The night was silent, the only sound the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. The moon hung low in the sky, casting a pale, ghostly light over the sprawling estate. From the grand windows of the mansion, Liora Winterborne gazed out at the darkened landscape, her eyes tracing the faint outlines of the distant hills. The lights of the mansion flickered in the distance, a cruel reminder of the world she was about to leave behind.
Each shadow she saw seemed to mirror the weight of the life she was supposed to live—confined, bound by expectations, and fading into the past.
Her father's voice echoed in her mind, a constant drumbeat of expectations and promises made in her stead. She could hear his words, those suffocating words: "You must marry, Liora. It's what's best for you. It's what's best for the family."
But none of it mattered anymore. She wasn't going to be the perfect bride, the obedient daughter, the fragile, docile thing he expected. Tonight, she would reclaim her life, even if it meant breaking every bond she had known.
The heavy weight of her bridal gown felt like chains. It was supposed to be a symbol of union, but to her, it was a symbol of everything she had been forced into. The silk, the lace, the intricate embroidery—none of it mattered. All she cared about now was running, running far from the suffocating life that had been written for her by others.
Her heart pounded in her chest, the rhythm of her defiance quickening with each breath. She stood at the threshold of her life, about to step into the unknown. The gates of Blackthorn Manor loomed before her, mysterious and dark, a place whispered about in family legends and cautionary tales. But it was freedom that called her name, and Blackthorn was her only escape.
The manor had always been an enigma to her, a place that existed only in whispered stories and rumors. There were talks of dark forces, of an immortal lord who lived in the shadows, but none of that mattered now. In her mind, Blackthorn was no longer the place of danger it had been made out to be—it was her salvation. It was the key to her freedom, and the only place she could truly be herself.
She had no plan. No destination. Only one certainty—if she didn't leave now, she would be trapped forever. The contract of marriage was just the beginning; a cage made of promises, expectations, and obligations that would bind her to a future she could never accept.
Her father's anger, his threats, his promises of ruin—they no longer had any power over her. She had made her choice. The world she had been born into was no longer hers to claim.
As she turned her back on the life she was leaving behind, Liora Winterborne knew one thing with certainty: her escape had begun.
The wind carried the faint scent of rain as she took her first step into the night, the hem of her gown torn and stained, the fabric now a symbol of her rebellion. The distant rumble of thunder stirred the air, low and foreboding, as if the world itself was urging her on, pushing her toward the unknown.
With each step, she left behind everything she had once known—the walls of the mansion, her father's unyielding control, the weight of her family's expectations. The road ahead was uncertain, but for the first time in years, it was hers to walk.
And so, she ran.