AMORA'S POV;
"No, no, no… let me go… Why is everything so blurry? I'm fighting, but against whom? The details are slipping away, lost in this murky haze. My body aches, my soul cries out in pain… every part of me is screaming for release. I want to escape this nightmare, to tear myself free from this suffocating grip, but my mind refuses to let me go. I can't breathe… it's like the darkness is closing in on me, tightening its hold. Someone, anyone, please… help me. I can't stay here any longer…"
These desperate words echoed in my mind, reverberating through the vast expanse of my consciousness, looping endlessly like a broken record. The terror was so real, so palpable, that it felt as if I was drowning in it, sinking deeper into an abyss from which there was no escape. The fear was like a living entity, wrapping itself around me, squeezing the very breath from my lungs, making every breath a battle. I was trapped in a nightmare so vivid, so all-encompassing, that it felt more real than the world I knew. The darkness wasn't just around me—it was inside me, filling every crevice of my being, threatening to consume me whole.
I was lost in this labyrinth of terror, with no sense of direction, no way to break free. The more I fought, the more I struggled, the deeper I sank into this pit of despair. My body was heavy with exhaustion, every muscle screaming in protest as I tried to claw my way out of the darkness. But no matter how hard I fought, it was like fighting against a phantom—something intangible, something I couldn't touch, couldn't grasp. My hands flailed in the void, finding nothing but cold, empty air. I was alone in this battle, isolated in a world of pain and fear, with no one to save me from the horrors that lurked in the shadows.
"Amora! Amora! Wake up! It's just a dream, snap out of it!"
Suddenly, a voice cut through the suffocating fog, a beacon of light in the endless sea of darkness. It was like a lifeline, pulling me back from the brink, guiding me back to the surface. The voice was familiar, strong and commanding, yet there was an underlying urgency, a desperate plea that I couldn't ignore. My body responded instinctively, jolting awake as if an electric shock had surged through me. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat a deafening drum in the silence of the night. My breath came in ragged gasps as I tried to shake off the remnants of the nightmare that clung to me like a shadow.
"Breathe… breathe… you're safe," the voice said, calm yet tinged with concern.
I clung to that voice, using it as an anchor to ground myself in reality. Slowly, the terror began to recede, like a tide pulling back from the shore, leaving behind only the remnants of the nightmare that had gripped me so tightly. My eyes fluttered open, struggling to focus, but my vision was still clouded, my mind sluggish and disoriented. It was like waking up underwater, the world around me muted, distorted, and difficult to understand. I felt like I was still half in the nightmare, my body still trembling with the fear that had coursed through me.
"I… I…" I tried to speak, but my voice was weak, barely more than a whisper. The words stuck in my throat, tangled with the fear and confusion that still lingered in my mind.
"What was your nightmare about?" the voice asked, gentle but insistent.
The question pulled me further out of the fog, forcing me to confront the images that still flickered in the back of my mind. I turned my head, my eyes finally beginning to focus on the figure beside me. It was him—the man who had saved me, the one who had been there when I'd cried out for help. His face was etched with concern, his usually unreadable features softened by something I couldn't quite place—something that made my heart skip a beat.
"Wait… How did you know I had a nightmare?" I asked, my voice still shaky, my mind still struggling to catch up.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair, a gesture that spoke of weariness and exasperation. "I'm not a fool, Amora. I can tell the difference between a dream and a nightmare… and the mess you've made even proves it."
Mess? I blinked, my eyes widening as I finally took in the scene around me. The glass of water that had been on the nightstand was shattered, the fragments scattered across the floor like tiny, jagged stars. The sheets were tangled around me, damp with sweat, and my hands were trembling uncontrollably, as if I'd been caught in the throes of a violent storm.
"Oh no… Did… did I do that?" I whispered, more to myself than to him. The realization that I had caused such chaos filled me with a deep sense of guilt and shame. How had I lost control so completely? What kind of terror had driven me to such a state?
"I'm… I'm sorry… I'll clean this up," I mumbled, my voice small, as I started to move out of bed. The instinct to fix the mess I had made was overpowering, driven by a need to make things right, to undo the damage I had caused.
