Chapter one
Midnight, it’s time to kill
As you crack open this book and experienced a sudden eagerness to read on, as if your heart skipped a beat in joy, and a thrilling tide of exhilaration washes over you, pause for a moment. I suggest you be very cautious now. The pages within may hold wonders—and perhaps dangers—that warrant your utmost attention.
Should you start to recognize echoes of yourself in the pages that follow, I urge you to pause—perhaps even close the book or tuck it away, for you might just share a mysterious bond with her—one of Elizabeth's kind.
Prepare yourself, for as you uncover the true recipient of this story, you’ll find that it’s only a matter of time before the uncanny and the extraordinary begin to weave themselves into your life, just as they once did for her. And trust me when I say, once you step onto this path, there will be no turning back…
What awaits you is a world where the unexpected lurks around every corner…but beware, the clock is ticking, and with each heartbeat, you are drawn deeper into a relentless game of blood.
Will you dare to unravel the secrets that lie in wait, or will you fall victim to the web of intrigue, becoming yet another pawn in this perilous game of blood?
The countdown has already begun…
At nightfall, Exnal Street was quiet and still once more.
Elizabeth lay awake.
On her quilted bed on the second floor, she waited.
Tension gripped the room.
A storm was brewing.
She sensed it.
An unspeakable force.
Her heart raced.
Time hung heavy. Something was coming.
It crept closer.
She could feel it.
A pulse in the air. A whisper of change.
Everything was about to shatter.
The moonlight flooded her room.
A soft breeze stirred the leaves.
She still couldn’t sleep.
A towering bulletin board stood ominously at the end of the hallway, its wooden frame weathered and chipped. The surface, previously a pristine white, now hosted a chilling message boldly scrawled across it in a deep, unsettling red: “It’s time for you to die.”
As she lay there, gazing toward the ceiling, a sudden, unsettling churn erupted from the very depths of her being—it left Elizabeth reeling, sending a wave of dizziness crashing down on her like a sudden storm.
It struck her squarely between the temples, leaving her momentarily disoriented.
She felt the world was drowning—
the horizon swallowed by a sea of shadows—
the vision blurring into a kaleidoscope of despair—
and she was choking on the weight of silence,
the dagger twisting and turning, the piercing sharpened—
As the all-too-familiar buzz resonated in her ears, a heavy weight plunged into Elizabeth's chest.
The sound, sharp and invasive, sent a shiver down her spine, awakening a deep-seated dread within her.
She understood all too well what this meant; the moment she had been fearing had finally arrived.
The buzz crescendoed in her ears, swelling to an almost deafening roar, and in that instant, shadows of bizarre memories flickered like ghostly apparitions in her mind.
The air around her thickened.
Her fingers clutched the edge of her blanket with an intensity that drained the color from her knuckles, while warm tears traced silent trails down her cheeks.
It was a nightmare of the darkest kind.
She felt she had somehow earned this suffering--as if it were a cruel gift she did not wish to claim.
It was as if her own mind had cast her in a relentless film, forcing her to relive her darkest moments on repeat in such vivid detail.
When she watched in silence, she experienced it.
The ruthless feeling made her sick.
The memories of high school clung to her like a shadow, refusing to fade.
Elizabeth still felt the heat of that fateful day when chaos erupted—when, in a moment of overwhelming despair, she inadvertently set the school building ablaze. It had all started when a bully, with a malicious grin, ripped her dreams apart. It was devastating enough to watch her meticulously crafted assignments—each one representing months of hard work—ripped apart right before her, shattered dreams scattered at her feet. In that moment of despair, overwhelmed and heartbroken, she lost her grip on reality.
In the end, Elizabeth faced the harshest consequences of all. She was sentenced to community service, tasked with assisting the janitor, a job that felt grueling and thankless. To make matters worse, she found herself on the receiving end of a barrage of punches to the nose—more than she could possibly count.
She didn’t thoroughly enjoy her childhood, generally speaking. Especially when the words of that bully at senior high had reminded her, while she was sweeping the floor, still echoed in her head: ''If luck were food and nutrients, nerd, you’d be starving to death soon—and that’s saying something.''
