Claire's breath was steady as she stirred awake, the remnants of sleep still clinging to her mind. The dim glow of morning seeped through the curtains, casting gentle golden streaks across her chamber.
She stretched, blinking away the haze, before hearing a soft voice behind her.
"My lady, it's time to rise."
Elise.
Claire sighed and sat up, rubbing her temples. "Elise, has father—"
"You don't know me?"
The voice was the same.
Yet it wasn't.
Something in it's tone—thicker, heavier, wrong—sent a slow chill creeping up her spine.
Her body stiffened. Slowly, hesitantly, she turned her head.
Elise was still there, standing by the bedside, her familiar soft expression unwavering.
And yet,
Behind her—a shadow, a presence.
The same face, the same voice—but the eyes.
A breath caught in Claire's throat. Her chest tightened. She knew those eyes.
She shut her own, willing the vision away, her pulse hammering against her ribs.
It's not real. It's not real. It's not—
A slow inhale. A moment of stillness.
When she dared to look again—
Nothing.
Elise tilted her head. "My lady, are you unwell?"
Claire forced a smile, suppressing the tremor in her hands. "No... just a restless night."
Determined to shake off the unsettling feeling, she dressed quickly and stepped outside, greeting passing servants with polite smiles. Yet, an unease coiled deep in her stomach, an itch at the back of her mind that wouldn't leave.
As she strolled through the hallway, her gaze landed on a portrait—
Her mother's.
Painted in regal hues, her mother's eyes held the same warmth she remembered. Claire paused, staring at the frame, her fingers brushing the edge as a quiet longing stirred within her.
A memory surfaced—soft hands combing through her hair, the sound of a gentle lullaby, the scent of roses in the air. A warmth she hadn't felt in years.
Then—
A chill slithered down her spine.
A whisper, breathy and close.
"Why don't you remember me?"
The air turned heavy, thick with something unseen. The candle flames flickered. Shadows stretched unnaturally along the walls.
Claire's breath hitched. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears as the voices crept closer—unfamiliar, layered, rising.
You forgot me.
You forgot me.
You forgot me.
The temperature plummeted. A biting cold seeped into her skin, coiling around her limbs like unseen chains. The air pressed against her chest—suffocating. The walls seemed to close in.
She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her hands over her ears. "Stop."
Her voice was barely a whisper.
The voices swelled, wrapping around her like an unseen force, pressing, suffocating—
And then—
Silence.
She opened her eyes, breathless, her hands slowly lowering. The hallway was still. The portrait remained unchanged. But something within her had shifted.
Her mother.
A fragment of memory surfaced, flickering like a dying flame.
A diary—her mother's parting gift.
There was something written in it... Something important...
She hurried to her chambers, rifling through old belongings, searching, until finally—her fingers brushed against worn leather.
The diary.
Her heart pounded as she opened it, fingers trembling.
Blank.
Page after page—nothing. No ink, no words.
Only empty sheets where something should have been.
A sharp ring. An ear-piercing shriek—
"You forgot me!"
A searing pain shot through her skull.
Claire gasped, clutching her head as the scream tore through her very being—
And then—darkness.
She jolted awake with a deep inhale, her chest heaving.
Sweat clung to her skin. The room was dim, untouched, just as it had been when she first lay down.
A dream?
Yet, the echo of that voice still lingered, curling around her mind like an unanswered question.
"You forgot me..."
And deep within her, she knew—
It wasn't just a dream.