Chapter 12

Elara hesitated as her hand rested on the doorknob. She knew the moment she opened the door, she would face Damien or, rather, the creature masquerading as him. Inhaling deeply, she schooled her expression into one of nonchalance before turning the knob.

As the door creaked open, there he stood, towering and stoic, his shadow stretching ominously across the threshold. Damien’s face was as familiar as ever, but his eyes were devoid of their usual warmth. Instead, they held a piercing coldness that made her stomach twist.

“Elara,” he began, his voice even and calm, though there was an edge to it that set her nerves on edge. “Dinner is ready. Come and eat.”

Elara froze, her thoughts racing. “Huh... So, Shadow doesn’t have any of Damien’s memories from before it possessed him?” she realized, her mind whirring with the implications. If Shadow was unaware of the events that happened earlier, she might be able to use that to her advantage.

Her mind raced for an excuse. “Oh, I already ate,” she replied quickly, forcing a faint smile.

His brows furrowed slightly. “You already ate? Alone? Without me?” His tone was steady, but there was a subtle weight to his words that made her skin crawl. “Are you still angry about what happened last night?”

Elara blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected question.

Damien, no, Shadow lowered his gaze momentarily before looking back at her, his expression unreadable. “Elara… I’m sorry. Please don’t ignore me like this.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but not for the reasons it once might have. The contrast between his familiar face and the sinister undertone in his voice made her shiver. She scrambled for a response, anything to keep up the charade. “No, that’s not it…” she began, her words faltering.

Before she could finish, a sudden ache shot through her injured leg, and she instinctively moaned in pain.

Damien’s expression shifted, his brows knitting together in what appeared to be genuine concern. “What happened to your leg? Are you hurt?”

“It’s nothing,” she said hastily, her voice tinged with discomfort. “I just… slipped while I was taking a bath earlier. And then, well, I got hungry, so I ate a bit early today.”

Her excuse sounded flimsy even to her own ears, but she prayed it would suffice.

Damien tilted his head slightly, his dark eyes narrowing as if he were trying to decipher the truth. Then, he bent down, his hand reaching toward her injured leg. “Let me see your wound. I’ll apply some ointment to it.”

“No!” she blurted, stepping back abruptly, her injured leg protesting the sudden movement. She forced a shaky laugh to mask her panic. “I already applied some. Don’t worry about it.”

Damien straightened, his gaze lingering on her for a moment longer. The silence between them was thick, fraught with unspoken tension.

“Go eat dinner,” she added, her voice deliberately light. “I’m going to bed. I’m quite tired today.”

His lips pressed into a thin line, his expression hard to read. “...Okay then. Take care of yourself,” he said finally, his voice low and measured. “Goodnight, Elara.”

“Yeah... Goodnight,” she replied, quickly closing the door before her composure could falter.

The click of the lock echoed in the quiet room, and Elara pressed her back against the door, exhaling a long, shaky breath. Her legs threatened to give out beneath her, but she managed to keep herself upright.

As she listened to the fading sound of his footsteps, a faint smile of relief crossed her lips. “Everything was under control,” she whispered, though the tremor in her voice betrayed her lingering fear.

Limping toward her bed, she sank onto it carefully, her movements deliberate as she reached under her pillow for the diary. The moment her fingers touched its worn leather cover, the runes etched on its surface began to glow faintly, casting an otherworldly light in the dim room.

She ran her fingers over the name embossed on the cover: Aurora. Who was she? And what secrets did her diary hold?

Elara sat motionless, her fingers clutching the diary as though it were the only anchor tethering her to reality. The faint glow of its runes pulsed softly, casting an otherworldly shimmer across the dim room. Her ears strained for any sound beyond the door, but none came.

She exhaled shakily, her heart racing as the oppressive silence enveloped her. The weight of Shadow’s presence still lingered, thick, and suffocating. Shaking off her apprehension, Elara glanced down at the diary, the brittle pages calling to her like a siren’s song.

She flipped back the page, her hands trembling slightly. Aurora’s elegant script stared back at her, a haunting glimpse into a life that mirrored her own in ways she could scarcely fathom.

20 March 1800

I turned twenty today, and this diary is a gift from my loving mother. We are to celebrate my birthday tonight, inviting only those closest to us. Rather, only those who know about my power. Ethan, my childhood friend who lives just next door, and Dr. Adrian, my therapist. He’s only 28, yet he carries wisdom far beyond his years, and, coincidentally, he is my father’s friend’s son.

Elara’s brow furrowed as she read the words aloud in a murmur. “A therapist? Why would someone in that era need one? Did she have mental issues, or was it… something else?”

She continued reading, her curiosity piqued.

We gathered at the dining table to celebrate, laughing, eating, and sharing stories. These three people are the only ones who truly matter to me. Because of my power, my father has always restricted me from mingling with others. To him, outsiders are a threat, a risk to the family’s reputation. Many would call me strange, perhaps even dangerous, if they knew the truth. But my mother, dear and steadfast, has always stood by my side, even quarreling with my father for my sake.

Though I’m not locked away in this mansion, my world feels so small. I long for a life beyond these walls, a life where I have friends, where I can laugh and dream freely. But my father’s fear keeps me confined. He says my power would be misunderstood, exploited. He’s probably right, but the yearning remains.

Yes, my power. It is as much a blessing as it is a curse. From the moment I could hold a paintbrush, I discovered that I could see people’s pasts, their suffering, and their deepest fears within my paintings. More startlingly, I can speak to spirits in my dreams. They whisper to me, their voices like faint echoes, seeking solace or sometimes vengeance. My father says it is a gift from the heavens, though I sometimes wonder if it’s a burden born of darkness.

Elara’s breath hitched. Her mind raced as she processed Aurora’s confession. The similarities were uncanny, her isolation, and her abilities. But most chilling was the revelation about communicating with spirits.

“She’s just like me,” Elara whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of awe and dread. “Her powers... We had the same powers.”

Her fingers hovered over the page, her gaze fixed on the elegantly penned words. What had happened to Aurora? Had she survived her struggles, or had her power consumed her? Elara yearned to know more, but before she could turn the page, a sudden, sharp knock at the door shattered her focus.

Her heart leaped into her throat, and the diary slipped from her grasp, landing on the bed with a muffled thud.

“Elara,” came Damien’s voice, soft yet strained, from the other side of the door. “Are you awake?”

Her pulse thundered in her ears as she froze, her eyes darting toward the door. Her body stiffened, her mind racing. Did he suspect something? Had I been too careless?

“Elara…” he called again, his tone lower this time, almost pleading.

She bit her lip, her thoughts a chaotic tangle. "If I don’t answer, he might come in. What should I do?” she thought. She cast a quick look at the clock as it struck eight.

The silence that followed was deafening. Every second felt like an eternity as she sat there, clutching the diary to her chest. Her breath was shallow, her senses on high alert.

Then, just as abruptly as it had begun, the moment passed. The faint sound of retreating footsteps reached her ears, growing softer until they disappeared entirely.

Elara let out a shaky sigh of relief, her body sagging as the tension ebbed away. She leaned back against the headboard, her hands still gripping the diary as though it were a lifeline.

“Get a grip,” she muttered to herself, her voice barely audible. “You can’t fall apart now.”

With trembling hands, she reached for the diary once more, determined to uncover whatever secrets it held.

♡♡♡

Let's uncover the story of Aurora together.!

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