But tomorrow was going to be perfect; it was her last day at university. She was eagerly looking forward to an exciting summer in Switzerland. And it won't be difficult for her to find a job since she has already graduated from the best university in Great Britain as a Doctor! (Well, at least that’s what her teachers promised her, as long as nothing else went wrong.)
Elizabeth couldn't help but chuckle as she recalled a hilarious incident involving her eccentric French teacher, Miss Bianca.
It was an ordinary day until, in the middle of a lesson, Miss Bianca's meticulously styled hair suddenly toppled to the floor. The uproarious laughter from the class erupted when Elizabeth admitted that she couldn’t hand in her assignment—a mischief-maker had swiped it for a laugh.
That day, Miss Bianca spent the entirety of her lessons sporting a shiny, bald head, looking completely unbothered but clearly frustrated. She soon emerged in the following class wearing a whimsically fluffy pink wig, a bright shade of cotton-candy pink that faded into a cloud-like softness. The absurdity of the scenario was not lost on her students, who couldn’t suppress their giggles.
One afternoon, as she led her students through the sun-dappled garden, a rogue gust of wind swooped down, snatching her new wig right off her head. The sight of the bright pink wig soaring through the air and landing a few yards away, a silly halo against the backdrop of greenery, had her students erupting in uncontrollable laughter.
Miss Bianca, still unaware of the gentle breeze that had betrayed her, turned to Elizabeth with a flash of suspicion, convinced that this too was another of Elizabeth’s pranks.
Looking back, those were some good days, Elizabeth decided.
But her excitement wasn't about vacationing or job hunting.
Elizabeth rolled over and sat up on her bed, still feeling a bit groggy.
The soft breeze swept across her cheeks like a tender hand.
The luminous moonlight filtered through the curtains, spilling a faint glow throughout the thick carpet.
The moon shone with exceptional brilliance, while the stars inlaid in the dark sky twinkled at an unusually quick rhythm.
Everything was silenced, every hustle and bustle of the city faded away, muted by a calm hush.
Elizabeth stared out at the window, her eyes glued to the serene, starry sky.
Occasionally, a bird flapping its wings or a few croaks from a crow broke the silence.
Everything was eerily tranquil.
It didn't feel like a normal night; everything was strangely clean and ordered.
There was a certainty that something wasn’t right beneath this facade of calm.
Just then, an unusual sound piqued her curiosity.
Drawing her gaze up, Elizabeth found herself mesmerized by a figure gliding gracefully beneath the silvery moonlight. Her heart raced with a mix of intrigue and excitement as she quietly slipped out of bed and made her way to the balcony.
Gripping the handrail, she leaned over to catch a better glimpse.
In the hushed embrace of night, illuminated by the silvery radiance of a full moon, an unearthly being glided gracefully across the vast expanse of the sky.
Dressed in a flowing cloak reminiscent of a bygone era, the fabric billowed violently in the gusting wind. Her gloved hands clutched the cloak tightly, while a silken dressing gown flared out beneath. Her long, lustrous hair streamed behind her in luminous waves.
As she ascended higher, drawing closer to Elizabeth’s home, curiosity compelled Elizabeth to lean out further for a better view.
What she saw stole her breath away.
The figure soaring above was not merely a woman; she was a vision of enchantment, with stunning wings erupting from her back.
These were no ordinary appendages; they were magnificent eagle wings, expansive and commanding, spanning wide enough to cut through the night air with grace.
Each feather was a gleaming hue of gold, mingling with the silver rays of the moonlight.
Elizabeth's heart raced as disbelief melded with wonder.
Could it be true?
The idea that a human could ascend into the heavens unassisted was a fanciful notion, but this woman—soaring freely with those radiant wings—seemed to suggest otherwise.
Was it a figment of her imagination, a whimsical dream spun from the depths of her mind?
Or was she truly witnessing something extraordinary, a sight that dared to challenge the very essence of reality?
Could she possibly be from an entirely different species?
The idea seemed preposterous, and yet Elizabeth's imagination had a tendency to run away with her. She often found herself chasing after flights of fancy, but something in this woman's presence felt undeniably peculiar.
