ཐིRen H.ཋྀ

When the final traces of sunlight finally disappear beneath the horizon, giving way to dusk, Severa rises from her chair. Her fingers adjust and tighten the strap of the satchel now permanently secured at her side before leaving the library. It’s when she turns the corner toward the staircase leading to her room that Dr. Blackmere comes into view at the opposite end of the hallway, already walking in her direction.

Severa’s grip tightens around the strap at her side as she instinctively braces herself for something — anything. His footsteps slow as he approaches her, though he doesn’t stop entirely. 

“I trust today was restful,” he says, his voice lower than usual. “Safer than wandering.”

The comment is barely audible; if Severa hadn’t been standing so close, she might have missed it altogether, but the implication is impossible to ignore. Somehow, he knows about her latest transgression. It’s impossible that he wouldn’t know.

Severa’s pace falters slightly at the remark, though she keeps her gaze ahead as Dr. Blackmere calmly continues past her. Confusion settles eerily in her chest; whatever interaction she had anticipated, it certainly wasn’t that.

Taking a quiet breath, Severa continues to her room and gently shuts the door behind her. She had already eaten dinner in the library earlier, hopefully removing any reason for someone to disturb her for the remainder of the night. Placing the satchel carefully on the chair beside her desk, she moves across the room and slowly pulls the thick curtains shut.

𑁍𑁍𑁍

Edward stands motionless between the trees at the edge of the forest, both hands resting on the handle of his cane while the night wind lightly stirs the ends of his hair beneath the brim of his hat. His eyes remain locked on the darkened window of Severa's room, though the curtains have been drawn shut tightly enough to hide any sign of her beyond the glass. Still, he watches it in silence, lingering there simply to feel close to her.

After their first conversation the night before, Edward hasn't been able to rid his mind of her voice, not that he has any desire to. No matter the century, no matter the life she lives, her voice always seems to reach him the same way.

And when she looked at him in the forest, he saw it clearly in her eyes: the faint flicker of relief upon finally placing a real face to the one haunting her dreams, along with something deeper that stirred quietly within him. A quiet understanding that the walls separating them for centuries are finally beginning to fracture.

His attention is so consumed with the dull reflection of moonlight against Severa’s darkened window that he doesn’t initially notice her slipping back into the gardens once again. It’s only when the steady rhythm of her heartbeat begins growing louder in his ears that his gaze finally shifts.

There she is.

Severa moves carefully through the garden in his direction, her expression intent and focused in the moonlight; from this distance, Edward can’t quite tell whether or not she’s spotted him standing among the trees already.

Edward can’t help the faint softening in his expression at the sight of her, and her persistence, despite not yet knowing the truth of who he is.

The way Severa’s gaze refuses to leave him as she approaches the iron gate makes it immediately clear to Edward that she’s found him; he stays where he is, shoulders straightening as he watches her come closer than before. He steps closer as well, coming to stand just behind the narrow bars.

The two of them now stand only an arm’s length apart, the gate serving as the only thing separating them, close enough for the moonlight to fully reveal one another. Edward’s chest rises with a slow inhale as he takes in the woman before him — the dark waves of her hair falling down her back, the unwavering intensity of her eyes as they never stray from him.

Something about being this close to her overwhelms Edward; a deep, aching sense of peace rising within him. Being able to exist beside her once more will never fail to bring him happiness.

Severa steps even closer until her nose nearly brushes one of the iron bars, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studies him in the moonlight.

“You said my name last night,” she says carefully, though he hardly needs reminding. “How did you know my name? I never told it to you.”

Before Edward can form a careful response, Severa speaks again.

“You take — sorry, borrow — my journal,” she begins, frustration threading through her voice, “and then reveal yourself as the man I’ve been drawing for years.” Her brows pull together as she steps a little bit closer, close enough that Edward can practically taste the scent of her that surrounds him with every breath he takes.

“Just tell me, how?” Her tone implies it’s more of a demand, than a question.

Edward exhales through his nose, his thumb brushing idly along the handle of his cane as he considers his response. There’s something painfully endearing about the stubborn tilt of Severa’s chin, the way her fingers curl tighter into her sleeve as she waits for an answer he isn’t sure he can give her — not fully. Not yet.

“Some questions,” he says, his voice soft and low in the quiet between them, “have answers that are better understood when they unfold naturally.” He leans slightly toward her, the brim of his hat casting shifting shadows across his face. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Severa’s brows furrow, her expression caught somewhere between irritation and something else. Something like... intrigue.

“That’s not an answer,” she counters.

“It is,” he assures her, his dark eyes locked onto hers. “Just not the one you want.” The corner of his mouth curls upward slightly as he watches her face.

Severa lets out a quiet huff, the sound edged clearly with frustration. “I can’t…” She trails off, giving a small shake of her head as if struggling to properly voice the chaos in her mind.

“How do I know I can trust you?” she asks finally. Edward’s gaze softens, though the intensity of it never wavers. He tilts his head slightly, studying her. 

“Your soul tells you to,” he mumbles, voice barely above a whisper. The wind stirs the loose strands of his hair, brushing against his jawline as he reaches through the iron bars slowly; hesitantly, his fingers curl lightly around her hand.

The moment Edward's hand closes around hers, he watches Severa's expression shift, and then her eyes suddenly go distant as the world around them disappears from her entirely.

Dravenia’s warm summer rain patters against garden leaves as Edward pulls her beneath the shelter of an old stone arch, both of them breathless and soaked through. 

His hands cradle her face, thumbs brushing rain from her cheeks; the touch feels gentle and familiar, before he leans in close enough that she can feel his smile against her skin.

“Eddie,” she laughs.

“My sweetheart…”

Severa’s eyes suddenly snap back into focus on the man before her, her breath hitching sharply as though she’s just resurfaced from somewhere deep underwater. She stares at him in stunned silence, recognition flooding her expression so suddenly it almost looks painful. The realization hits her.

“Eddie…” The name leaves Severa’s lips like both a question and a revelation all at once, and for the first time, the face from her dreams no longer feels like a stranger’s.

“H-how…” Tears brim Severa’s eyes as she looks over Edward’s face. Edward automatically reaches up, his thumb brushing away one stray tear before it can fall.

“Your dreams aren’t just dreams, Severa,” he says softly, fingers lingering against her cheekbone. “They’re echoes. Memories of lifetimes before this one, buried deep in your soul.”

He lets out a soft exhale, his face gentle despite the seriousness in his tone. “You’re not ill. You never were.”

The words leave Severa momentarily stunned into silence. Under any other circumstance, she thinks she might have broken down entirely at the confirmation that she isn’t sick — that the man she has spent years dreaming about, sketching obsessively, and searching for actually exists beyond the confines of her mind. But the shock of finally standing before him keeps her rooted in place, still struggling to fully process the impossible reality of him being real.

Edward's fingers trail lightly down her cheek before withdrawing back through the gate, both of his hands resting once again on his cane, though he remains close enough that Severa can see the faint flecks of gold in his brown eyes.

“Blackmere knows more than he lets on,” Edward mutters, glancing briefly toward the manor. “He isn’t only a doctor, Severa. He’s been watching you for reasons you can’t yet imagine.”

The warning in his tone is unmistakable. Severa’s momentary shock quickly resolves, worry slamming sharply back into her chest at the mention of the doctor’s name. Just beneath it, curiosity begins stirring over how Edward seems to know Dr. Blackmere at all.

As though the forest itself carried his name, Dr. Blackmere’s voice suddenly echoes from the main garden door of Blackmere House.

“Miss Severa!”

A shaky breath leaves her as her eyes snap to Edward’s, something almost pleading flickering across her expression, as though silently begging him to stop this somehow — because for reasons she can’t fully explain, standing in front of him feels far safer than whatever awaits her back inside Blackmere House.

“Go,” Edward instructs quietly.

“I can’t,” she breathes.

The urgency in his voice lowers, softening into something steadier, something protective. 

“Severa,” he says, more stern this time. “When it’s safe, I will come for you. But you must trust me now.” His gaze lingers on hers, unyielding. “Go.”

Severa slowly steps backward, her pulse suddenly pounding much harder than before. A new kind of fear begins creeping underneath her skin at the realization that even Edward is warning her about Dr. Blackmere. Though a small part of her aches at being told to return there, to the very place that’s begun filling her with dread, she still finds herself trusting Edward despite it.

She doesn’t need to turn around to know Edward disappears back into the trees as she slowly makes her way toward the looming prison of Blackmere House. A cold sheen of sweat begins forming along her face and neck, and it’s only once she fully senses Edward’s absence — and sees Dr. Blackmere waiting ahead — that she swallows hard.

The doctor stands at the entrance of the back door with his hands tucked neatly into his trouser pockets, still formally dressed despite the late hour. His expression remains unnervingly still, though the coldness in his eyes is obvious as they track Severa’s every hesitant step toward him.

“You are making recovery very difficult,” he remarks calmly, though the restrained irritation in his voice is evident. He turns and walks back inside, the gesture alone serving as a silent command for Severa to follow. Though dread twists lightly in her chest, she obeys quietly, her trust in Edward battling uneasily against the fear clawing its way through her.

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A fond, appreciative hum left her throat. Eddie heard the sound and paused mid-motion, glancing over his shoulder with a grin already tugging at his lips.

“Mmm?” he repeated, one eyebrow lifting. “Someone’s up early.” His voice was low, still rough with sleep but already carrying that familiar teasing tone as he turned toward her, the shirt he’d grabbed left hanging loosely over his shoulder instead of being pulled on.

“Mhm,” her eyes closed briefly as she nodded once.

Eddie chuckled softly before tossing the shirt onto the bed beside her. A second later, he crawled onto the mattress, his weight dipping it beneath him as he hovered over her, bracing himself on his forearms. The warmth of his freshly showered skin and the clean scent of his cologne wrapped around her instantly, caging her comfortably against the bed. His beard brushed across her skin as he nuzzled into the curve of her neck.

“Good morning,” she hummed with a smile, slipping her arms out from beneath him so she could loosely wrap them around his neck.

“Mornin’,” he mumbled back, the word muffled against her skin.

Her fingers moved absentmindedly through his hair, still slightly damp from the shower he’d taken after waking up, while he slowly pressed further into her. His face stayed tucked into her neck as more of his weight settled over her, drawing a laugh from her the more dramatic he became. His arms slipped beneath her, trapped between her body and the mattress just so he could hold her tighter. He was heavy, all warm muscle and weight, but she loved the way he always seemed to melt against her like this.

They stayed like that for another couple of minutes before Eddie finally lifted his head, his face hovering only inches from hers when she met his eyes. He leaned down first, placing a lingering kiss to her cheek before beginning to pull himself away. But before he could fully lift himself from the bed, her hand reached up, fingers gently catching the silver chain dangling from his neck.

Eddie froze mid-retreat, blinking down at her with amusement flickering in his eyes. A slow, knowing smirk crossed his face — one that only deepened when she tugged lightly on the chain still clasped in her fingers.

