The darkness pressed in, suffocating and endless. Seraphina stood amidst the shadows, their whispers weaving through the air like threads of silk and smoke. Faces blurred and twisted beyond recognition loomed closer, but she couldn't move—couldn't breathe.
Golden eyes emerged from the void, glowing with an unearthly light. They fixed on her, unblinking, pulling her deeper into the abyss.
"No!"
Her voice shattered the silence, echoing back at her as the shadows tightened, curling like smoke around her throat—
Seraphina bolted upright, her breath ragged and sharp. Sweat clung to her skin despite the chill that lingered in the chamber. The dim glow of dying embers cast restless shadows along the walls, making her flinch.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, feeling the frantic rhythm of her heart. The nightmare still clung to her, its whispers echoing in her ears.
A soft knock broke the silence.
"Your Highness?" Lydia's voice drifted through the door, steady but laced with concern.
Seraphina exhaled slowly, forcing calm into her voice. "Enter."
The door opened, and Lydia stepped inside, her gaze immediately darting to Seraphina's flushed cheeks and damp forehead. Her brows drew together in worry.
"The healer has returned, Your Highness," Lydia announced softly, her words cutting through the haze of Seraphina's thoughts.
Her stomach twisted. The healer.
They never brought good news.
Her fingers curled around the edge of the blanket as she straightened. "Send them in."
"Your Highness," the healer began, bowing low. "I have completed the examinations as promised."
Seraphina swallowed. "And?"
For a moment, the healer hesitated, their gaze searching hers as if weighing their words carefully.
"You are… improving, Your Highness."
The words struck her like a thunderclap. She blinked. "Improving?"
The healer nodded. "The signs of decay we observed before have slowed—markedly so. It is as though something within you is resisting the illness, pushing back against its effects."
A flicker of warmth stirred in her chest, fragile and uncertain. "Are you certain?"
The healer's brows furrowed slightly. "Certain? No. Hopeful? Yes. This is highly unusual, Your Highness. It may be a temporary shift, or it could signal the beginnings of recovery. I cannot say yet. We will need to observe you closely for at least a week."
Seraphina's heart pounded. The words felt impossible, and yet…
"Could this mean I might be saved?" Her voice was quiet, but the weight of the question hung heavy in the air.
The healer's expression softened. "It is too soon to make promises, but the possibility exists."
Possibility. The word echoed in her mind, weaving through her thoughts like light piercing fog.
She nodded stiffly, struggling to keep her composure. "Thank you. Continue your observations."
The healer bowed deeply and withdrew, leaving behind the faint scent of herbs and an atmosphere thick with unspoken questions.
Lydia approached cautiously, carrying a tray of steaming dishes.
"You should eat, Your Highness," she urged, setting the tray down and unfolding a cloth napkin. "You'll need your strength."
Seraphina took a few bites, though her thoughts churned too much to taste the food. Before she could finish, another knock came.
Lydia opened the door and stepped aside, bowing as the Queen entered.
Her mother swept in like a tempest of silk and perfume, crimson and gold robes flowing behind her. In her hands, she carried an ornate box filled with delicate cakes adorned with sugared petals and silver dust.
"My darling," her mother said, setting the box on the table and moving toward Seraphina with practiced grace. "You're sick, so I brought your favorite."
Before Seraphina could respond, her mother enveloped her in a gentle embrace, the scent of jasmine lingering in the air. Her fingers brushed over Seraphina's cheeks, tracing the outline of her face as though committing it to memory.
"How are you feeling?"
Seraphina hesitated, her voice quieter than she intended. "Better."
Her mother's eyes shone with relief, but it faded quickly into concern.
"Better is not enough," the Queen said, her tone tinged with reproach. "You've been far too careless. Wandering about in the cold? What were you thinking?"
Seraphina stiffened, the brief comfort of her mother's touch dissolving. "I was thinking," she said, her voice sharper, "that I needed air."
Her mother frowned, brushing a lock of hair back from Seraphina's forehead. "You're too stubborn for your own good."
The softness in her touch warred with the edge in her words.
"And I heard from your father that you left in anger."
Seraphina's jaw tightened. "Here we go again."
Her mother's expression faltered. "Seraphina, you can't keep pushing him away. He's only trying to help you."
"Help?" Seraphina snapped. "By forcing me into a marriage I don't want? By ignoring me every time I try to explain why I can't—"
Her mother raised a hand, silencing her. "He's worried about you. We both are."
"If you were worried," Seraphina said coldly, "you'd listen to me instead of siding with him every time."
A heavy silence fell. For the first time, her mother looked older—tired.
"I only want what's best for you," she said softly, smoothing the folds of her gown.
"Then try listening for once," Seraphina shot back.
Her mother sighed and stood, smoothing the folds of her gown.
"Rest, Seraphina," she said quietly. "We'll speak again soon."
The door closed behind her, but the air still hummed with tension.
Seraphina leaned back, her hand pressed to her chest. The warmth that lingered there felt fragile, like glass on the edge of shattering.
For the first time, hope had found its way into her heart.
And for the first time, she feared what might happen if it broke.