The cold stone floor of the grand hall beneath her feet felt grounding, but the tremor in her body wouldn't subside. The intensity of Dante's presence—his hunger, his words, the near loss of control—had left her reeling. She couldn't shake the feeling that something deeper was pulling at her, something she didn't fully understand, yet couldn't ignore.
After what seemed like an eternity, she finally managed to stand, her legs unsteady beneath her. She moved through the shadowed halls, each step echoing in the vast emptiness of the manor. The silence was deafening, broken only by the occasional creak of the floorboards underfoot.
She found her way to the room that had been set aside for her—a small, elegant bedroom with a bed draped in dark velvet curtains. But there was no comfort in it tonight. The air felt thick, suffocating, as if the shadows were alive and watching. The same feeling of being observed returned, stronger now, like eyes were boring into her back from every corner of the room.
Liora hesitated at the door. Her hand lingered on the cold knob, but it felt as though the room was pressing against her. She could hear nothing but the faint beat of her own pulse, quickened by what had just transpired. Finally, she pushed the door open and stepped inside, closing it behind her with a soft click.
The room was still, a strange tranquility settling over her. She removed her shoes and sank onto the bed, burying her face in her hands. She needed to think, to calm herself. But all she could feel was Dante's touch still burning against her skin, the lingering sensation of his presence overwhelming her senses.
Closing her eyes, she let herself sink into the softness of the sheets, willing her body to relax. Her eyelids fluttered as sleep began to claim her, but even in the comfort of the bed, she couldn't escape the sense that something was amiss.
It wasn't long before sleep overtook her, though it came fitfully—dark, restless, filled with fragmented dreams and disjointed images. The shadows twisted in her mind, her thoughts circling back to Dante, his words, his touch, his hunger. But the dream shifted, and she found herself standing in an unfamiliar room—a dimly lit space with a large, cracked mirror on one wall, its surface reflecting nothing but blackness.
And then, she felt it—a presence in the room with her.
Liora froze, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. A chill crept down her spine as she turned, her heart racing. In the corner, standing as if she had materialized from the shadows themselves, was the woman.
The figure was tall, her form gaunt and almost otherworldly. The pale light that flickered from nowhere seemed to wash over her, accentuating the wildness of her disheveled hair and the almost skeletal sharpness of her face. Liora's breath caught in her throat as their eyes met.
The woman didn't speak at first. She simply watched, her gaze sharp, penetrating, as if she could see through every defense Liora had built up.
"You don't understand yet," the woman said finally, her voice low and eerily calm. "You think you've escaped, but you're only walking further into his world. Into the same web I found myself in."
Liora's pulse quickened, a cold sweat breaking out across her skin. This wasn't the same dream she'd been having before. This felt real. Every word the woman spoke seemed to pull Liora deeper into a sense of dread she couldn't escape. She wanted to scream, but the words died in her throat.
The woman's lips curled into a knowing smile. "You think you can be different? You think you can leave?" Her eyes narrowed, filled with a mixture of sorrow and something darker. "He'll never let you go. He didn't let me go."
Liora wanted to take a step back, but her body wouldn't obey. She was rooted to the spot, a strange magnetism pulling her toward the woman.
"You're already his, Liora," the woman whispered, her voice now filled with a chilling finality. "And you always will be."
Before Liora could process the words, the woman reached out, her fingers cold as they brushed against Liora's arm. A jolt of icy pain shot through her, and she gasped, her chest constricting with the force of the sensation. She tried to pull away, but the grip was unyielding, unrelenting.
And then, just as quickly as it had started, everything disappeared.
The woman. The cold. The oppressive feeling that had flooded the room. It was as though she had never been there at all.
Liora found herself back in her bed, heart racing, breath shallow. The room was dark, still, but it no longer felt like it was watching her. Yet the words of the woman echoed in her mind. You're already his...
She sat up abruptly, her head spinning. Was it another nightmare? Or had the woman truly been there?
The whispering in the shadows seemed to answer her, though she couldn't make out the words. But deep down, she knew it was far from over. Whatever was happening, whatever this haunting presence meant, it was inextricably tied to Dante... and the woman he had once loved.