I often had confusing dreams. Every time, it was the same—an old forest connected to my grandfather's house. I could hear the birds chirping, and the peacefulness of nature would calm my heart. But one day, the forest turned dark. I felt someone watching me.
Suddenly, an old, ornate mirror appeared in front of me. Its glass was cloudy, but something inside it was glowing. When I looked closer, I saw only one figure—a being with a pure white body, its fur as clean as snow, eyes calm yet radiating a powerful light like that of an unnatural wolf.
Its gaze pierced my heart. It was as if it wanted to protect me, but at the same time, it sensed some approaching danger.
Then, my head began to spin. It felt as though the ground beneath me was slipping away. All I could hear was the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Suddenly, my body froze in mid-air. Someone had grabbed me. Cold, firm hands held my waist, and I couldn't catch my breath.
I looked up, but I couldn't see the person's face. Everything around me was blurry and unclear. The only things that were sharp and visible were their blood-red, glowing eyes and a deep, cold indifference.
They held me tightly, but in their gaze, there was no compassion, no pity—only apathy and cold hatred.
Then, in a firm, commanding voice, they whispered,
"Wake up!"
In an instant, I opened my eyes. My breath was heavy, and my heart was racing. I heard my stepmother shouting angrily at my father, and I woke up. Looking out the large window, raindrops fell from the sky, kissing the earth. The sky was filled with clouds, and every drop seemed to whisper.
I listened to the sound of the rain while I tidied my room. I changed into my long white nightgown , fixed my hair, and stepped out of my room. As I approached the guest room, my stepmother's voice grew louder, her yelling at my father becoming more intense.
My stepmother, Charlotte, was staring at Emily, her own daughter, as she looked toward her old room. Then she turned her attention to me, carefully scanning my room. She slightly turned her face—I could see doubt in her eyes, but she remained firm.
My stepmother, Charlotte, was staring at Emily, her own daughter, as she looked toward her old room. Then she turned her attention to me, carefully scanning my room. She slightly turned her face—I could see doubt in her eyes, but she remained firm.
"Daniel, this girl doesn't deserve this room!" she said.
My father's voice was cold as he replied, "This isn't my decision. If Emily wants this room, then she'll have it."
Pain was already growing inside me. My father had never been affectionate toward me. Ever since my mother passed away when I was born, he had resented me.
Dad shoved his hands into his pockets and said in an indifferent tone, "Then there's nothing to discuss. You'll move to your new room."
My stepmother, Charlotte, smiled in triumph, while my stepsister, Emily, gave me a satisfied look.
All I could say, with tears welling in my eyes, was:
"Okay…"
Only my heart knew how heavy that word truly was...
I had never been important in this house.
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The next morning, my father and stepmother Charlotte were busy preparing breakfast. I was surprised to see this—there had never been such hospitality in this house.
"Who's coming?" I asked cautiously.
My father glanced at me briefly, then continued. My stepmother, Charlotte, smiled.
"Your grandfather is coming," she said.
I froze for a moment. Grandpa? Finally?
"Why?" I asked.
"To take you away," my father said bluntly.
Charlotte banged a spoon on the table. "This isn't the right decision, Daniel! Layla should stay in this house!"
My grandfather, Edric, appeared at the doorway. Though his face showed the weight of years, his eyes were still sharp and resolute.
He stepped in slowly.
"Hello, Layla," he said.
"Hi, Grandpa," I replied softly.
He looked directly at my father. "I'm taking Layla with me. She doesn't belong in this house."
My father crossed his arms over his chest. "This is her home. She's staying here."
"This is not her home," my grandfather said in a cold voice.
"You never saw her as your daughter. Layla is going back to her real family."
Charlotte's face turned red with anger.
"She should live with us! She's still young!"
Edric took a deep breath.
"You never became true parents to her. I'm going to fix that now."
My father fell silent. My grandfather reached out his hand to me.
Without hesitation, I took it.
I was leaving this house.
As I stepped outside with Grandpa Edric, my heart started to race. The cool air brushed against my face. My long golden blonde hair flowed down my shoulders, fluttering like wings in the wind.
My green eyes, clear as glass, reflected the scene ahead of me.
The white vintage lace dress wrapped around my thin frame swayed gently with the breeze, and my pale beige shoes softly touched the ground as I walked.
I turned back once, casting one last glance at the house where I had spent my childhood.
My heart felt heavy, but there was no turning back.
A simple horse-drawn carriage waited for us on the street.
Grandfather remained silent.
The carriage creaked as it began to move.
We left the city limits and headed toward Arvendale Forest.
The surroundings gradually changed.
As we entered the forest, the air grew more humid, and an unfamiliar—yet oddly familiar—scent filled the atmosphere.
The trees' branches were tall and thick, as though they had grown deliberately to hide the sky.
Some trunks bent inward, while others twisted into strange, unnatural shapes.
The wind whispered softly.
Every now and then, I thought I saw something move between the trees, but it vanished before I could see clearly.
The forest was wrapped in an eerie silence, broken only by the horses' breathing and the creaking of the carriage wheels.
"This forest is never truly silent," Grandfather Edric said in a low voice.
I looked at him—he was watching the surroundings with a sharp, alert gaze.
The road through Arvendale Forest was long and quiet.
Grandfather Edric spoke little, but his presence gave me a strange sense of safety.
Eventually, the carriage came to a stop.
I took a deep breath and stepped down.
The air was damp, rich with the scent of fresh rain.
Arvendale lay veiled in mist, and the tall trees swayed gently in the wind.
Grandfather's house was tucked within the thick greenery—small, yet inviting.
Its stone walls were covered in ivy that had dug deep over the years, and the garden bloomed with roses and other unusual flowers.
It felt like a haven cradled by nature itself.
When I stepped inside, a wave of warmth enveloped me.
After the cold air outside, the house felt almost magical.
The scent of burning wood and dried herbs filled the room.
The hearth flickered gently, casting soft light and dancing shadows across the dark corners.
Grandfather took off his coat and looked at me.
"This is your home now," he said in a low, calm voice.
There was something hidden in his eyes."It might not feel like home yet, but in time, you'll get used to it."
I nodded.
He watched me for a moment, then took a deep breath.
"You must be tired. Your room is upstairs."
I picked up my bag and climbed the narrow wooden staircase.
Each step creaked beneath my feet.
The room was simple but cozy—a large bed with a thick quilt, a wooden wardrobe, and a small writing desk by the window.
After placing my things down, I walked over to the window.
As soon as I opened it, the wind rushed in, carrying with it the damp scent of something unfamiliar, yet strangely familiar.
The sky was blanketed with dark clouds, and soft rain continued to fall.
The tree branches swayed violently, their shapes distorted—almost eerie.
Arvendale had always been like this—forever drenched in rain, wrapped in mystery, and cloaked in silence.