“Oh?” he questioned. “You wanna play before work?”

“I absolutely do,” she mumbled softly, eyes wandering over his face. “Unless you have to get going...”

Eddie let out a breathy laugh, his pretty brown eyes slightly hooded as he looked down at her. His nostrils flared faintly before he settled his weight back over her again. 

“Baby, who’s gonna write me up for being late? Me?” he said with a small grin, dragging his fingers through her sleep-mussed hair. She smiled at his joke as his hand moved down to gently grasp her wrist still holding his chain, guiding it away before pressing her hand firmly into the mattress beside her head.

Her expression softened as she bit down on her lip, her free hand slipping between them to push the blankets aside in a messy heap near the edge of the bed. Warmth bloomed through her cheeks, anticipation curling low in her stomach as Eddie dipped his head and kissed her softly, unhurried and lingering enough to make her melt beneath him. Her hand drifted upward, fingertips gliding over the broad slope of his shoulder before settling around his bicep. She could feel the subtle flex of muscle beneath his skin as he shifted over her, solid and heavy in a way that always made her feel completely surrounded by him.

The belt buckle clicked as Eddie freed it one-handed, his fingers working without hurry — a sharp contrast to the way his mouth moved against her neck, teeth grazing sensitive skin in gentle, teasing bites. He hummed deep in his throat at the way her breath caught, her fingers tightening against his arm as he tugged his belt free from the loops and let it drop carelessly to the floor with a muted thud.

“You just look so good getting ready for work,” she whispered near his ear, slowly dragging her knee along his side.

Eddie’s beard tickled her skin as he laughed softly against her neck, taking her hand and guiding it smoothly to the waistband of his pants. “Undo these for me, pretty girl.”

“Yes, sir,” she replied, unable to hide the subtle excitement in her voice as her fingers moved to undo the button of his pants. The rasp of Eddie’s zipper filled the room as he helped her guide it down, his breath warm against her lips when he leaned in to claim hers again. She opened her mouth to him as her hands cradled his face, breathing deeply through her nose. The kiss deepened naturally, full of the same passion he always gave her, steady enough that she could savor every second of it.

Eddie shifted his weight onto his left elbow, while his right hand worked his pants open just enough to free himself. His fingers trailed down her thigh, lifting her leg just enough to drape it over his hip as he settled himself between hers. She could feel him pressing against her, slow and teasing at first, until a quiet hum came from her throat as she tilted her hips upward to meet him. Eddie groaned softly against her mouth, fingers tightening around her thigh as he pushed forward, slipping inside with one smooth roll of his hips. 

“Fuck,” he breathed, pulling back slightly from the kiss. His forehead pressed against hers as he buried himself fully into her. “Morning sex is so fuckin’ good.”

His hips rocked into hers at first, each movement lazy and thorough, dragging soft gasps from her lips while his fingers traced idle patterns along the skin of her thigh.

He kissed her again, swallowing her quiet moan as he pushed himself deeper, setting a steady rhythm that quickly had her arching into him, chasing every careful thrust. Eddie laughed low in his throat at the reaction, pressing his lips to the curve of her neck. 

“That’s my girl,” he murmured against her skin, biting lightly at her pulse point. Her fingers curled into his hair, nails barely scratching against his scalp as he shifted his weight, adjusting himself onto his forearms for better leverage. The new angle sent him deeper, earning a loud moan from her lips as her hips moved to meet his thrusts. Eddie groaned, his breath hot near her ear as he quickened his pace slightly, just enough to draw more of those pretty sounds from her throat.

“Eddie,” she mewled, fingers tightening in his hair as he lowered his head to leave open-mouthed kisses along her collarbone. His name spilled from her lips again, quieter this time, barely more than a whisper as his hand slipped under her shirt, fingers teasing just beneath the curve of her breast.

Eddie hummed against her skin, his hips thrusting deep and slow as his thumb brushed over her nipple, prompting a sharp gasp from her mouth. He lifted his head just enough to meet her eyes, his own darkened with pleasure as he watched her lips part on a moan.

“That’s it,” he cooed, squeezing her breast gently in his palm. “Lemme see you.”

She arched into his touch with a faint whimper, her nails dragging lightly down the back of his neck as she let her head tip back against the pillows. The heat of his hand on her skin, the rhythmic push of his hips — every sensation tightened the heat already curling low in her stomach with each deep roll of his body against hers. Her breath came in short, uneven gasps, her legs tightening around his waist as she pulled him closer, craving the weight of him pressing her into the mattress.

Eddie growled, low and rough, when she clenched around him, his fingers flexing on her side as his hips stuttered slightly. His lips found hers again in a slow, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue dragging lazily over hers while his free hand slid down her body, slipping between them to press into the heat of her. The first brush of his fingers against her clit drew a sharp cry from her, muffled by his mouth as she writhed beneath him, pleasure coiling tighter in her stomach.

“Fuck,” she hissed lightly, pulling back from the kiss as her nails dug deeper into his shoulders. The tension pulled tighter with every deliberate stroke of his fingers, every deep thrust of his hips — her body trembled beneath him, heat pooling low until it threatened to spill over. Eddie watched her unravel with dark, possessive satisfaction, his rhythm faltering as her thighs clenched around him.

“Atta girl,” he rasped, breath ragged against her ear as her back arched off the mattress. The back of her head pushed into the pillow as she came undone beneath him, every muscle tensing before sinking into the sheets — Eddie watched her fall apart with heavy-lidded eyes, his own release chasing hers with a groan muffled against her shoulder.

He stayed inside her for another moment, savoring the way her body still fluttered around him before finally pulling out with a quiet exhale. His fingers brushed stray hairs back from her forehead as his thumb traced the warm flush high on her cheeks.

“Damn good way to start the day,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her nose before rolling off the bed with a quiet grunt.

“Ugh,” she whined the second his weight disappeared from above her. Laughing softly as he stretched, Eddie tossed her a wink while adjusting himself back into his pants.

“C’mon, don’t make that face,” he teased, bending to retrieve his belt before giving her thigh a playful swat. “If I’m any later, Ray’s gonna start thinkin’ I died.”

She smiled, huffing a quiet laugh through her nose as she rolled onto her side to watch him fix his belt and pull his work shirt on. Eddie stood from the bed afterward, grabbing his watch from the nightstand and fastening it around his wrist with practiced ease. When his gaze lifted back to her, a dimple pressed into his cheek as he smiled.

A second later, he crossed back toward the bed, bracing a hand beside her as he bent down to leave one last soft kiss against her lips before pulling back just enough for his face to hover above hers.

“See you later, angel,” he murmured, “I’ll call you on my break.”

“Okay, baby,” she smiled sweetly. The way she looked up at him — soft and sleepy, skin still flushed from the morning they’d shared — made something tighten warmly in his chest. His hand came up to cradle her face, thumb brushing lightly along her cheekbone as he leaned down once more, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate tone she adored so much.

“I love you,” he said.

She looked at him softly, the sincerity behind it was unmistakable. “I love you.”

His thumb lingered against her cheek for another second before he finally straightened with a reluctant sigh, reaching for his keys on the dresser, the soft jingle of metal filling the room.

“Don’t go back to sleep before you eat something,” he said, glancing back at her with that familiar fondness and slight bossy tilt of his chin.

She mirrored the look with exaggerated seriousness. “Will do.”

Not every date with Eddie was planned weeks ahead or written neatly into a schedule. Sometimes they happened after he got off work, calling her on his drive home from the shop just to tell her to ‘be ready’ by the time he got there. Then all he had to do was shower, change, and take her to whatever little restaurant he’d decided on that night. Though she never minded the lack of planning, dates with Eddie felt special no matter what they were doing.

Tonight, he’d taken her to Roane Street Bar & Grill, a casual little restaurant in the main part of town that the two of them had been to more times than they could count. The dim lighting and worn booths gave the place a cozy feel, and the food was good — the kind they craved on nights when both of them wanted something comforting but neither felt like cooking.

The two of them often sat tucked into a booth near the back of the restaurant, close to the old jukebox that still worked despite its age. Every now and then, Eddie would wander over and shove a few bills into it just to play music that, according to him, ‘people just don’t appreciate anymore.’ The way he said it — with complete seriousness and the faintest hint of old-man grumbling in his voice — always made him seem older than he was. He was an old soul in so many ways, and it showed without him even realizing it. She loved that about him.

Now, the two of them sat in their usual booth with plates of food spread out in front of them. Eddie had ordered one of his typical hearty meals, a grilled chicken platter with roasted potatoes and vegetables, while she’d gone for a cheeseburger with fries and a small side salad alongside it. Leaning back against the booth, Eddie watched her with an easy smile, his fingers idly tapping against the condensation-slicked glass of his beer.

“So,” he drawled, “tell me something I don’t know.”

It was a game they’d played since early in their relationship — trading little facts or stories or details about themselves that they hadn’t yet shared with each other. The kind of thing that kept their relationship from ever feeling stagnant or predictable.

He tilted his head slightly, waiting, the dim lighting catching in the dark waves of his hair. His fingers stilled against the glass, and she could tell by the look in his eyes that he was genuinely interested in whatever she might say next, no matter how small or silly it might be.

She hummed thoughtfully around a bite of her burger, quickly wiping her hands on her napkin as she looked upward in thought. A blush crept onto her cheeks as her face scrunched slightly, the memory suddenly resurfacing.

“When I was younger,” she said after swallowing, “I accidentally ate a dog treat because I thought it was an Oreo.”

Eddie snorted into his beer, barely managing to swallow before breaking into laughter that made his shoulders shake. She facepalmed dramatically, elbow resting against the table as an embarrassed laugh slipped past her lips.

“It’s not funny,” she muttered, dragging out the last syllable despite the smile threatening to break through. Eddie wiped small tears of laughter from his eyes, breath still hitching between chuckles as he reached across the table to tug her hand away from her face.

“Oh, it absolutely is funny,” he countered warmly, thumb brushing over her knuckles. “But you can’t just drop that on me and not tell me if you didn’t realize it wasn’t a cookie halfway through chewing.”

Her eyes widened. “Oh jeez, no, I did,” she explained quickly. “The second I bit into it, I spit it right back out. But in my defense, the container it was in wasn’t the original packaging.”

Eddie grinned as he leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, the gentle amusement in his expression making her embarrassment feel softer. “Okay, I need to know — how old were you? Five? Ten?”

She scrunched her face. “Like... eleven, I think.”

Eddie's grin widened even further, the faint scar above his eyebrow creasing as he shook his head in delighted disbelief, fingers still laced with hers.

“Eleven,” he repeated, smirking, “so right in that sweet spot where you're old enough to know better but young enough to still pull dumb shit. Christ, I would've paid good money to see that.”

She scoffed in mock offense and gently swatted at his hand. He laughed again, his hand dodging the half-hearted swipe before catching her wrist and pressing a quick kiss to her knuckles.