But before I could swing my legs over the edge, his hand shot out, gripping my arm with surprising gentleness. "If you step even a toe out of this bed, I'm going to tie you down, Amora. Trust me, because I never go back on my word."
His words were stern, commanding, but there was an undercurrent of something else—something protective, something that made my heart skip a beat. I looked up at him, my breath catching in my throat. The way he was looking at me… it was as if he was daring me to disobey, knowing full well that I wouldn't. There was a tension in the air, a silent challenge that neither of us acknowledged, but both of us felt.
"I was just…" I trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence. What was I even thinking? The truth was, I wasn't thinking at all—I was reacting, driven by the need to do something, anything, to make up for the chaos I'd caused.
"That's not important," he said, his voice softening slightly, the edge of his tone easing into something more tender. "I asked you what nightmare had caused it."
I hesitated, the memories of the nightmare still too fresh, too raw. "Erm… someone was… trying to attack me, but I… don't know who…" The words felt like they were dragged out of me, reluctant and painful, each one laced with the terror that still lingered in the corners of my mind.
"Did you see his face?" he asked, leaning in slightly, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made me shiver.
"No… everything was so blurry…" I admitted, my voice trembling as the images from the nightmare flickered in the back of my mind. The terror was still there, lurking just beneath the surface, but it was muted now, dulled by the warmth of his presence, the solidity of his voice.
"Don't force yourself to remember," he said, his tone almost… kind? There was something in his voice that I hadn't noticed before, something that made me feel… safe. "We'll discuss this properly when you're feeling better. But for now, you need a shower."
At the mention of a shower, I became painfully aware of how messy I was. The sweat from the nightmare clung to my skin, making me feel sticky and uncomfortable. My hair was matted, and there was a faint smell that made me cringe. How had I not noticed it before? I felt disgusting, like the remnants of the nightmare were still clinging to me, refusing to let go.
"Goodness, I smell awful…" I muttered under my breath, more to myself than to him. The realization only added to my sense of unease, as if the nightmare had left a physical mark on me, something that I couldn't wash away no matter how hard I tried.
"Do you have anything you want to eat?" he asked, ignoring my self-consciousness, his focus still entirely on me. "I can have something prepared for you."
"I'm fine with anything… Just having something to eat would be good enough…" I murmured, feeling a little overwhelmed by his concern. Why was he being so… attentive? It was almost as if he cared, but that couldn't be right. No one had ever cared like this before, not for me. The idea was foreign, unsettling, yet there was a part of me that wanted to believe it, that wanted to trust in the warmth of his concern.
"I'll help you to the bathroom," he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, as if it were his responsibility to take care of me.
"Yo… yo… you'll what?" I stammered, both surprised and shocked by his offer. The idea of him helping me—of anyone helping me—was foreign, something I wasn't used to. I was used to doing things on my own, fighting my own battles, even if it meant losing sometimes. The thought of relying on someone else, of being vulnerable in front of him, was terrifying, yet strangely comforting.
"You're weak," he said bluntly, his words like a punch to the gut, knocking the air out of me.
It stung, the way he said it, as if he was pointing out a flaw I'd been trying to ignore. Weak. The word echoed in my mind, a harsh reminder of the vulnerability I had been trying so hard to hide, even from myself. But as much as it hurt to hear, I couldn't deny the truth in his words. I was weak, both in body and spirit. The nightmare had drained me, left me feeling fragile, exposed. I hated feeling this way, hated the idea of someone else seeing me like this, especially him.
But then, as if sensing the hurt his words had caused, he softened his tone, the sharp edges of his voice smoothing into something more tender. "I mean, you're still not fit to be moving around by yourself. If you're not comfortable, I can take you to the bathroom door. Would that be okay?"
There was a gentleness in his words, a softness that I hadn't expected. It was as if he understood the struggle within me, the battle between wanting to be strong and needing to accept help. His offer was a compromise, a way to maintain some semblance of independence while still acknowledging the reality of my situation. And for that, I was grateful.
I wanted to argue, to tell him that I didn't need his help, that I could manage on my own. But the truth was, he was right. My body was still betraying me, weak and exhausted from whatever had happened before I woke up here. Even my mind felt sluggish, like it was wading through thick mud. There was no point in pretending to be stronger than I was, not now, not after everything.