The way she carried herself, with an air of quiet confidence and an intensity in her gaze, suggested there was more to her than met the eye.
With a soft sigh, Elizabeth let her gaze drift downward, breaking her fixation on the ethereal sight above. Just a few feet away, the guards stationed along the cobblestone street were lazily lounging on a weathered wooden bench, their eyes turned towards the heavens, counting the glimmering stars that peppered the expansive sky. They laughed quietly to one another, seemingly oblivious to the enchanting lady who floated just beyond their line of sight.
What kind of magic was this?
How was it possible that she was the only one able to witness such an extraordinary phenomenon?
The realization felt both thrilling and isolating.
Was it an omen meant solely for her, a sign that only her eyes were granted passage to witness this surreal moment?
Elizabeth's mind raced with possibilities, filled with a mixture of intrigue and confusion.
How could she, out of everyone in the world, be the chosen observer of this enchanting spectacle?
Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder with a tentative look. That creature stirred a strange sense of familiarity within her—she had seen it before. A haunting memory flickered, something terrifying she had witnessed long ago, connected somehow to that very creature.
However, it wasn’t the first time that peculiar things happened to Elizabeth.
Like that time in fifth grade when her assertive Maths teacher, Miss Charlotte (who looked more like a goofy, bold walnut, seriously, despite constantly insisting she was a sophisticated and clever angel at the beginning of each class), was scowling at her for getting an A instead of an A+ on her test.
Elizabeth still couldn’t forget how humiliated she felt before a sudden wave of warmth had surged through her.
The next thing she knew, her Maths teacher was doing tip-top dancing, making hilarious hand gestures while her feet stuck to the ceiling.
Before Elizabeth had figured out what was going on, her Maths teacher had fallen from the ceiling, hit the desk hard, and landed on the ground in a loud crunch. Covering her butt with her hands (which Elizabeth had realized afterwards that Miss Charlotte’s trousers were slitted open), she stormed out of the room.
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Even though Elizabeth tried countless times to explain to the headmaster that she didn’t do anything except laugh really hard, she was still given detention for the rest of the year.
But she couldn’t help but have a good hysterical laugh when she remembered how silly Miss Charlotte looked after her bright pink piggy knickers, big enough to fit an elephant (no joke), covered in childish drawings, were suddenly revealed through her fingers as she stumbled away.
Elizabeth had never regarded these events as overly serious, perceiving them merely as unfortunate incidents.
Nevertheless, the peculiar incidents seemed to unfurl in tandem with moments when she felt particularly insulted or belittled by those around her. Each time her temper flared in reaction to the sharp sting of criticism, she would notice an unsettling sensation taking hold of her body. Her palms would ignite with an intense heat, a burning that felt almost otherworldly.
Alongside this fiery sensation, a crippling pain would seize her stomach, a sharp ache likened to the feeling of being struck by a heavy object or, more disturbingly, as if something deep inside her was relentlessly striving to break free.
Subsequently, within moments, destructive events would unfold.
However, none of these could be considered as peculiar as the case of the flying lady.
It couldn’t simply be described as unlucky, could it?
As she wandered through the labyrinth of her thoughts, a sudden crack echoed from below. Curiously, we turned our gaze to the living room, which was rather dim; the only illumination flickered above us, emanating from an exquisite crystal chandelier.
Beneath it hung a large replica of Leonardo da Vinci’s Last Supper. The sofa was strewn with glowing yellow parchments, while chirping birds flitted about outside the windowsill. Bathed in silver moonlight, in front of an antique mirror, stood Elizabeth’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Jordan.
Mrs. Selena Jordan, a lawyer who had recently lost a lawsuit, consistently appeared to be straightforward and highly skilled in improvisation, given her need to ensure that the jury was convincingly swayed by her arguments. Additionally, she had to sacrifice her family, her romantic relationship, and nearly everything she cherished to keep pace with her latest cases and to maintain her reputation among her colleagues as a refined professional, and clearly she didn’t want to earn a motherhood penalty (it did happen very often, somebody’s gonna think you’re weak and less useful if you didn’t show up dedicating to your work every day.)