“Come on, angel,” he teased, voice softening as he studied her expression, “we've all had our moments. I once tried to microwave a frozen pizza still in the box because I thought the instructions meant to leave it in there.”

Her mouth dropped open as her eyebrows shot upward, a small snort escaping through her nose. “So… arson?”

Eddie groaned, running a hand over his face while she dissolved into giggles, his fingers spreading just enough to peek at her through them. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up — smoke alarm went off, whole place smelled like burning cardboard for a week.”

She grabbed a fry and popped it into her mouth, laughing softly as she chewed. His eyes flickered over her face, lingering on the way the corner of her lips lifted upward as she ate. The warmth in his chest had nothing to do with the beer in his hand — just the easy comfort of nights like this, the way she always made even the simplest moments feel like something worth remembering. She found herself staring at him for a moment after that. The lazy smile resting on his lips, the dark curls falling around his face, his broad hand wrapped loosely around his beer glass. Sometimes she still couldn’t believe she got to love someone who looked at her the way Eddie did.

“I love you, you know that?” He spoke gently, squeezing her hand lightly. It definitely wasn't the first time he'd said it, but tonight it felt softer, somehow.

“Oh, I know,” she said matter-of-factly before reaching for another fry. He arched an eyebrow at her casual tone, the corner of his mouth quirking up as he traced idle patterns against her knuckles with his thumb.

“Yeah? You're just gonna leave me hanging like that?” His voice dropped into something teasing, yet tender.

She smiled at him lightly, sweet and knowing. “I love you, baby.”

His expression softened as he looked at her, thumb stilling against her skin as he leaned in slightly.

“Say it again,” he murmured, eyes glancing between hers like he was trying to memorize the moment.

“The ‘I love you,’ or the ‘baby’?” she asked softly, a playful note slipping into her voice. His smile was slow and effortless, the kind that made the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way she’d learned to trace with her fingertips on lazy Sunday mornings.

“Both,” he admitted, voice dipping lower as he tugged her hand closer, pressing another kiss to her fingers. She released his hand gently, giving his beard a soft tug.

“I love you, baby,” she repeated. His chest rose with a deep inhale, eyes fluttering shut for just a beat at the words before opening again with such warmth it could've melted the ice in her glass. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he leaned back against the booth, wiping his mouth with a napkin before nudging his cleaned plate aside — chicken gone, potatoes and veggies vanished, only faint sauce smears remaining. 

“Damn right you do,” he said, stretching an arm along the back of the booth while his other hand lifted his glass to his lips to finish his beer.

One thing about Eddie, he always finished his meals.

Rolling her eyes with a smile, she wiped her hands clean before reaching into her purse for her phone, checking the time and any notifications. A second later, she casually flipped to the camera and aimed it toward the table, recording as she zoomed in on their plates — hers still holding a quarter of her burger and a few fries, while Eddie’s plate had been completely cleared. “Damn.”

The camera slowly panned up toward Eddie’s face.

Eddie’s expression was completely serious, dark eyes shifting between her and the camera before he slowly inhaled through his nose.

“Yeah… wait till you get home,” he said, his voice low and weighted, like he’d already mapped out exactly how that promise was going to play out. Her eyes betrayed her immediately, widening as she was left completely speechless. Without another word, she silently ended the video.

The second she lowered her phone, Eddie leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table with his fingers loosely laced together. The movement pulled the sleeves of his shirt tighter around his biceps, the muscle in his arms shifting noticeably beneath the fabric. A smug grin pulled at his mouth, eyes never leaving hers as he mumbled, “You’re lucky we’re in public.”

Her hand drifted up to the side of her neck, cheeks flushed pink as she tucked her phone away. “Well damn,” she muttered, fighting back a smile. “Check, please.”

Eddie laughed, the sound vibrating deep in his throat as he politely flagged down the waiter, fingers drumming against the tabletop in anticipation. The second the check landed between them, he snatched it up before she could blink, forearm flexing as he pulled his wallet from his back pocket with one smooth motion. The leather creaked softly as he flipped it open, fingers plucking out enough cash to cover their meal plus a generous tip. Her intrusive thoughts won the second she watched him slide the bills beneath his beer glass.

“You are so hot,” she mumbled before she could stop herself.

Eddie Munson worked at Hawkins Auto, a repair and body shop located about two miles from the heart of town. He’d started working there when he was sixteen, and over the years, he’d slowly become the guy people trusted for just about anything. Oil changes, busted engines, strange noises nobody else could figure out; if something was wrong with your car, you brought it to Eddie. Somewhere along the way, he’d become more than just the mechanic at the shop.

After the old owner passed away years back, the garage had been left to Eddie without much hesitation, like everyone had already known it belonged to him long before the paperwork ever said so. These days, the place did well for itself — and so did he.

Eddie lived in a small house near the edge of Hawkins, far enough from the noise of town to feel private, but close enough that he could make it to the shop in under ten minutes. He shared the house with his girlfriend, who he’d been with for about two and half years, though they’d been living together for about seven months.

Living with Eddie meant getting used to little things: the sound of old metal music drifting softly from the bathroom in the mornings, grease stains on the kitchen hand towels no matter how many times they were washed, protein powder shoved beside the coffee maker.

It also meant finding his forgotten lunch sitting on the counter at least twice a week — that is, if he even remembered to make it at all.

Today had been one of those days where she noticed his empty lunchbox still sitting on the counter where he always left it, so she made him lunch and drove it to the shop herself.

She liked it though; being able to bring Eddie his lunch was an excuse for her to visit him at work. She loved seeing him in action, loved when she would sneak into the shop just to watch him work for a few quiet moments before he noticed her.

The way his pretty brown eyes narrowed in concentration as he worked, grease staining his fingers and forearms; the slight pout of his lips whenever he focused too hard, completely unaware he was doing it. There was something unfairly attractive about watching him move around the garage so naturally.

The small bell above the storefront door chimed softly as she stepped inside, the faint smell of motor oil lingering even in the front office air. Ray was already sitting behind the desk when she walked in — he’d been working alongside Eddie since he turned eighteen nearly four years ago, long enough now that seeing her there had become completely normal.

“Wow, haven't seen you in a long time,” Ray remarked with gentle sarcasm as he raised his eyebrows from behind the desk. She scrunched her nose in response, a soft, sarcastic laugh slipping through it. He reminded her a lot of an annoying younger brother: well-meaning, easy to love, and occasionally impossible not to roll her eyes at.

Ray glanced at the lunch bag in her right hand, messing with his dirty blonde hair. “Whatcha got for me in there?”

“Absolutely nothing,” she replied with a playful tone.

“Damn,” he sighed, shaking his head.

She gave him a dramatically disappointed look, brows pulling together tightly as her lips curved into a small pout. “Maybe next time.”

Ray gave her a knowing smile, jerking his head toward the garage behind him, “Ed’s in the back.”

Giving him a short nod of approval, she moved around the desk and toward the open garage quietly. Careful to keep her distance, she settled into her usual habit of watching him for a few moments.

Eddie was bent over the hood of an old Honda Civic when her eyes found him, immediately looking him over in his casual work uniform — dark work pants, scuffed boots, and a black shop t-shirt with the Hawkins Auto logo printed over one side of his chest. 

The position had his forearms disappearing deep into the engine, leaving only glimpses of his thick upper arms visible beneath the sleeves of his shirt. The fabric of his shirt pulled tightly across his back every time he moved, the muscle beneath it shifting in a way she found deliciously distracting.

Eddie had been elbow-deep in the guts of the Civic for the last hour, trying to diagnose a stalling issue that had been giving him grief. His fingers tightened around the screwdriver in his hand as he carefully adjusted something, muttering to himself under his breath.

“Come on, you little shit.” He fiddled with the wiring, brow furrowing deeply when he couldn’t seem to get it just right. He didn’t notice her at first, and it took him about five minutes before he did. His head lifted instantly, eyes flickering up from beneath the hood of the car as he turned toward her.

There was a brief pause where he simply stared at her, lips curling into an easy grin as he leaned back against the car and wiped his grease-stained hands on the towel resting nearby on the edge of the hood.

“There’s my girl,” he crooned, laying the dirtied towel back in its place.

“Hi, my love,” she greeted with a smile, cheeks aching from how wide it had grown as she walked over and held out the lunch bag toward him. “You forgot your lunch. Shocker.”

Eddie’s grin deepened as he reached for the bag, though instead of taking it, his hand wrapped around her wrist and tugged her gently into his chest. A startled laugh escaped her as he chuckled softly, the scent of oil clinging to his clothes as his free arm slid around her waist.

“Huh,” he mused, leaning his hip against the car’s fender. “Almost like I’m forgettin’ on purpose.”

She laughed again, warmth spreading through her chest as his arms squeezed her a little tighter. Mischief flickered in his brown eyes when she looked up at him.

“Funny how that works,” he mumbled against her temple before pressing a tender kiss there.

“Ass,” she scoffed playfully, her free hand coming up to rest around his bicep.

“But you love me,” he teased, pressing another kiss to her forehead as he finally took the bag from her. Even then, he kept his arm wrapped around her waist, only pulling back enough to peer inside. “What’d you bring me, sweetheart?”

“The chicken, rice, and veggies I made last night,” she told him, opening the lunch bag while he still held it in his hand. “I also cut up some strawberries, and I packed that protein shake thing you like.”

“You’re a fuckin’ angel,” he groaned appreciatively, already opening the container and grabbing a strawberry before she could stop him.

“I know,” she shrugged, smiling. Eddie smiled back before jerking his head toward the small break room near the back of the garage.

"Hang out with me while I eat? I got about twenty before I gotta get back to this piece of shit." He nudged the car’s tire with his boot for emphasis.

“Sure, baby,” she replied easily.

She loved calling him that. For all his size — for the broad shoulders, thick beard, and naturally intimidating look he carried without even trying — there was still something soft about him when it came to her. Something that made the name fit perfectly.

Eddie grinned at her response, tucking the lunch bag under his arm and wrapping his free hand around hers as he led her toward the break room. His fingers were rough against hers, calloused and warm as they slid between her own.

The break room wasn’t anything special — just a small, cluttered space with a microwave, mini fridge, and a single table shoved against the wall. The table was covered in old coffee stains and scattered receipts, but Eddie didn’t seem to care as he dropped into one of the chairs and pulled her down into his lap.

She laughed softly as Eddie wasted no time digging into his lunch, shoveling a forkful of chicken and rice into his mouth before she could even blink.

“Fuck, I was starving,” he admitted between bites, leaning his head back against the wall as he chewed. She smiled, reaching up to brush a stray grain of rice from his beard with her thumb.

“Damn slow down, you’re gonna choke,” she teased, though she couldn’t help the quiet satisfaction at how much he seemed to enjoy her cooking. Eddie smirked, catching her wrist and pressing a kiss to her palm before letting her go.

“Nah, I’m good,” he assured her, though he slowed down a little. “Just tastes better when you make it.”

She rolled her eyes playfully, leaning her head against his shoulder as he continued eating. 