"I… I don't have a change of clothes…" I said, feeling a bit embarrassed by how helpless I sounded. The idea of being taken care of, of someone else thinking of these things for me, was foreign. I had always been the one to take care of myself, to fend for myself, even when it felt like the world was against me. Admitting that I needed help, that I couldn't do this alone, was like exposing a wound I had kept hidden for far too long.
"I'll leave some of my clothes on the bed. You can wear them for the meantime," he offered, his voice calm, almost soothing. There was no judgment in his tone, no pity—just a quiet understanding, as if he had anticipated my concerns before I even voiced them.
His offer was unexpected, but there was something about the way he said it, the way he offered his clothes as if it were the most natural thing in the world, that made me feel… safe. It was a simple gesture, but it carried with it a weight of significance that I couldn't ignore. For a moment, I wondered what it would be like to accept that safety, to allow myself to lean on someone else, if only for a little while.
"What about this?" I asked, gesturing to the mess I'd made. The glass shards on the floor sparkled like tiny pieces of broken dreams, a stark reminder of the nightmare I was trying so hard to forget. The sight of the mess filled me with a sense of dread, a reminder that the chaos in my mind had spilled over into the physical world, leaving behind a trail of destruction that I couldn't simply clean up.
"I'll get someone to clean it up. Don't worry about it," he said, his tone reassuring. There was something so steady about him, something that made me want to believe in his words, to trust that he could make everything right again.
"I'm sorry for the trouble…" I whispered, guilt washing over me like a cold wave. I had caused so much chaos, so much destruction, and for what? A nightmare? It all seemed so foolish now, so childish. But he didn't respond to my apology. Instead, he just looked at me, his expression unreadable, as if he was seeing something in me that I couldn't even see in myself.
"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice gentle but firm, pulling me out of my thoughts.
I nodded, even though I wasn't sure if I was ready for anything. But there was something in his eyes, something that told me it was okay to let go, just for a little while. And so, for the first time in a long time, I allowed myself to be cared for, to be vulnerable. Because even though I didn't fully understand what was happening, I knew one thing for certain: with him, I was safe.
With a slow, careful motion, he helped me out of bed, his hand steadying me as I stood on shaky legs. The room spun for a moment, and I had to close my eyes to keep from falling. But he was there, his arm around my waist, supporting me, keeping me upright. His touch was firm, yet gentle, as if he was afraid of hurting me, afraid of pushing too hard. It was a strange sensation, being held like this, being supported by someone else. But it wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, it was… comforting.
We moved slowly towards the bathroom, his steps matching mine, his presence a solid, reassuring force at my side. The hallway felt longer than it should have, each step a challenge as I fought against the lingering effects of the nightmare. But he didn't rush me. He didn't push me to go faster, to be stronger than I was. He simply walked with me, matching my pace, his arm a steadying presence around my waist.
When we reached the bathroom door, he hesitated, his grip on my waist tightening slightly. "I'll leave you here. Take your time," he said, his voice low, almost a whisper. There was something in his tone, something that made me want to stay close to him, to hold on to the safety he offered. But I knew I needed this time alone, this moment to collect myself, to wash away the remnants of the nightmare and reclaim some sense of normalcy.
"Thank you," I murmured, my voice barely more than a whisper. It was such a small thing to say, such an inadequate expression of the gratitude I felt. But it was all I could manage, all I could offer in that moment.
He nodded, his eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before he turned and walked away, leaving me standing at the threshold of the bathroom. I watched him go, a strange mix of emotions swirling in my chest—relief, gratitude, and something else, something I couldn't quite name.
I stepped into the bathroom, closing the door behind me with a soft click. The silence was overwhelming, the stillness a stark contrast to the chaos that had filled my mind only moments before. I leaned against the door, taking a deep breath, trying to steady myself, to gather the scattered pieces of my thoughts.