Nevertheless, these sacrifices did not hinder her from embodying a caring mother and an intellectual colleague.
Mr. Christopher Jordan was the very last person you saw getting opportunities screwed up. He loved order, and everything in his reach or under his control was strictly ordered, since he was a famous entrepreneur and had established his own company recently, he was quite eager and enthusiastic to say that he would be reinforcing another book of rules for his tech company within weeks (he had already written about fifty or so, and the very first thing his employees had to do was reciting the rules to him in person and list about fifty praises about the benefits of those disciplines. Ironically, there was barely any time left for innovating.)
Nevertheless, Christopher could always figure out how to solve the problems.
He thrived on the tight grip he maintained over his daughter’s every movement, as though she were a puppet dancing on his strings.
“Never trust your so-called friend, no matter how benign she seems,” He would declare, his voice steadfast and serious, a mantra that reverberated in Elizabeth’s mind. Whether they were gliding down the sunlit street toward the quaint, white-steepled church, navigating the bustling market with its kaleidoscopic displays, or even sweating through their morning exercise routines before her swimming lessons—the one activity where Elizabeth truly excelled—his warning lingered like an unwanted shadow.
Though he meant well, she found herself gnawed by confusion.
Victoria Vincent, her childhood confidante, sparkled with kindness and laughter, her smile igniting warmth in even the coldest days, yet Elizabeth could not fathom what had forged such a deep rift between her friend and her father.
Perhaps it was their habit of spending countless hours side by side in the public library, their heads buried in books, weaving stories and dreams into the fabric of their friendship.
Victoria’s love for Norse mythology enchanted Elizabeth, each tale unspooling like golden threads of adventure. But to Christopher, these stories were poison. Fueled by a tempest of anger, he once unleashed his wrath upon Elizabeth’s cherished book, tearing through its pages with a frenzy that sent shivers down her spine. Each rip echoed like a drumbeat of betrayal, punctuating his fervent accusations that the book was a malevolent force, one that could devour her very mind.
His threats echoed in her ears—she would go hungry for an entire week if another copy treaded into their home. “That book will eat your brain!” he had shouted, his face contorted in a mixture of fear and anger when he first spotted it resting innocently on her desk, as if it were a venomous serpent lying in wait.
Yet, to Elizabeth, it felt like a distant echo of a long-lost dream, as if a faded photograph, its colors washed out over time. The once vivid images had dulled, becoming mere shadows of what they used to be.
Just as her mind began to wander deeper into this nostalgic haze, a jarring chime shattered the stillness around her, slicing through her reverie like a knife through mist.
The bell tolled ominously at the stroke of midnight—precisely at midnight—its deep, resonant notes reverberating in the cool night air, sending a thrill down her spine and carrying with it an air of mystery and urgency.
Something was about to happen, Elizabeth decided.
Elizabeth crept down the marble staircases quietly. Keeping as still as possible, she headed toward the kitchen for a nice cup of hot chocolate.
Just then, she heard voices drifting from deep within the navy-blue ocean, far beneath the enchanted ceiling. Above, the ultramarine night sky was dotted with stars that seemed to smile down upon her.
Yes, there were definitely voices, resonating like those of angels.
Yet, she found herself unable to grasp their meaning.
It felt that these voices hailed from a realm beyond her own imagination—a parallel reality she had never dared to explore—one that remained completely unseen by Elizabeth…but she could feel its pull deep within her soul.
Suddenly, Christopher’s voice rang. She pressed her ears against the wall and listened,
“—Diana never came back since then—”
Elizabeth let out an exasperated sigh, rolling her eyes dramatically. Diana, her older sister, was not only bossy but also disorganized; she barely noticed Elizabeth's presence. In fact, Elizabeth secretly wished that something—anything—would disrupt the status quo and pull Diana's attention away, even if just for a moment, and Elizabeth wouldn't mind at all if something happened to her sister.
“—As for Elizabeth, we must keep her from getting there. She is still ‘useful’ to us, especially to him—”
Clank, the cup filled with hot chocolate fell to the ground in a clutter.
“—What about her powers—her identity—”
The doorbell rang abruptly.