The shop smelled like oil and rubber, the faint hum of the overhead fan mixing with the distant sound of Ray talking to someone on the phone in the front office. Eddie’s arm curled around her waist, his thumb brushing absently against her hip as he ate. It was comfortable — domestic in a way that made her heart ache with fondness. She loved moments like these.

“How’s your day been?” he asked after a moment, popping another strawberry into his mouth.

“Good,” she answered honestly, twisting slightly to look up at him. “Quiet. I cleaned the kitchen, did some laundry, and then I noticed someone didn’t pack their lunch.”

Eddie grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Yeah, yeah, I know. But if I didn’t forget, you wouldn’t come see me.” He winked, squeezing her hip lightly as he leaned in to press a quick kiss to her lips, tasting faintly of strawberries and the protein shake he’d already downed halfway.

Her hands found his face, gently squishing his cheeks together between her palms. “I see you every day. Literally.”

His laughter vibrated against her hands, deep and warm.

“Yeah, well,” he stole another kiss, keeping his face close to hers after pulling away. “Still like seein’ you in the middle of my day.” His fingers traced idle circles against her thigh where she sat across his lap, the roughness of his touch contrasting with the tenderness in his eyes.

"You're so cute," she murmured.

Eddie’s grin widened at that, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of her head as he leaned in to bump his nose against hers. “Cute, huh?”

“Yes,” she pecked his lips once. “Very.”

Eddie hummed softly against her lips, chasing after them with playful persistence when she pulled away too soon. His free hand slipped into her hair as he kissed her properly this time — slow and warm in a way that immediately sent heat rushing to her cheeks.

The moment shattered when Ray’s voice cut through the garage from the front office, sharp and impatient. 

“Eddie! Phone’s for you! Some lady says her sedan is making a ‘funny noise’ and wants to know if she should drive it in!”

A beat of silence.

"She says it sounds like... 'kachunk kachunk'?"

Eddie groaned against her lips, forehead resting against hers for one last lingering second before pulling away with obvious reluctance. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he muttered, but there was humor in his exasperation as he squeezed her waist. “I’ll be there in a second!”

She laughed, quickly covering her mouth as a small snort escaped her nose. Eddie caught it instantly, his expression softening with unmistakable fondness, like he thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever heard.

“I’ll let you get back to work,” she said, absently packing up the containers and putting them back inside the lunch bag.

Eddie sighed dramatically, pressing one last kiss to her temple before slowly shifting her off his lap — though not without keeping his hand on her waist until she was steady on her feet before standing himself.

“C’mon, angel,” he grinned, nodding toward the garage door. “Walk me up front so I don’t get lost.”

Intertwining their hands, she grabbed his lunch bag and walked with him through the garage toward the front office, where Ray stood waiting with the phone held away from his ear and a clear this lady is insane look written across his face.

“Well, I’ll be going,” she said, giving Eddie’s hand one last squeeze before letting go. Eddie caught her wrist before she could walk away, lips already puckered expectantly. A faint smile crossed her face before she rose onto her toes slightly and gave him a quick kiss on the lips.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” he echoed.

Severa twists absently at her bottom lip with her fingers as her eyes carefully scan the pages before her, though she’s long since lost count of which book this is. She’s spent the entire morning searching, yet every lead continues to end in disappointment. Her current, and increasingly hopeless, search comes to an abrupt halt when the sharp sound of something hitting the floor pulls her attention upward.

A few feet away, a book now lies open and face-up beside the shelf, pages splayed flat as though it had intentionally fallen to a specific place. Yet what caused it to fall is entirely beyond her understanding. There is no draft; no open window, no wind at all.

Under any other circumstance, she likely would have found the situation suspicious; however after everything she’s experienced, Severa hardly thinks twice before standing and moving toward the fallen book. She bends to pick the book up slowly, almost wary that something else might reveal itself the moment she touches it, but the moment her eyes settle on the open pages, her brows pull together in confusion.

Spread across them is an ink-drawn map of Blackmere House, and the land surrounding it. Her eyes move across the familiar names inked onto the map; Blackmere House, Eldermere Village, the Black Forest — which takes up the majority of the page — before abruptly pausing on one she’s never encountered before.

Munson Castle.

The name labels a loosely sketched image of a grand castle tucked into the corner of the page, positioned just beyond the Black Forest as though the map itself is trying to push it away from everything else.

Why was there no record of Munson Castle anywhere other than this book? Severa wonders.

Something about the name immediately catches in Severa’s mind, a quiet feeling urging her not to ignore it. She glances carefully over her shoulder to ensure nobody is watching, slipping her fingers beneath the page and carefully tearing the section containing the castle from the book. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Severa tucks the paper in her satchel before returning to her seat.

Nurse Maren gently pushes open the library door with her elbow, her hands occupied with a tray carrying a steaming cup of tea and a small plate of biscuits.

“Still reading, I see,” she remarks evenly, though her tone is drier than usual, almost suspicious. “You’ve been here all morning.”

“Just resting,” Severa replies, carrying the faintest trace of dry sarcasm in her voice as she glances at the older woman. “Like Dr. Blackmere instructed.”

The nurse exhales sharply through her nose; a silent laugh, or perhaps exasperation, before setting the tray on the table in front of Severa. 

“Resting,” she repeats, her hazel eyes flickering to the scattered books, then back to Severa's face.

Straightening slightly, Severa meets Nurse Maren’s gaze, quietly forcing herself to gather the nerve to speak. Her lips part before she can second-guess herself, the words escaping almost on impulse. “Do you know anything about Munson Castle?”

The nurse’s expression falters for only a second before smoothing back into practiced neutrality, but Severa catches the flicker of tension in her shoulders. 

“Munson Castle?” She echoes, her voice deliberately light as she busies herself adjusting the tray. “I can’t say I’ve heard of it. Where did you come across that name?”

Severa leans forward, picking up one of the biscuits as though the question holds little importance to her. “I heard the name when I was little,” she lies casually. “My mother told me it was here, in Dravenia.”

The older woman's fingers tighten slightly around the teapot handle before she pours Severa's cup. “Stories change with time,” she says carefully, avoiding Severa's gaze. “Places get renamed, forgotten. It's best not to dwell on them.”

“Particularly when they're irrelevant to your recovery.”

Dr. Blackmere's voice cuts through the library's hush as he steps toward them from the doorway, his gray eyes sharp as surgical steel. “Nurse Maren, you may go.” The dismissal is polite but absolute. Without another word, the nurse sets down the teapot with a barely audible clink and slips out, her footsteps disappearing down the hall.

Severa’s eyes move to Dr. Blackmere, who is standing across from her with his hands folded behind his back, almost in a domineering demeanor, as if the facade is debating to slip. The silence stretches between them for several moments, thick with unspoken tension, before Dr. Blackmere exhales softly through his nose.

“Miss Severa,” he begins, his voice carefully measured, “I trust you recall our discussion regarding unnecessary distractions.” His gaze flickers to the scattered books on the table, then back to her face, lingering a second too long on her satchel where the torn map still hides. “That includes those concerning locations that no longer exist.”

“If it no longer exists, then what is the harm in simply learning about it?” Severa asks, her tone deceptively casual despite the subtle defiance hidden underneath.

His fingers twitch against his sleeve cuff — the only outward sign of irritation — before he steps closer, lowering his voice. “Some ruins,” he murmurs, “are best left undisturbed. Particularly those in the Black Forest.”

Severa simply holds his gaze in response, choosing silence over pushing any further. She knows better than to test Dr. Blackmere too openly; the last thing she wants is to give him a reason to tighten his control over her even more. Dr. Blackmere’s expression remains unreadable as he studies her, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner suddenly loud in the quiet. After a long moment, he straightens, a small breath exhaling through his nose. 

“Enjoy your tea,” he says slowly, though the undercurrent of warning is unmistakable. “And perhaps consider more productive reading material.”

With that, he turns on his heel and strides from the library, his footsteps echoing against the hardwood before fading into silence. Severa takes a slow breath, her eyes remaining fixed on Dr. Blackmere’s back as he leaves the room. The moment the door closes behind him, the nervousness twisting in her stomach is quickly overtaken by something stronger.

Determination.

The urge to venture into the Black Forest, to find this so-called Munson Castle for herself, suddenly feels impossible to ignore. Hidden things have always pulled at her curiosity, and the more Blackmere House attempts to keep something from her, the more desperately she wants to uncover it. Especially if that place holds answers about the strange man from the forest – or even, her dreams – answers she already knows nobody within these walls intends to give her.

Nighttime.

This time, Severa makes certain her dinner tray is collected before night fully settles over Blackmere House. Only then does she pull a dark wool dressing gown over her nightgown and slip her journal carefully into her satchel, unwilling to leave it unattended for even a moment after what happened before. She grabs her shoes quietly before creeping down the staircase and slipping out toward the Black Forest, taking far more care this time to ensure nobody is watching, or following her.

As Severa approaches the back gate, her pulse thrums harder at the sight of the trees looming overhead, their dark branches rustling and swaying steadily in the night breeze. The forest feels even larger up close, as if they could swallow her before she could enter.

An odd, vague wariness spreads in Severa’s chest as she looks into the darkness beyond the gate, the forest feeling strangely familiar in a way she can't explain. Thankfully, no storm hinders her this time, only the restless wind moving through the trees like quiet whispers. Her gaze catches suddenly on movement between the trees, and she nearly stops breathing when she sees the same man slowly emerging from the darkness of the forest.

This time, he’s closer. Still several feet away, but near enough for the moonlight filtering through the branches to reveal more of him. 

Long, dark wavy hair spills beneath the brim of his top hat, and a black suit drapes neatly over his frame. His hands rest calmly atop the handle of a cane positioned before him, the posture oddly composed for someone appearing out of the woods at night like a ghost.

“It’s you…” Severa notes under her breath, quiet enough that he surely can’t hear her.

For several minutes, he says nothing. He merely watches her, his brown eyes steady and unreadable, as though he's contemplating something.

The wind picks up slightly, rustling the leaves overhead, and Severa suddenly notices how unnatural the silence between them feels — as if the forest itself has gone still around them. Something about him pulls at Severa in a way she can’t fully explain. Perhaps it’s because he feels like the first thing within Dravenia that doesn’t belong to Blackmere House — something outside the suffocating prison trapping her both mentally and physically.

“Did you take my journal?” she asks suddenly.

He tilts his head slightly, the moonlight catching the sharp angles of his face as his lips curve into something almost playful.

“Borrowed,” he corrects, the word rolling off his tongue with a slight theatrical flourish. “And returned, if memory serves.” His finger taps against the cane handle, producing a quiet, rhythmic click.

“It wasn't yours to borrow,” she argues lightly. The corner of his mouth quirks higher as he lifts his cane, using it to point lazily toward her satchel.

“Though my face was in it, was it not?” His voice carries an odd mixture of amusement and something deeper, almost pleased. Severa goes completely still.