The bathroom I stepped into was nothing short of a sanctuary, a place fit for royalty. It was a vast expanse of luxury, every detail meticulously crafted to exude opulence and grandeur. The walls were adorned with intricate mosaics, each tile a masterpiece of art, depicting scenes of mythical forests and serene landscapes. Golden accents framed the edges of the tiles, catching the soft, ambient light that filled the room, giving the entire space a warm, inviting glow.
The floor beneath my feet was made of polished marble, cool and smooth to the touch, its surface reflecting the soft light like a mirror. The marble was a deep, rich shade of emerald green, with veins of gold and silver running through it, creating a mesmerizing pattern that seemed to shift and dance as I moved. It was the kind of marble that spoke of wealth, of power, of a history steeped in tradition and luxury.
At the center of the bathroom stood a grand bathtub, carved from a single block of white marble. The tub was enormous, easily large enough to fit several people, its smooth, curved edges inviting and elegant. The sides of the tub were adorned with intricate carvings of roses and vines, their delicate petals and leaves so finely detailed that they seemed to come to life under the golden light. The faucets were crafted from polished gold, shaped like the heads of mythical creatures—dragons, their mouths open wide to pour forth water.
Above the tub, a crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, its delicate chains of crystals catching the light and casting a thousand tiny rainbows across the room. The chandelier was a work of art in itself, each crystal meticulously cut to perfection, each facet reflecting the light in a dazzling display of color and brilliance. The light it cast was soft and warm, filling the room with a gentle, golden glow that made the entire space feel like a dream.
On one side of the room, a series of tall, arched windows stretched from floor to ceiling, their frames made of dark, polished wood. The windows were draped with heavy, velvet curtains, a deep shade of burgundy, edged with gold trim. The curtains were drawn back, revealing a breathtaking view of the gardens outside, the lush greenery and vibrant flowers bathed in the soft light of dawn. The windows allowed the light to filter into the room, adding to the sense of peace and tranquility that pervaded the space.
A large, gilded mirror hung above a marble vanity, its surface reflecting the soft light of the chandelier. The mirror was framed with intricate gold carvings, depicting scenes of mythical creatures and enchanted forests, their figures so lifelike that they seemed to move within the frame. The vanity itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship, its surface inlaid with mother-of-pearl and adorned with gold and silver accents. On the vanity, a collection of crystal bottles and jars were arranged, each filled with fragrant oils, lotions, and perfumes, their scents filling the air with a heady, intoxicating aroma.
Even the towels, folded neatly on a heated rack, were made of the finest materials—soft, plush, and embroidered with gold thread in a pattern of roses and vines that matched the carvings on the bathtub. Everything in the bathroom spoke of luxury, of a life lived in the lap of opulence, of a place where every detail had been carefully chosen to create an atmosphere of beauty and comfort.
As I stepped into the shower, the water cascaded down from a gold, rainwater showerhead, the pressure perfect, the temperature just right. The water was infused with the scent of lavender and rose, the steam rising around me, enveloping me in a cloud of soothing fragrance. The shower stall was spacious, its walls lined with more of the exquisite marble, and small niches held an array of luxurious soaps and shampoos, each one a treat for the senses.
The experience was surreal, like stepping into a dream. The nightmare that had haunted me moments before felt worlds away, its dark tendrils unable to reach me in this sanctuary of light and warmth. The tension in my muscles began to melt away under the gentle caress of the water, the fear and anxiety that had gripped me slowly loosening their hold.
For a moment, I allowed myself to get lost in the luxury, to let the opulence of the surroundings soothe my troubled mind. The warmth of the water, the softness of the towels, the gentle light of the chandelier—it all combined to create a cocoon of comfort, a space where I could feel safe, where I could begin to heal.
But even in this place of unimaginable luxury, the questions lingered. Why was I here? What did all of this mean? The opulence of the bathroom, the grandeur of the surroundings—it all spoke of a life far removed from my own. This was a place of royalty, of wealth and power, a world I had never been a part of. How had I ended up here, in this palace of dreams, with a man who seemed to care for me in ways I couldn't fully understand?
As I stood there, letting the water wash away the remnants of the nightmare, I knew that the answers wouldn't come easily. But for now, I allowed myself to savor the moment, to take comfort in the safety and warmth of this place, and to trust that, somehow, I would find my way through the darkness