Elizabeth crept toward a huge column and hid behind it, breathing rather fast.
Christopher cut Selena off, “That is exactly what he wanted for all those years. Do whatever I do, don’t you dare screw it up.”
Selena cast an eye upwards when Christopher was not observing her.
She retrieved an object from her silver casket.
It was the most exquisite item Elizabeth had ever encountered; it was slender and elongated, crafted from pure, shimmering crystal. Bright golden and silvery gleams shimmered throughout the crystal handle, which was fashioned into a cross with a violet diamond embedded therein. Its tip was spiral and pointed, radiating golden sparkles.
It was a magipen, the very first magical item Elizabeth had encountered that could be quite frightening enough to scare the daylights out of anyone if you dared to provoke its wielder.
Selena elevated her magipen, feigning composure, even as her elbow trembled slightly. She started writing luminous characters in midair.
Elizabeth could not decipher what her mother had written, though she sensed it was in the language that connected to the otherworld.
Selena twirled her magipen and began to rotate it. With a flick, the golden thread transformed into a beam of light. She directed the beam precisely at the doorknob.
The door flung open, and a gush of light filled the room.
When the light faded, a hooded figure appeared in the middle of the room.
Instead of attacking the stranger, the Jordans smiled, the most broadly.
Selena inhaled deeply and let out a sigh of relief, the weight of worry lifting from her as she deftly returned her weapon—the sleek and formidable object—to the depths of the ornately carved casket, which closed with a soft, echoing thud.
In an unexpected gesture of warmth, she pulled the stranger into a warm embrace, wrapping her arms so tightly that her knuckles turned white, as though welcoming a long-lost friend back into her life.
Christopher’s laughter danced through the air, bright and infectious, as he gestured toward an empty chair, his eyes sparkling with genuine enthusiasm.
The stranger, cloaked in an air of mystery, settled comfortably into the chair beside them, her presence both calming and intriguing. For the next thirty minutes, they huddled close, the dim light casting soft shadows over their gathering; it was as if they were cocooned in a private world of shared secrets.
With an air of secrecy, the stranger leaned forward, her voice low and melodious as she explained something shrouded in intrigue. Her slender fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the polished wooden desk, each beat punctuating the weight of her words, while Mr. and Mrs. Jordan nodded along, their faces animated with curiosity and insight.
Elizabeth observed from a distance, her brow furrowed in confusion as she tried to piece together this curious tableau. It struck her as utterly peculiar—her parents, usually so reserved and composed, were now enraptured in animated conversation with someone entirely unknown to her.
The sight felt surreal, as if she had stumbled upon a hidden side of them—her mother’s laughter sounded new and vibrant, and her father’s bright-eyed fascination were for this total stranger alone.
Was that figure truly a stranger, or was there something more familiar about them?
Selena squinted through her glasses and whispered, in a voice so quiet that Elizabeth had to hold her breath in order to catch the words.
“To be perfectly frank, I don’t think this gonna work.” Whispered Selena anxiously.
“This is our last chance, you must do it, for the sake—” The stranger hissed with worry.
“But if we leave her here all alone, her powers would be easily stolen.”
“Not until her twenty-second birthday.”
The stranger paused, then went on in a much more urgent voice, “Chris, are you sure Joanna is dead? Because if the legend is real, her daughter will unseal the tenth world. We mustn’t let her find out about that. We can’t risk—”
“Definitely, and try to lock the Astral away; she’s disturbing—”
Selena coughed and continued,
“But she’s your sister, she’s bound to notice something.”
“Then you have to—” the stranger went on, smiling.
But soon her voice was drowned by a roar of fury from Christopher.
Elizabeth was stunned to see her father stand up in rage and slam his fist on the table with a thud.
A piece of paper rose from the figure's inner pocket and flew quietly into Selena's waiting hand.
“Oh my gosh!” Selena exclaimed, her face turned chalk white.
She was clutching the edge of the letter so tightly that it nearly tore apart, muttering in disbelief, “No, no, no, this couldn’t happen, no—”
Mr. Jordan grabbed the handle of his armchair so hard that his knuckles turned white.
