare.
One by one, her parents crumpled to the floor, their lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ornate ceiling. Her younger self, engulfed by a wave of nausea and terror, could only watch in numb horror.
Only the King, the two cloaked figures, and Aurelia, and her younger self remained, bathed in the chilling moonlight that streamed through the window. The King, his face still hidden, finally spoke.
"Leave her alive," he commanded, the single word dripping with finality.
Fury surged through Aurelia, a white-hot inferno fueled by years of repressed rage. She wanted to lash out, to tear the King limb from limb, but this was just a memory, a cruel echo of the past. Frustration gnawed at her.
As the King rose, his figure casting a long, menacing shadow, Aurelia noticed a chilling detail. His face, though obscured in the darkness, bore a resemblance to the King, but… his eyes...his eyes were wrong. They weren't the golden orbs she loathed. No, these eyes were black, obsidian pools devoid of any light or warmth. A shiver ran down her spine.
What was this? Another trick of her fractured mind?
The King's head snapped towards her with an unnatural swiftness, as if he could sense her presence despite being invisible. A jolt of fear shot through Aurelia, but she held her ground. He couldn't see her, could he?
But his next move shattered that certainty. With a slow, deliberate stride, he walked towards her, his dark eyes seeming to bore into her very soul. Aurelia gasped, taking a nervous step back.
Suddenly, his hand shot out, wrapping around her throat with a brutal grip lifting her from the floor. The air whooshed from her lungs, her vision blurring around the edges. Panic seized her. He was choking her! She was trapped, a ghost in her own memory, now reliving her own death.
Her younger self, oblivious to the spectral struggle, remained on the floor, her cries muffled by the pounding in Aurelia's ears. Desperate for air, Aurelia clawed at the King's hands, but they were unyielding.
Instinct took over. Just as she felt the world slipping away, a new sensation flared to life – a spark of defiance, a surge of primal rage. Her hand, by instinct more than conscious thought, darted towards the hilt of the dagger nestled in her dress.
In the space between her dress and skin,the dagger was strapped, its steel cool and reassuring in her grasp. With a final burst of strength, fueled by a lifetime of suppressed rage, she plunged the dagger into the King's chest.
The frigid air of the woods slammed back into Aurelia, the memory dissolving like smoke in the wind. Disoriented, she stumbled back a few steps, gasping for breath. Her heart hammered against her ribs, the adrenaline from the spectral struggle still coursing through her veins.
She stood there in the clearing, the snow crunching under her boots, the familiar sight of the snow-covered trees a stark contrast to the vivid nightmare she'd just experienced. But something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
Before her stood the King, his golden eyes locked on hers with an expression that flickered between shock and… something else. Unreadable. In his chest, a single, gleaming dagger protruded, the very dagger she'd used in the memory to defend herself.
Aurelia stared, dumbfounded, at the scene before her. It couldn't be real. What… what had just happened?