Aurora, a teenage girl sat cross-legged on the edge of her massive bed, a leather-bound notebook balanced on her knees. Her pen hovered above the page, twitching slightly as she considered her next line. The spacious bedroom around her was a marvel of opulence—rich velvet drapes framed the floor-to-ceiling windows, spilling soft afternoon sunlight onto the Persian rugs and gold-accented furniture. Yet, despite the splendor, the room felt heavy, as though the air itself carried the weight of her unspoken thoughts.
Her long, golden hair spilled over her shoulders, catching the light as it swayed with every frustrated motion. She sighed, her lips pursing as she crossed out yet another line of text. The delicate curve of her jaw tensed, and her deep, stormy-blue eyes narrowed.
"This is pointless," she muttered, tossing the pen onto the notebook and flopping back against the plush pillows. Her gaze traveled to the elaborate crystal chandelier hanging from the ceiling, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"I don't even think she remembers it's my birthday."
The words came out softer than she'd intended, yet the bitterness they carried hung in the air like smoke. She squeezed her eyes shut, as though doing so might push back the tears threatening to spill.
"She doesn't even care."
The ache in her voice broke the silence, filling the vast room with an emptiness that felt sharper for its beauty. Today was her Sweet 16—a day she'd dreamed of for years. Not for the party, or the gifts, or even the grand celebration her mother could certainly afford. No, Aurora had imagined something simpler.
She'd dreamed of spending the day with her mother.
Her fingers curled into the silk bedsheets, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. Every year it was the same: promises made, promises broken. Her chest tightened at the memory of past birthdays, where the hours had ticked by in vain hope of Eunice appearing, only for her to send a driver with extravagant gifts that felt as cold as the wrapping paper they came in.
Aurora sat up abruptly, the notebook sliding to the floor. She glanced at the gilded clock on the wall—it was almost 4 p.m. Was she really so naive to think this year would be different?
The opulence surrounding her—the diamond-studded vanity, the walk-in closet filled with designer dresses—meant nothing. Not without the one thing she'd been denied since she was old enough to understand it: her mother's love.
Aurora stared at the framed photograph on her bedside table. It was one of the few images she had of her family together. Her mother, younger but no less commanding, stood next to a broad-shouldered man with kind eyes and an easy smile. Between them, a toddler with golden curls grinned up at the camera, unaware of the tragedies that lay ahead.
Gabriel. Her father.
Aurora traced her finger over the glass, her heart aching. He'd died when she was too young to remember him, leaving her alone with a mother who seemed to view her as little more than an obligation. Her throat tightened as the familiar loneliness clawed at her.
Over the years, she'd tried everything to get Eunice's attention—straight As in her homeschooling, painting her mother portraits, even learning to play the piano, an instrument Eunice had once admired. But nothing worked. Her mother was always too busy, too distracted, too... untouchable.
Aurora pushed the photograph aside and stood, pacing the length of the room. The soft carpet muffled her steps, but the storm in her mind was deafening.
She stopped in front of her window, the view of the sprawling estate gardens doing little to soothe her. In the distance, Nevaeh's voice carried faintly, likely giving instructions to the staff. He was one of the few constants in her life, a strange mix of confidant and enigma. Despite his easy smile, there was something about him she couldn't quite figure out, as though he were wearing a mask only she could see through.
Her reflection in the glass caught her attention. For a moment, she stared at the image of herself—ethereal, poised, every inch the perfect daughter of a woman like Eunice. And yet, she felt like a stranger in her own skin.
"Happy birthday to me," she whispered bitterly, turning away from the window.
It was then that she froze.
A foul stench wafted into the room—putrid and cloying, like something rotten festering in the heat. Aurora scrunched her nose, her hand flying to cover her mouth. It seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once, a thick, sickly presence that made her stomach churn.
"What is that?" she muttered, her voice muffled behind her hand.
The smell lingered for a moment longer before fading, as if carried off by an unseen breeze. Aurora lowered her hand cautiously, shaking her head. She stepped back from the window, scanning her pristine room for the source of the odor. Nothing seemed out of place.
"Ugh, probably the kitchen vents or something," she said to herself, dismissing the unease that prickled at the back of her mind.
But even as she settled back onto her bed, the memory of the smell lingered, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. She ignored it, reaching for her notebook again, determined to finish her story.
Little did she know that across the hall, in Eunice's room, something had just happened
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Eunice staggered back a step, her pulse pounding in her ears as she faced the man standing before her. His crimson eyes gleamed with an unearthly light, and his disarming smile only deepened her unease.
"Who are you?!" she demanded, her voice sharp, though the faintest quiver betrayed her growing fear.
The man tilted his head, his expression polite, almost amused. "Hello, Mrs. Eunice," he said smoothly. His voice was deep, velvety, carrying an undertone of something ancient and dangerous. "I believe you have something of mine."
"What?" she snapped, her gaze narrowing.
"My vase," he said, gesturing toward the shattered pieces strewn across the floor. His tone was calm, but his glowing eyes burned with an intensity that made her chest tighten. "I would very much like it back."
Eunice's disbelief twisted into anger. "Get out of here!" she barked, her composure cracking as she pointed toward the door. "I don't know who you are or how you got in, but I'll have you thrown out!"
The man remained unmoving, his smile unwavering.
The sound of rushed footsteps echoed in the hallway as her bodyguards burst into the room, their presence like a shield against the inexplicable. One of them, a burly man with a stern face, scanned the room quickly. "Madam Eunice, are you all right?"
Eunice turned to them, her frustration boiling over. "No, I am not okay!" she snapped, her voice cutting like glass. She whipped around, pointing toward the man. "Can you not see this man behind me? Take him away!"
The guards exchanged puzzled glances, their brows furrowing.
"Uh... Madam?" the lead guard said hesitantly. "There's no one else here."
Eunice froze, her breath catching. Slowly, she turned back around, her eyes darting to where the man had stood.
He was gone.
"What the f—" she muttered, her voice faltering as her gaze swept the room. The space was empty save for her and the guards. The faint scent of something burning lingered in the air, acrid and unnatural.
"Where did that thief go?" she demanded, her voice rising in anger to mask her confusion. "Find him!"
The guards hesitated, clearly unsure of what to make of her outburst. Finally, they moved to search the room, checking behind the curtains, under the furniture, even stepping out into the hallway to look.
Eunice pressed a hand to her temple, her other hand clenched into a fist at her side. Her carefully constructed world of power and control felt as if it were slipping through her fingers.
"Hey, you!" she barked, pointing to one of the guards lingering near the doorway. "Go find Nevaeh. Tell him to get here immediately!"
The guard nodded and rushed off, leaving Eunice alone with the lingering tension in the room.
She stood in the center of the chaos, the shattered vase at her feet, the air heavy with an unnatural stillness. Her breath came in shallow bursts as her mind raced.
"Was he real?" she whispered to herself, the words slipping out before she could stop them. The question sent a shiver down her spine.
Her eyes darted to the broken shards of the vase. For a brief moment, she thought she saw something flicker among the pieces—like the faintest glow of embers in the dark. She blinked, and it was gone.
"Get it together," she muttered, forcing herself to stand taller, her fists tightening at her sides. "This is ridiculous."
But as she waited for Nevaeh to arrive, the oppressive silence of the room seemed to close in around her, the faint scent of burning still curling through the air like an unwelcome guest.