Surely, he was on pins and needles waiting for his wife to tell him that nothing horrendous was written in the letter, and it felt so excruciating waiting for something so touch-and-go.
A foreboding sense settled over him as he surveyed the dimly lit room, intuition whispering that whatever lurked within was far from benign. His wife sat frozen in place, her eyes wide and shimmering with terror, as if the unseen presence had paralyzed her very spirit. After what felt like an eternity, the silence in the room grew thick and unsettling, wrapping around them like a shroud. Then, breaking the heavy stillness, Selena's voice erupted, filled with palpable fear, as she cried out, "No!"
Caught off guard, the stranger quickly got to her feet. Acting on pure instinct, Selena also sprang to her feet, her heart pounding in her chest.
She rushed forward, kneeling beside the stranger, desperation etched across her face as she pleaded with an urgency that echoed through the room.
“Please, don’t! Don’t kill her! Have mercy…” Her voice cracked, each sob cutting through the tense silence, reverberating against the cold stone walls like a death knell.
The figure stepped back, the anger boiling just beneath the surface.
“Enough with the tears! You had your chance, but if you or your husband don’t act quickly, she’ll die—a slow, torturous death.”
“Please, just give us a little more time!” Selena begged, her heart racing.
“We can find a way to—”
“Time is not on your side!” they interrupted sharply, glancing at the door. “You have mere moments.”
Elizabeth’s heart fluttered apprehensively as an unsettling intuition crept over her—a chilling sense that something had happened to Diana, and it was likely far from good.
The once-inviting atmosphere of the room had shifted, now heavy with an insidious tension that coiled around her chest.
Just as she summoned the courage to slip back into the safety of her thoughts, her boot struck something solid. She glanced down to see a sturdy wooden stick roll away, tumbling down the staircase, clattering ominously as it descended.
The sharp, jarring noise shattered the stillness, slicing through the tension like a jagged dagger, exposing her hiding place.
Instantly, the stranger’s head jerked up, and her cold, penetrating glare locked onto her, sending cold sweats beading over her forehead.
A sneer twisted her lips, dripping with disdain.
For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze. Neither moved, both caught in the electric moment, bodies taut with unvoiced tension after the unexpected revelation.
Then, as if yanked from a trance, fear shot through Elizabeth like wildfire. A jolt of adrenaline coursing through her veins, Elizabeth spun on her heel and fled back into her room, her heart racing wildly, each beat echoing in her ears like a frantic drum. With urgency, she hurled the door shut behind her, the echo reverberating in the quiet space.
Gasping for breath, she dashed toward the balcony. Outside, the wind whispered. Perched on the edge of the balcony, Elizabeth finally allowed herself to exhale, a sigh of relief escaping her lips, relaxation washing over her as she heard the front door bang with finality, ushering in a silence that cloaked the house like a shroud.
Yet, even in this pregnant silence, an unnerving sense of foreboding lingered—a whisper in her mind suggesting that this was far from over—tonight, steeped in magic and mystery, still held secrets yet to unfold.
She remained there, enveloped in the stillness, straining to capture any hint of movement that might signal the next twist of fate. Just as she began to rise, a faint rustling sound broke through the silence, drawing her attention.
Looking up, her breath caught in her throat as she beheld an enormous cloud drifting toward her—a surreal spectacle.
On this fluffy expanse sat a multitude of winged figures, each one adorned with shimmering feathers that glinted in the moonlight. Two robust pigeons, their wings spread majestically, pulled the cloud gracefully like a fantastical carriage across the night sky.
A scene beyond imagination unfolded before her—winged people fluttered and soared through the air, their laughter mingling with the gentle breeze, vibrant and alive.
Surrounded by a breathtaking panorama bathed in a golden light that reflected off shimmering leaves, Elizabeth found herself entranced by an incredible truth that settled into her heart with quiet insistence—she realized, with an exhilarating sense of urgency, that only she had the gift of witnessing this extraordinary moment. It deepened the enigma surrounding her parents’ secretive existence and the wondrous realm they had so carefully shielded from her.
The air was thick with a sense of magic, as if the very fabric of the world was whispering of a fantastical realm they had kept shrouded in mystery, waiting for her to discover the long-buried tales of wonder that lay just beyond her reach.