For a brief, dizzying moment, it feels as though the ground beneath her has shifted. Every sketch, every dream, every pair of eyes she had spent years desperately recreating suddenly collides violently with reality standing directly in front of her.

He’s real.

The realization strikes her with such intensity that she almost feels detached from herself, as though she’s slipped into another dream and will wake up at any second.

The bite in her voice contrasts sharply with the vulnerable, almost desperate look creeping onto her face as she finally forces the question out. “Who are you?”

His fingers pause against the handle of his cane, his expression shifting subtly beneath the shadow of his hat. Whatever her question strikes in him, it isn’t just surprise. Something quieter crosses his face instead — something almost like guilt — before he looks away toward the trees.

When he answers, his voice is low and careful. “You know me,” he says. “Even if you do not realize it yet.”

Severa's eyebrows furrow. “That's not an answer.”

He exhales sharply through his nose, a distant expression flickering briefly across his pale features as his grip tightens around the cane. The movement draws Severa’s attention to how strangely tense he suddenly seems beneath all that composure.

“It’s the truth,” he states quietly. The answer only frustrates her more. It feels evasive, like he’s dancing around something she’s somehow meant to understand already. Before she can press him further, the man’s gaze shifts past her shoulder toward the silhouette of Blackmere House, and the subtle change in his features makes unease stir in her chest.

“You shouldn’t be out here, Severa," he warns softly. “Not tonight.”

Severa goes still at the sound of her name leaving his mouth. As she parts her lips to speak again, a voice suddenly sounds through the forest behind them.

“Miss Severa!” Nurse Maren calls sharply from the pathway Severa had wandered from. Startled, Severa turns toward the sound immediately, but the moment her eyes snap back to the man, her breath halts. 

He’s gone — not retreating, not disappearing into the trees, simply… gone, as though he had vanished into the darkness itself.

Severa’s eyes dart frantically between the trees, scanning every shifting shadow and flicker of movement, her reaction delayed enough that she startles when Nurse Maren suddenly grabs hold of her upper arm — a surprisingly forceful gesture coming from the older woman.

Severa finally looks toward her, still visibly baffled by what just happened, but the look on Nurse Maren’s face is unusually severe, a quiet urgency threading beneath her otherwise formal demeanor.

“If I was able to catch you, so can he,” she says, her tone bordering a warning. Releasing her grip, Nurse Maren quickly smooths her composure back into place, as though the brief flash of urgency that slipped through moments ago was never meant to surface at all. Severa barely catches the slip-up, but before she can say anything, Nurse Maren speaks again.

“Please return to your room, Miss Severa. And if you value what little freedom you have here, do not let me find you out here again.”

Nurse Maren turns and heads back toward Blackmere House without another word, leaving Severa standing there momentarily stunned, her lips slightly parted in bewilderment. After a brief hesitation, her feet absently begin following the older woman back inside while her mind continues reeling over the man who vanished from the forest, and how he knew her name before she spoke it.

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Panic hits her instantly, sharp and suffocating. For one horrible moment, she feels eighteen again, back when the dreams first began — dreams that stole pieces of her sanity night after night, leaving her clinging desperately to the only thing that ever made her feel understood.

Her hands hover over the empty space where her journal had been, as if it might suddenly reappear before her like some cruel trick. Tears well in her eyes as she begins searching for it frantically, forcing herself to stay quiet, terrified of drawing attention from anyone beyond her bedroom door.

How could she have been so careless to not hide her journal before going to sleep?

The desperate searching abruptly stills at the familiar knock against her door, though she doesn’t turn around as Nurse Maren slowly lets herself inside.

“Good morning, Miss Severa,” she greets formally. The composure in her expression falters slightly as she notices the obvious tension filling the room. “I’ve brought breakfast.”

Severa quietly steadies herself against the lingering panic before finally turning toward the older woman, who is carefully setting the breakfast tray at the foot of the bed.

“Has anyone been in my room while I was asleep?” Severa asks, attempting to hide the urgency sharpening beneath her otherwise controlled tone. Nurse Maren meets her gaze evenly, though there’s something faintly calculated flickering behind her eyes — an almost performative confusion.

”Not to my knowledge,” she replies smoothly, yet there’s a subtle edge beneath the politeness of her tone. Before Severa can utter another word, Nurse Maren continues, moving toward the door. “Dr. Blackmere wishes for you to meet him in the library after you are finished with breakfast.”

Severa’s eyes burn accusingly into Nurse Maren’s back, frustration tightening in her chest at the deliberate calmness woven through the woman’s voice. The door clicks shut behind her, leaving Severa alone with the suffocating noise of her own thoughts. Almost instantly, her mind begins spiraling.

Where was her journal?

Had Nurse Maren taken it?

Has Dr. Blackmere seen it?

The thought makes her stomach twist violently; she ignores the breakfast tray left on her bed as she presses her palms into her temples, face scrunching as she lets out a stifled, frustrated cry. Every page inside held the most vulnerable parts of her mind. Without it, she felt truly alone.

It is then that every small piece of control she thought she still possessed feels completely stripped away, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to the quiet vultures lurking within Blackmere House.

After several long moments, Severa forces herself to gather what composure she can and changes out of her nightgown before leaving her room. The absence of her journal at her side feels deeply wrong, leaving an unsettling emptiness as she enters the library, where Dr. Blackmere awaits her.

He stands by the window when she enters, hands folded neatly behind his back as he turns toward her.

“Ah, Severa,” he says, his voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of something unreadable. “You look well-rested.” His eyes linger on her just a second too long — assessing, searching — before he gestures to a chair. “Come, sit. There’s something I’d like to discuss with you.”

Severa sits carefully, her attention lingering on the doctor and the unnerving calmness with which he carries himself. He folds himself into the chair across from her, fingers steepled thoughtfully. 

“I’ve noticed a shift in your behavior,” he says, watching her reaction closely. “Subtle things; the way you move, the way you react. Nothing alarming, but... curious.” His lips quirk faintly. “Which is why I’ve decided to implement an observation period. No interruptions, no disturbances. Just quiet study.” The way he says it feels intentional, as if daring her to object.

Severa listens to him speak, though only half her attention follows his words; the other half is consumed with trying to determine whether he took her journal, and how much more he knows than he lets on.

Beneath his calm demeanor, Severa senses something concealed just out of reach. She nods in hesitant compliance, unease immediately settling in her stomach as his words register. The thought of being unable to return to her room twists uncomfortably in her chest; despite everything, it’s the only place in Blackmere House that feels remotely safe to her.

Dr. Blackmere’s gaze drifts to the window momentarily, as if considering something beyond the glass, before returning to her.

“You needn’t worry,” he says calmly. “You’ll have your usual freedoms, within reason. Think of it as a chance to… recalibrate.” He leans forward slightly, fingers unlacing to tap thoughtfully against the armrest. “Is there anything else I can offer you before I leave you be, Miss Severa?”

Yeah, where the hell is my journal? she thinks bitterly, though she forces herself to take a slow breath before giving a small shake of her head.

“No,” she mutters quietly. He observes her for a long moment, the quiet stretching uncomfortably between them before he rises smoothly from his chair. 

“Very well,” he says, adjusting his cuffs. “I'll leave you to your thoughts. Do be mindful of the time, lunch is at noon sharp.” He briefly rests his fingers against her shoulder, though the strange coldness in his touch makes Severa subtly twitch away before she can stop herself. His shoes echo softly against the hardwood as he moves toward the door, pausing just once to glance back at her. “I trust you'll find something to occupy yourself.” 

The door clicks shut behind him with unsettling finality. Severa keeps her eyes fixed on the window, unblinking as tears quietly gather in her eyes. Only after the door shuts behind him does a single tear finally slip down her cheek.

𑁍𑁍𑁍 

Edward sits alone at the head of the grand dining table, the castle hall dim beneath heavy curtains that block out most of the late morning light. What little daylight manages to seep through mingles faintly with the warm glow of scattered candles, casting long shadows across the stone walls. The journal rests open in his lap, his fingers carefully turning each fragile page in silence. 

Another page turns.

His gaze stills when his own face stares back at him once more, sketched delicately in dark charcoal by trembling hands he has not touched in centuries.

Edward leans back slightly against the chair, fingers tracing over the charcoal sketch, claws catching lightly against the paper as he studies his own likeness staring back at him from the page — his own sharp features, the dark waves of his hair, the knowing tilt of his mouth. Something tightens in his chest at the familiarity of it, at the way Severa had captured him so precisely, as if she had known him for years rather than glimpsing him briefly in dreams. 

His thumb lingers on the edge of the page, pressing gently into the paper before he exhales slowly through his nose, glancing up when he feels the familiar weight of The Shadow’s presence shifting against the candlelight beside him. He flicks the page over absently before glancing toward the nearest darkened corner. 

“You’re hovering,” he remarks dryly, not needing to look directly at The Shadow to know it’s there. “If you have something to say, speak plainly.”

The Shadow drifts closer, its formless edges brushing against the candlelight before settling, stretching long and unnatural across the stone floor, its voice scraping softly against the silence like rusted hinges turning. 

“You read her words,” it murmurs, its presence curling toward the journal still open in his lap, its shifting darkness lingering near the pages as if drawn to the ink itself. “You see yourself through her eyes.”

Edward remains silent, only exhaling softly as his gaze settles on the sketch before him. Even in charcoal, she captures his eyes with impossible detail.

“Does it unsettle you,” it continues, its voice dropping lower, “to be known so intimately by one who does not know you at all?”

Edward’s jaw flexes subtly as he turns another page in silence. He knows exactly what The Shadow is doing — testing old wounds, searching for cracks in him — but even after centuries, Edward refuses to let it witness the moments it succeeds.

“And how did it feel,” The Shadow asks, “when she finally looked upon you last night… and spoke to you?”

Gliding soundlessly around the back of Edward’s chair, The Shadow curls along the floor before settling at his opposite side.

“She noticed her journal missing as soon as she woke this morning,” it informs him, a faint hint of taunting woven through its dry tone. “The absence of it wounds her.”

“I believe that’s enough,” Edward says suddenly, snapping the journal shut with a soft, irritated thud. “You’ve made your point.”

His grip tightens on the worn leather as he rises abruptly from the chair, the legs scraping softly against the floor. The Shadow slowly withdraws back into the darkness with a low, satisfied hum.

Guilt settles as Edward looks down at Severa’s journal in his hands, The Shadow’s words weighing over him. Taking it from her room in the dead of night had been reckless enough, but reading the deeply personal thoughts scattered across its pages without even speaking to her first feels strangely invasive — even for him. Though he only wishes to know her, he forces himself to remember that although her soul has known him for centuries, this version of her does not. To Severa, he is still a stranger, and she is alone, vulnerable, and trapped within circumstances she barely understands.

𑁍𑁍𑁍 

By the time Severa finally returns to her room that evening, mental exhaustion clings heavily to her. Most of her day had been spent under Dr. Blackmere’s direct supervision within the library, leaving her nerves constantly on edge. But no matter how hard she tried to focus, her thoughts continuously spiraled back to her missing journal until her mind felt completely frayed by it.

