Maryna
I didn't sleep again after the dream.
I couldn't.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw firelight flickering on stone, felt invisible hands sliding over my skin, heard Vasilios's voice whispering from a place deeper than dreams.
"Wake up… not yet. But soon."
What did that mean?
Was it prophecy?
A threat?
Or some sick extension of the game they were playing with my mind?
I dressed before the sun rose.
Not that I could tell time here—there were no windows in my chamber, only candles that never fully died, and torches that flared to life without flame.
I wore a high-collared dress today. Something dark and plain. I needed armor, even if it was stitched from velvet.
I left the room and walked the corridors. Not in rebellion.
In desperation.
I needed answers.
And this place had far too many walls for silence.
Something was changing.
The air felt thicker.
The staff no longer met my eyes.
Doors I once passed freely were suddenly locked.
I noticed small things—scraps of parchment removed from books in the library, sigils chiseled into the floor beneath rugs, mirrors that no longer reflected what I expected to see.
And the whispers.
God, the whispers.
Never loud enough to understand.
Never far enough to ignore.
I found myself back in the west wing.
Not the tower.
I wouldn't go there again.
Not yet.
But nearby.
A hallway I hadn't noticed before—twisting, narrow, lined with strange paintings covered in sheer cloth. One curtain had slipped just slightly.
I pulled it back.
It was a portrait.
Faint, faded—but unmistakable.
A woman. Pale and regal. Green-gold eyes. Dark hair falling in thick curls. A velvet choker. A knowing smile.
My face.
Not exactly. But close enough to make my stomach twist.
There was no plaque beneath the frame.
Only a single word scratched into the stone behind the canvas.
"Valmont."
My hands trembled as I backed away.
Valmont.
My mother's name.
Our name.
Why was it here?
Why had no one told me?
I turned, heart racing, and ran into something solid.
A chest. A figure. A guard.
No.
Not a guard.
A woman in crimson robes.
She smiled at me.
Not kindly.
"Curious little thing, aren't you?" she said, voice like silk over glass.
"Who are you?" I asked.
"A page in a book you're not ready to read," she replied. "But soon."
She stepped past me, fingers trailing the stone as she moved.
And then she was gone.
Back in my room, I sat by the fireplace and stared at the same three words written in a language I didn't speak on the inside of my wrist.
They hadn't been there the day before.
They looked burned in—not ink. But not a wound.
Just… truth.
What did they mean?
Who was "Valmont" to them?
Who was I?
I reached for the book Vasilios had shown me once—Seductio Tenebris—but it was gone.
So was the wineglass from last night.
So was the parchment I'd been hiding beneath my pillow.
Someone had been here.
Someone wanted me to know I wasn't alone—but not safe, either.
There was a knock.
Three short, sharp taps.
When I opened the door, no one was there.
Only a single card on the floor.
Plain.
Unmarked.
I turned it over.
"Follow the flame that never dies. The garden remembers."
My throat tightened.
The garden.
The dead one at the center of the estate. The one I'd only seen through an iron gate.
Nothing bloomed there.
But something waited.
And now I had a path.
The puzzle was shifting.
The board was set.
And if I couldn't solve it before they did…
I wouldn't just be their prisoner.
I'd be their prophecy.
To be continued…