Elizabeth hoisted herself upward, her heart racing as she listened from the shadows.
Downstairs, her parents were locked in a heated conversation, their words laced with tension.
What dreadful consequences awaited her if they discovered her secret?
And what desperate measures were they contemplating to save Diana?
Just then, a sharp fragment of her mother’s voice cut through the air, igniting a spark of urgency within Elizabeth. Without a second thought, she pulled out her phone, fingers trembling, and began to record, knowing that this moment could unravel everything she held dear.
“What can we do?” came a trembling voice, Selena's, her tears mingling with the shadows of despair.
“She’s not our daughter after all. Why don’t we simply cut our ties?” Christopher’s voice rang out, steady and cold, like a blade unsheathed.
Selena’s breath hitched in her throat. “How could you even think that?”
“I’m simply being pragmatic,” he replied, a flicker of something dark warming his tone.
“It’s just business, nothing personal.”
Elizabeth felt her heart pound in her chest. She had never heard her father so utterly devoid of warmth.
“We can’t! That’s a sin, Christopher! Do you have no soul left?” Selena whimpered, her voice breaking.
“How on earth could you be so cruel to her?”
“Cruelty is a luxury we can't afford,” Christopher replied, his eyes narrowing. “If you won’t do it, I’ll take matters into my own hands. Stay here, Selena, do nothing. I’ll fetch the dagger myself. But let me be clear—if I hear even a whisper of hesitation from you, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Selena’s breath wheezed in fear. “You wouldn’t...”
He leaned closer, his voice lower, dripping with chilling calmness.
“Try me. I’ve done worse for less.”
“Christopher, please!” Selena’s anguish pierced the air, but it hung uselessly between them, swallowed by his icy resolve.
“Enough,” he snapped, sharpening the silence. “This is our only way out.”
Christopher's voice was a chilling whisper, devoid of warmth or compassion, and it sank into Elizabeth's consciousness with a heaviness that made her blood run cold.
In that fleeting moment, clarity dawned upon her, stark and terrifying.
Her stomach twisted in a painful spiral as the cruel truth unfurled within her—a cruel bargain loomed on the horizon where her father’s monstrous intentions shone harshly.
He had resolved to take her life this very night, the price for her sister Diana's safety just as she unraveled the full truth of his dark deeds—in a cruel barter for the safety of her beloved sister, Diana. With a heavy heart, Elizabeth steeled herself, moving deliberately toward the door.
Her fingers grazed over the cold steel of the knife hidden in her waistband. If she was to face the end with such cold-blooded brutality, then she vowed to fight back with every ounce of strength she had left.
As she took a trembling step forward, her eye caught a glimmering object on the ground.
Curiosity pulled her closer, and she bent down to pick it up, discovering an unusual object--her fingers wrapping around a hoop entwined in intricate threads. It was a dreamcatcher, unlike any she had seen before. Its frame, adorned with vibrant feathers and delicate tassels, seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy.
However, this was no simple ornament. As Elizabeth's skin brushed against the silky strings, a gentle vibration coursed through her fingertips, a subtle energy that awakened something dormant within her, igniting a flicker of inexplicable strength. To her astonishment, it lifted gracefully into the air, rotating slowly, casting a kaleidoscope of intricate shadows that danced and flickered across the dimly lit floor.
Mesmerized, Elizabeth inched closer, her heart swelling with a mix of hope and apprehension.
But her reverie was suddenly shattered by a voice—soft yet urgent—that echoed in the hollow space of her mind, causing her to jolt with surprise.
“Step in, darling, escape this cage.”
Whipping around, her pulse pounding in her ears, she scanned the room, but found it hauntingly empty. This presence, the voice speaking to her, was not new.
But this was her least worry.
The ominous sound of heavy footsteps reverberated in the hallway, each stride invoking a sense of impending doom--
Her father was approaching.
Panic surged through her as time slipped away. In a frantic rush, she snatched her phone and the knife, her heart racing with desperate resolve.
With her eyes tightly shut, she took a daring leap into the blinding lights, just as the door behind her swung open with an ominous creak…