She presses her back against the door, the first full exhale she's managed all day finally leaving her lungs, only for it to catch abruptly in her throat when her eyes land on something sitting upon the windowsill.

Her journal.

Severa moves across the room quickly and snatches the journal from the windowsill, clutching it tightly against her chest as she tucks her chin downward. She should feel relieved — happy, even — to have it back in her hands, yet unease remains stubbornly lodged within her. She can’t stop wondering where it’s been… or who else has seen it. Her thoughts continue spiraling uncontrollably until movement beyond the window catches her attention through the deepening dusk, the last traces of evening finally giving way to darkness.

The breath catches in Severa’s throat.

The same silhouette stands near the distant gate once more — the figure crowned by the unmistakable shape of a top hat. But the moment her eyes truly land on him, he begins to turn away, his dark form gradually disappearing into the thickening night.

Could he have taken it?

Severa’s fingers tighten around the journal still pressed against her chest, determination slowly taking root beneath her unease.

One way or another, she is going to uncover who he is.

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Her eyes remain fixed on the ceiling as faint morning light filters through the curtains. It takes her a moment to catch up with her surroundings; she still hasn’t adjusted to them, waking each morning expecting to be back home. Once the realization settles — that she is not in her bedroom, that arriving at Blackmere had been real — tears sting in her eyes.

At least at home, her mother would be there afterward, exhausted and weighed down by guilt, yet still brushing a hand through her daughter’s hair and softly assuring her she was okay.

Severa releases her grip on the sheets and quickly wipes her eyes, only for her attention to catch on the dark stain beneath her fingernails. Confusion flickers across her face as she turns her hands over, examining them. Her fingertips are covered in dirt.

Sitting up hurriedly, her hands still held in front of her, Severa’s gaze drops to the floor beside the bed and slowly trails farther. Clumps of soil are scattered beneath the window, and the potted plant she’d brought up from the garden lies tipped onto its side, the flower torn from the dirt. A faint breeze brushes against her face, and Severa’s eyes snap toward the window. The curtains shift softly around the open frame.

Had she… climbed out the window last night?

Her mother always said she talked in her sleep, but Severa had never wandered — never climbed out windows. But there’s no way she could've left;  her room is much too high up, and someone would've seen her, or stopped her.

At the subtle sound of movement down the hall, Severa’s eyes dart toward the closed door across the room. Bewilderment gives way to alarm almost instantly as she scrambles to her feet, hastily stuffing the uprooted plant back into its pot and sweeping loose dirt beneath the bed. Severa scrubs at her fingers with the underside of her nightgown, her eyes narrowed in concentration while she listens carefully for any movement beyond the door.

The knock comes suddenly, yet softly — three taps, then silence — before the handle turns and the door creaks open. As soon as the knock sounds, Severa hurriedly climbs back onto the bed, forcing herself into some semblance of normalcy as she stares toward the door. The nurse from Severa’s arrival, Nurse Maren, stands silhouetted in the doorway, her round face pinched with concern beneath her starched cap. 

“Miss Severa?” She announces herself quietly, peering into the dim room. Severa swallows slightly, attempting to compose herself. 

“Yes?”

Nurse Maren steps into the room, lingering near the door as she folds her hands in front of her. Her eyes dart to the window, then back to Severa, her lips pressing into a thin line. 

“You're up early,” she notes, her voice carefully neutral. “Dr. Blackmere wants to see you before breakfast. He's... concerned about your adjustment period so far.”

Severa feels her stomach sink, though she masks it with a slow, steadying breath and a small nod.

Nurse Maren’s eyes briefly dip to the dirt still caught beneath Severa’s fingernails before returning to her face. The slight tension in Severa’s posture, the nervous edge she’s trying, and failing, to conceal, does not go unnoticed. 

“Shall I tell him you’ll be down shortly?” she asks, though the question is laced with quiet expectation.

"Yes, ma'am," Severa breathes, nodding once more.

Nurse Maren lingers a moment longer, her shrewd gaze lingering on the few specs of dirt left behind on the floor. “Very well. I'll inform the doctor. Do freshen up before you join him,” her eyes flick pointedly to Severa's hands before she turns and leaves the room, closing the door behind her.

Severa lets out a shaky sigh, the distress finally beginning to ebb after the quiet chaos of the morning. She still hasn't even had a chance to process what exactly happened the night before. Slowly, she rises to shut the window she’d foolishly left open in the middle of her scrambling, then sheds her nightgown to change into a modest day dress better suited for the chilly halls of Blackmere House. 

Severa pulls on a satchel, tucking her journal inside before she makes her way down to Dr. Blackmere’s office. She knocks once.

“Come in,” he instructs calmly.

Severa opens the door, her eyes casually sweeping over the room as she steps inside. The room is lined with dark wooden shelves crowded with medical texts, glass bottles, and neatly organized instruments. A heavy oak desk sits near the window, papers stacked with meticulous order, while the faint scent of ink, herbs, and antiseptic lingers in the air.

“Nurse Maren said you wished to see me,” she says, folding her hands neatly in front of her. There’s no real nervousness in her posture, only subtle weariness. Dr. Blackmere looks up from his desk, his gray eyes sharp and assessing as he studies her. 

“Indeed,” he says, his voice smooth and measured. “I understand your nightmares have persisted. Would you care to describe them?”

He gestures to the chair opposite him, his fingers steepled together. “In detail, if you don't mind.”

Severa slowly follows his gesture, lowering herself into the chair and folding her hands neatly in her lap, her elbow lightly pressing against the book tucked inside her satchel — a subconscious habit, always keeping it close, protected. Dr. Blackmere casually picks up his pen.

“I’m not entirely sure,” she admits, warmth gathering uneasily in her palms. She isn’t lying, though she chooses her words carefully. 

“All I know is the atmosphere feels… dark. Heavy, like the air before a storm. And I hear screaming — a man’s scream — and it sounds…” Her voice falters slightly, trailing into silence.

Dr. Blackmere leans forward, the faintest flicker of something darker crossing his otherwise composed expression. “It sounds…” He repeats her, tone questioning. Severa pauses, her expression softening. “Heartbreaking,” she mumbles.

Dr. Blackmere's fingers tighten subtly around his pen before he sets it down. “Fascinating,” he murmurs, though his tone suggests something darker than academic interest. “And this man, do you ever see his face?”

“I do, yes,” Severa answers, dipping her chin in a hesitant nod.

Dr. Blackmere raises an eyebrow. “Does he resemble anyone you know?”

His gaze lingers on the small corner of her journal peeking from her satchel. Severa can’t hide the flicker of puzzlement that crosses her face at his choice of words. 

Fascinating.

“No,” she answers after a brief pause, giving a slight shake of her head, though a trace of uncertainty slips into her voice. “I don’t think so.”

Dr. Blackmere leans back in his chair, the leather creaking softly beneath him as he regards her with an unsettling stillness. His fingers tap once against the armrest, a deliberate, measured motion. 

“You don't think so,” he echoes. “Interesting phrasing, Miss Severa. Dreams often draw from the faces we've seen, even fleetingly.” His gaze drifts pointedly to the journal again before lifting back to her face. “Perhaps a stranger from town? Or… someone closer?”

Severa shakes her head again, both in answer and in lingering bewilderment at the man before her. “I surely would remember if I had seen his face before.”

Dr. Blackmere exhales slowly, his fingers ceasing their tapping as he straightens in his chair. “Very well,” he concedes with a thin smile. “If the dreams persist, or worsen, do inform Nurse Maren immediately.” His tone is dismissive, but his gaze lingers on her hands. “You may go.”

Severa’s lips part slightly before she falters. “Um… right, yes,” she says, “thank you.” Standing slowly, Severa turns to make her way to the door, but not before Dr. Blackmere’s voice halts her movements.

“Rest is most important here, Miss Severa,” he says, his smile clashing with the hint of sharpness in his tone, “and honesty, of course.”

Severa’s eyes meet his once more, her fingers curling instinctively around the strap across her shoulder. His smile remains. “Nurse Maren will see you back to your room. I think it’s best if you remain indoors today.”

Severa feels a wave of unease prickle at the back of her neck, though she forces a small nod, reminding herself to remain respectful. Without another word, she exits the office, closing the door quietly behind her. The words sounded like care, but they felt like a lock turning.

𑁍𑁍𑁍

The midday sun has long since been swallowed by clouds; Dravenia’s weather is notoriously fickle this time of year. Though no trace of daylight reaches the castle’s lowest level, where Edward typically rests in perpetual darkness. However, this awakening feels different enough to unsettle even him. Edward opens his eyes, disturbed by the remnants of something impossible clinging to him.

A dream.

Edward does not dream; he has not dreamed since he was mortal. Daylight only drags him into a deathlike stillness beneath the castle — empty, silent, dark. His fingers twitch against the satin lining of the old, slightly corroded coffin before he lifts the lid, the dim firelight from the wall torches offering little illumination. Sitting up slowly, Edward raises his hands to inspect them, catching the faint scent of wet soil lingering in his senses — though his nails are perfectly clean, the feeling of dirt beneath them clings like a phantom memory.

Edward rises from the coffin before reaching for his boots, his mind still reeling from what he had just witnessed in his sleep.

Of course, after four long centuries, the first dream he experienced would be the darkest day of his life. Only this time, it felt distant — as though he were watching it from above instead of living through it.

And it was the sound of his own scream echoing through the storm that his eyes flew open.

The realization hits him slowly, sinking in as he dresses, fastening the buttons of his waistcoat with distracted fingers. Edward’s boots click softly against the stone floor as he makes his way toward the stairs. He stops short, staring down at his hand again, his fingers curling slightly.

The nightmare, if it could even be called that, hadn’t been entirely his. He had seen glimpses of another dream woven through his own. A woman’s hands clawing through the earth, digging furiously beside his own. The fleeting image of dark hair, pale skin, and wide, frightened eyes.

Edward’s lips press into a thin line as he finally moves toward the stairs, ascending slowly. The silence of the castle presses heavily around him, interrupted only by the faint echo of his footsteps. His fingers tighten around the banister as he reaches the main floor, his dark eyes scanning the grand hall before him. Dust motes dance in the thin slivers of daylight filtering through the heavy curtains, casting shifting patterns across the worn carpets. 

He only makes it a few steps down the corridor before pausing, his gaze shifting carefully through the dim hall as if expecting another presence nearby. “I know you’re there,” he says tiredly, continuing down the hall. “Come out, will you.”

The darkness in the corner behind him shifts and twists, forming into the familiar shadow that trails along the walls around Edward as he walks.

The shadow had followed Edward for centuries now. Not fully human, yet not fully separate from him either, it was a lingering remnant of the curse forced upon him long ago. Something born the night he screamed at the heavens beneath the Black Forest and begged for death to be undone.

Since then, it had remained at his side like a wound that never healed. Stretched thin like smoke against candlelight, it moved when no light commanded it, clinging to walls, doorways, and the edges of mirrors. Sometimes it took the vague shape of a man with no face, though its form never stayed whole for long.

Edward never truly knew whether it had been sent by the gods to haunt him, or if it was simply the darkest parts of himself made living. He had grown to accept its presence, not with comfort, but with weary tolerance.

It was the only thing that kept Edward company, even in moments he believed himself to be alone. Its voice, dry as dead leaves dragging over stone, spoke with the certainty of something ancient — something that knew every secret beneath the Black Forest, and every sin Edward carried with him.

“You dreamed,” it mumbles, firm in its certainty. It wasn’t a question.

It never was with the Shadow; it knew things before Edward spoke them aloud. Still, it always asked — or rather, it pretended to ask. Edward suspected it liked watching him admit to things he’d rather keep hidden. Edward exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders slightly. 

“Yes,” he admits quietly, brushing past the Shadow without slowing his pace. The Shadow drifts closer, its form flickering like candlelight against the wall as it follows him down the corridor. 

“You haven’t dreamed in four hundred years,” it murmurs, its voice low and knowing. “Not since the night the Black Forest swallowed you whole.”

Edward pauses, his jaw clenching slightly. He doesn’t turn around, but his fingers flex at his sides, betraying his irritation. 

“Yes, well,” he mutters, his tone dry. “It seems my subconscious has finally decided to torment me as well. Congratulations.”

The Shadow shifts, its form stretching unnaturally along the floor before curling back in on itself. “You saw her, didn’t you?”

Edward stiffens at that, his breath catching slightly before he forces himself to exhale slowly. He doesn’t answer immediately, his dark eyes flickering toward the window at the far end of the corridor. The storm clouds outside cast long shadows across the floor, stretching toward him like reaching hands. After a moment, he turns his head slightly, glancing at the Shadow from the corner of his eye.

“What is her name in this lifetime?”

“Severa,” it hums.

Edward’s expression softens, if only for a moment, something aching quietly beneath the sound of her name. Another life, another name, another version of her that time would eventually rip from his hands again. Although, this time will be different.

“Severa,” he repeats softly, testing the unfamiliar name on his tongue.

“You shared her dream,” it informs him, “where she digs beneath the Black Forest, though she does not know why.”

Edward’s fingers twitch as if remembering the sensation of earth beneath them — both hers and his own. Guilt twists sharply through him, familiar and merciless. Even now, after centuries, he blames himself for every hardship she endures in each new life. He wishes he had never made the bargain at all — that he had simply died beside her that night instead of condemning them both to this endless cycle of loss.

“As I said, I will not let her go this time,” he declares, though the words sound more like a vow to himself than anyone else.

He comes to stand before the window just as the storm finally breaks, rain beginning to pour from the darkened sky beyond the castle walls. The Shadow flickers strangely at his declaration, its form stretching thin along the wall before suddenly recoiling inward like smoke sucked back into a chimney.

Edward says nothing more. He retrieves his top hat and ventures out into the storm, his figure melting into the darkness beyond the castle walls like a wandering spirit.

𑁍𑁍𑁍

Storms had always calmed Severa. Back home, she would sit outside in the rain until her mother practically dragged her indoors. There was something peaceful about storms to her — the louder and more violent, the better — because for once, the chaos existed outside of her mind rather than within it.

Especially tonight, after what happened that morning, and after being confined inside her room the entire day. Nurse Maren had been instructed by Dr. Blackmere to bring each meal directly to Severa’s door, as though quietly eliminating any excuse for her to leave the room at all.

She’s just finished dinner, though she barely touched it, and leaves the tray outside the door afterward, a quiet act of resistance more than anything.

Now she sits at her desk, her attention only half on the words she’s writing, because some restless voice in the back of her mind keeps urging her toward the storm outside. A sharp crack of thunder pulls Severa’s attention from her writing, her head lifting toward the window almost instinctively. Giving in to the persistent pull in the back of her mind, she stands and parts the thick curtains, her gaze settling on the rain droplets streaking quickly down the glass. Her eyes absently follow a single droplet sliding down the window until movement farther out in the storm catches her attention.

A figure stands near the far concrete gate, half obscured by the pouring rain and darkness.

Severa’s eyebrows furrow as she peers through the rain. A man, from what she can tell, the outline of a hat shadowing his face as he watches the window directly. She knows she should feel alarmed, or at least uneasy, yet an odd calm trickles through her instead, cool and steady like rain against skin — followed closely by intrigue.

Then boldness.

Severa crosses the room and slowly opens the door, noticing her dinner tray still sitting untouched outside. Stepping carefully over it, she eases the door shut behind her before quietly making her way toward the gardens, curiosity overpowering any fear of being seen, or caught. As if the gods themselves were trying to keep her away, the rain suddenly pours harder the second her bare feet touch the grass. Shielding her eyes with her hands, Severa steps cautiously toward the still-lingering figure.

”Hello?” She calls, though the rain drowns her out.

The man tilts his chin upward slightly, allowing fragments of little moonlight to catch against his face while his eyes remain completely hidden beneath the shadow of his hat. For a brief moment, Severa stills entirely, her narrowed eyes widening in stunned uncertainty.

Before she can press further, a voice behind her halts her words. 

”Miss Severa, would you come back inside please?” Nurse Maren calls, her tone light enough to sound polite, though the quiet firmness in it leaves little room for refusal. Severa glances quickly at Nurse Maren before turning back toward the gate, her eyebrows furrowing when she realizes the figure is no longer there.

Reluctantly, though respectful enough not to argue, she turns and lowers her head, making her way back inside. Nurse Maren follows closely as they arrive at Severa's room.

”I came for your tray, and you were not inside your room.”

”My tray was outside the door,” Severa mutters, then scrunches her face slightly as though catching her tone after it leaves her mouth. ”I’m sorry,” she says, softer this time. “I just… needed to be out in the rain. It helps me sleep.”

Nurse Maren blinks slowly, studying Severa’s face as though silently weighing whether she has the energy to argue with her right now.

After a long moment, Nurse Maren simply gives a short nod and leaves, the sound of her footsteps gradually disappearing down the hall.

The second Severa is alone again, a heavy sigh leaves her. Not because she had lied entirely, the rain truly did calm her, but because something deep in her gut had urged her not to mention the figure standing beyond the gate.

The instinct had been immediate. Protective. And stranger still, she realizes she had felt safer being watched by him than she ever has beneath Dr. Blackmere’s careful attention.

Too mentally drained to properly clean herself up, Severa peels off her rain-soaked clothes, slips into her nightgown, and extinguishes the light beside her bed. As her eyes close, Severa can’t tell whether the unusual calm inside her comes from the rain against her skin, or the dark figure that had been watching her from the gate; she doesn’t get the chance to decide which one it is before sleep pulls her under almost instantly, and for the first time in months, Severa is able to sleep through the night.

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The girl’s brows drew together in quiet sympathy before interrupting. “But is it not true that he did it for love?”

The grandmother's lips tightened, her knuckles whitening around the spoon's handle. 

“Love,” she muttered, as if the word itself tasted bitter. “Aye, he did it for love — and cursed them both for it.” The firelight flickered across the deep lines of her face. “They say he knelt before the old gods in the Black Forest, where the trees whisper even when there's no wind. Gave up his soul to keep hers from fading.”

”How romantic,” the girl sighed, her eyes drifting to the ceiling as if the story were unfolding above her.

“Romantic?” The grandmother's voice cracked like dry timber in winter. She dropped the spoon into the stew with a splash that sent droplets hissing into the fire. “You'd call it romantic, girl, to watch the same soul wither and die in one’s arms a dozen times over? To make the poor girl save him, just for him to be what destroys her?” 

The girl’s expression faltered, her lips pulling into a small pout. Silence fell between them, stretching just long enough to be felt. The old woman picked up the ladle again, breaking the silence.

”I believe that’s enough,” she said, “supper is ready.”

The grandmother would speak no more of Lord Munson that night — though stories, both spoken and unspoken,  had a way of traveling.

Through the cracks beneath doors, and the smoke curling from chimneys.

Through the Black Forest — where trees remembered every bargain made beneath them. They remembered him, especially.

Edward Munson.

Long before the name became something feared, he had been only a man — one who loved too deeply, and paid for it. His wife had fallen ill, the kind of sickness no remedy or physician could touch, and he had held her as it took her from him, helpless as her breath slipped away in his arms.

Some said it wasn’t chance — that the gods had offered him a bargain once, something precious in exchange for devotion and he did not accept. Others claimed he had accepted, but failed to honor it — that he turned away, broke faith, chose love over whatever had been asked of him.

He had carried her body into the woods that night, the storm breaking open above him like the sky itself was tearing. Rain soaked him through as thunder split in the dark as he fell to his knees beneath the trees, her lifeless weight in his arms.

And that was when he broke.

He screamed at the heavens, at the gods who had taken her; the gods who had watched and done nothing.

He begged at first — pleaded for her back, for mercy, for anything. But when silence answered him, his grief twisted into something else — something sharper.

Edward renounced them. Every last one.

Cursed them beneath the storm, his voice raw, echoing through the forest as if the trees themselves carried it further. He swore he would never pray to them again; never pray, never bargain, never believe.

The forest listened. The storm didn’t pass, it deepened.

The air grew heavy as something older than the trees — or perhaps beneath them — answered instead.

What found Edward that night was not mercy.

Edward paid no mind to the roaring sky above him, his cold fury collapsing back into grief as he turned toward his love, her body soaked through by the relentless rain. He lifted her carefully and rested her gently against the trunk of one of the great trees, broken sounds leaving him as his eyes never strayed from her face. Then, with trembling hands, he began to dig. 

And dig. 

Mud packed beneath his nails, rain drenching him to the bone as he carved desperately into the earth until the hollow around him was deep enough. Only then did he stop, carefully lifting the love of his life once more before laying her to rest himself beneath the trees.

By the time the storm cleared, there was no man left kneeling in the mud. Only something else, something that no longer needed the gods to survive.

From that night on, Edward no longer lived, but endured. With each passing century, he would find her again, her soul reborn in another life, another face… only to be forced to lose her every single time.

Dravenia, 1898. Present.

Severa’s shoulders tense with every jolt of the carriage, the road to Blackmere House — a private retreat for those with nervous conditions — uneven beneath her. With each bump, her grip tightens on the leatherbound journal in her lap, as if holding it close could keep its details of her dreams from spilling loose.

Severa's dreams would start with the scent of damp earth and the sound of distant thunder, always the same, always just before dawn, and end with one of the most gut-wrenching screams she’s ever heard. She would wake gasping, her fingers clutching the sheets as if she'd been falling, her nightgown clinging to her skin like a second layer of fear. The doctors in her town called it hysteria; the priests whispered of possession. Her mother, pale with sleepless worry, finally bundled her into a carriage bound for Dravenia's famed retreat — a place where the walls were thick with ivy and the air smelled of lavender and quiet desperation.

The carriage wheels hit another rut, and Severa’s breath catches as the journal slips from her fingers, its pages fluttering open to reveal a sketch — a man’s face, drawn in hurried charcoal strokes, his eyes dark and knowing, his mouth curled in something between a smirk and a sneer. She snatches it up quickly, but not before the driver, a grizzled old man with a face cracked like leather, turns at the sound and catches a glimpse of it.

The driver’s eyes linger a second too long on the sketch before snapping back to the road. His gnarled hands tighten around the reins, the leather creaking under his grip.

“Best keep that to yourself, miss,” he mutters, voice rough as gravel. “Folks 'round here don’t take kindly to that face.”

Severa’s pulse quickens. She presses the journal shut, her curiosity prickling hotter than fear. “You know of him?”

The driver doesn’t reply. His silence stretches longer than the road ahead, broken only by the rhythmic clop of hooves and the groan of carriage wheels. Severa watches the back of his head — the way his shoulders hunch, the tension in his knuckles as they grip the reins. She opens her mouth to press him again, but something in his stillness warns her against it. Instead, she tucks the journal back into her lap, fingers tracing the edges of the sketch through the leather cover.

Outside, the forest thickens. Ancient oaks lean over the path, their branches weaving a lattice that choked out the afternoon sun. The air grew damp, carrying the scent of moss and something faintly metallic — like old coins left in the rain.

The carriage slows as Blackmere House comes into view — a sprawling estate of gray stone wrapped in creeping ivy, its gabled roofs sharp against the darkening sky. The wrought-iron gates stand open, but they look more like teeth than a welcome. Beyond them, the Black Forest stretches, its trees older than the house itself, their roots tangled deep in stories no one tells anymore, or is scared to tell.

“Here we are,” the driver clears his throat. His tone suggests this is not a place people arrive at happily. He doesn’t offer to help her down, just waits, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the trees.

Severa glances at the back of the man’s head, a flicker of confusion crossing her features before the slow groan of the gate opening draws her focus. An older woman in a neatly pressed nurse’s uniform steps forward, her posture rigid, expression unreadable.

“Welcome to Blackmere House,” she says, her tone formal — more obligation than warmth.

Severa’s lips part slightly, the expectant look on the nurse’s face prompting her to step down carefully, yet hurriedly, from the carriage. She hugs her journal close to her side as her gaze lifts to the structure before her.

Blackmere House rises in muted greys and blacks, its looming frame reminiscent of a sanitarium — tall, narrow windows set deep into cold stone, the architecture touched with a quiet, gothic severity. Ivy winds its way along the towering iron gates and up the outer walls, curling into the cracks as if trying to claim it. The place feels too still, too watchful; grand, yes, but with something beneath it that unsettles more than it comforts.

“Welcome, alright,” Severa mutters under her breath.

Her feet move after the woman without thought, her attention caught on the towering structure until she collides with something solid. Catching herself, Severa’s eyes lift quickly.

The man before her is tall — imposing without trying to be — with neatly combed dark hair just beginning to silver at his temples. His features are sharp, refined in a way that feels deliberate, and his gray eyes settle on her with a calm, assessing focus. Severa studies his face, her observant nature settling in as it always does with unfamiliar faces. He looks kind, at first glance — his expression composed, almost gentle — but there’s something beneath it that doesn’t sit right, something too polite.

Controlled. The kind of kindness that feels practiced. Severa’s fingers instinctively tighten around her journal.

“Apologies,” she mutters, brushing a dark curl behind her ear.

The man shakes his head. “No need. Miss Severa, I presume?”

His voice carries smooth, Dravenian lilt through perfect English,  like velvet drawn over steel. He extends a hand, palm up, fingers relaxed. His cufflinks gleam in the fading light, silver etched with intricate patterns Severa can't quite make out.

“Dr. Ephraim Blackmere. I trust your journey wasn't too taxing?”

Severa glances briefly at Dr. Blackmere’s offered hand before taking it, her grip hesitant. 

“Hello, yes, it was… alright,” she answers, a faint unease threading through her voice. She’s never been good at concealing that feeling when someone feels off, her awareness of people is instinctive, almost immediate, and it rarely leads her astray. Though she forces it down now; she has to be respectful, as there is no one else here for her to rely on.

Dr. Blackmere’s fingers close over hers with just the right amount of pressure, firm enough to convey professionalism, yet light enough to avoid discomfort. 

“You must be fatigued,” he murmurs, tilting his head slightly as he studies her face. His gaze lingers a moment too long on the journal clutched in her other hand before flickering back up. “Allow me to show you to your room, you’ll have time to rest before supper.”

Severa gives a slight nod, pulling her hand back with quiet unease.

His lips twitch into the faintest smile, too practiced to reach his eyes, as he gestures toward the towering front doors.  “This way, if you please.”

 The gravel crunches beneath his polished boots as he leads her forward, his strides measured. The nurse melts into the shadows of the house as they pass, leaving Severa acutely aware of the weight of the journal pressed against her ribs.

The foyer yawns before them, all dark wood and cold marble. A grandfather clock ticks in the corner, its pendulum swinging like a metronome counting down to something unseen.

The doctor pauses at the foot of the grand staircase, his fingers brushing the carved banister — ebony polished to a mirror sheen, each swirl and knot in the wood whispering of old craftsmanship. 

“Your room overlooks the gardens,”  he says, voice smooth as the silk of his cravat, though his gaze lingers just past her shoulder, toward a window where the Black Forest looms beyond the manicured hedges.

“And the forest, of course. Many of our guests find the view... settling.” The corner of his mouth quirks, a gesture Severa might mistake for warmth if not for the way his fingers tap once, twice, against the wood — restless, impatient. 

“You'll have everything you need. Fresh linens, a writing desk, even a small selection of books, should you wish to read.” His gray eyes flick back to hers, weighing her reaction. “Though I suspect you prefer to document your own thoughts, hm?” A nod toward the journal still clutched in her hands, his tone light but his gaze sharp as a scalpel.

Severa meets his gaze in a wordless answer as they come to a halt, almost in unison, at the doorway to her room. Under the weight of his eyes, she turns toward the door, and Dr. Blackmere opens it slowly, almost deliberately, as if leaving space for her to reconsider.

Severa’s eyes move over the room, it’s neat to the point of sterility; a narrow iron-framed bed, a plain wardrobe, a small writing desk, and a single window framed by heavy curtains that dull the light. The air feels still, like the room has been waiting — or something beyond it has.

The doctor steps aside, his boots silent against the floorboards as he gestures for her to enter. His fingers linger on the silver doorknob, tracing the grooves absently before letting go. 

“The nurses change the bedding weekly,” he says, voice low as his gaze drifts to the window where the forest hangs heavy just beyond the glass. “Dinner is served promptly at six, punctuality is appreciated.” A pause, intentional. His eyes flick back to her, noting the way she hasn’t moved. “Unless you’d prefer a tray brought to your room tonight?” The offer hangs between them, weighted with unspoken implications.

“I would prefer that, please,” she replies quietly, her dark eyes tracing every crevice and corner of her space. Dr. Blackmere watches her. 

“Of course,” he obliges, his gaze fixed, something unreadable settling behind it. ”Is there anything else I can assist you with, Miss Severa?”

Severa’s attention drifts past him, to the darkening trees in the distance — where the forest lies, heavy and still. ”Are people allowed to visit the forest?”

His fingers tighten imperceptibly around the doorknob before releasing it with practiced calm. "Ah, the Black Forest," he murmurs, stepping closer — not enough to crowd, just enough to subtly redirect her focus toward him. 

“A fascinating subject, but I'm afraid visits are... not permitted. The terrain is treacherous, and the locals have their superstitions.” His smile is polished, benign. “We wouldn't want you lost among old roots and older stories, would we?”

Severa lowers her gaze, masking a flicker of disappointment — even as something quieter inside her settles, certain she'll find her way there regardless. She doesn’t respond.

Dr. Blackmere lingers only a moment longer before inclining his head and stepping out, the door behind him closing with a soft click.

Severa has yet to let go of her journal, half convinced the creeping ivy beyond her window might slip through the walls and take it from her.

To call it important to her would be an understatement. Within its pages, she keeps everything she cannot say aloud — her thoughts, her dreams, fragments of things that feel too real to ignore. And what she can’t describe with words, she draws.

The margins, and some whole pages, are filled with sketches of the same man, over and over — a man with dark, expressive eyes, long dark hair, all drawn from memory she doesn’t understand, yet never questioned.

Her trust in Blackmere House, of the doctor himself, was… lacking. And yet, she couldn’t quite ignore the quiet pull beneath it all, the sense that whatever brought her here ran deeper than her dreams.

𑁍𑁍𑁍

Munson Castle.

The moment Severa stepped onto the grounds of Blackmere House, Edward Munson felt it; like the first drop of rain before a storm.

His fingers still against the piano keys in the west wing of the castle, the notes he had been playing faltering into silence. For a moment, he did not move. He only listened, dark eyes narrowing as the air around him shifted.

Slowly, Edward rises from the piano bench, his long fingers lingering against the polished wood before pulling away. He crosses to the window, the floorboards groaning softly beneath his steps, and pushes it open. The scent of the forest beneath him curled into the room — moss and petrichor, yet something deeper beneath it.

Something familiar.

His lips curve slightly, not quite a smile, but the fragile beginning of hope he knew better than to trust, as his gaze fixes on the distant silhouette of Blackmere House through the trees.

”Finally,” he breaths, his voice almost hoarse from centuries of waiting. “You’ve come back to me.”

A shadow shifts against the far wall, stretching unnaturally before taking the vague shape of a man.

”She has arrived,” the shadow rasps, “Blackmere has taken her in.”

Edward’s expression darkens at once. The faint curve of his mouth vanishes, his jaw tightening as his fingers curl against the windowsill. His nails  — too long and sharp to be wholly human — bit into the old wood, leaving thin grooves behind.

”Blackmere,” he repeats, low and displeased, as though the name itself were sour on his tongue. “How unfortunate.”

The shadow drifts closer, its edges blurring like smoke in candlelight. “She carries your likeness in her journal. Drawn from dreams. From memory.”

At that, Edward goes still. His expression fading from his face, leaving something older in its place. Hungier.

”Does she?” He asks softly, his inner brows lifting slightly. The wind stirs through the room, lifting the dark waves of his hair from his shoulders. Beyond the castle, the Black Forest sways though no storm has yet reached it.

The shadow hums. “She remembers you.”

Edward’s jaw tightens. “Not enough,” he murmurs, gaze still locked on Blackmere House. “Not yet.”

Then, faint as a secret carried through the trees, came the echo of a heartbeat — soft, mortal, and achingly familiar.

Edward closes his eyes; inhaling slowly as if he could breathe her in from such a distance. He would have known that rhythm in any lifetime.

His fingers tighten once more against the sill, claws biting shallow marks into the wood.

“This time,” he whispers, the words carrying the quiet desperation of a vow long broken.