Chapter 3
The days that followed Luca’s departure and the bottle water incident were a strange, unsettling blend of normalcy and the utterly bizarre. Cyrus visited frequently as Luca had promised, his presence a constant reminder of the world Emilia was being thrust into. He was a peculiar man, observant and quiet, with a stillness that bordered on unnerving. He often seemed to appear without warning, his movements fluid and silent, as if he simply materialized in the room.
He’d sit for hours, watching her, his amber eyes never leaving her face. He’d ask her questions, probing her memories, searching for any flicker of recognition, any sign of her awakening. She pretended that nothing peculiar had happened to her ever since she woke up from the accident.
Cyrus and his pale, cold skin had an unsettling aura around him. He seemed to possess an almost unnatural awareness of his surroundings, a heightened sense of smell and hearing. He’d sometimes pause mid-sentence, his head tilting slightly, as if he were listening to something she couldn’t hear. He preferred dim lighting, and seemed uncomfortable in bright sunlight, often wearing dark glasses even indoors. He never wore bright colored clothes and loathed the slightest noise whether it was the buzz of Emilia's phone or the bird chirping outside her window.
"You seem to be making little to no progress, Miss Gray. Your memories are still in unascertainable fragments and your abilities are too poor. I will have to speak to Luca soon"
Cyrus explained this to her in his usual hushed tone before his visits stopped.
Emilia was glad that she had some time to herself to figure out what was happening to her.
The silver locket felt cold against Emilia’s skin, a constant, unsettling reminder of Luca Valois’s cryptic pronouncements. She sat on the edge of her bed, the locket’s dark stone glinting in the dim light. The phrase “blood oath” echoed in her mind, a strange, archaic term that seemed ripped from the pages of a gothic novel.
She opened the locket, her fingers fumbling with the tiny clasp. Inside, there was no picture, no inscription, only a smooth, polished surface. Frustration welled up within her. Another dead end. Another piece of the puzzle that offered no answers.
She closed the locket and slipped it around her neck, the cool metal settling against her skin. It felt… heavy, not physically, but emotionally. As if it carried a weight, a history, she couldn’t comprehend. She felt the same sharp fire that she had felt in her stomach before the bottle levitated few weeks ago. This time, it was running through her neck, through her veins and in her chest. The locket flashed a dim light as if absorbing the fire in her body and in a few seconds, her body was back to normal as if nothing had happened.
Emilia grew even more scared everytime she remembered how the bottle water had flew from a distance right into her hands without any form of contact. She wanted to tell someone but she didn't have any friend or confidante and she feared that the doctors might call her mad if she told them what happened. Moreso, Emilia preferred to hide the incident from Luca because she wasn't willing to give either Luca or Cyrus the satisfaction of affirming that she was a witch or whatever they claimed she was. She had to figure out every thing on her own.
Emilia grew uneasier and even more paranoid because she didn't know what abilities she had or when they would resurface.
She tried to ignore Luca’s words, to dismiss him as a charlatan, a con artist preying on her vulnerability. But the strange sensations he had predicted began to manifest, subtle at first, then increasingly unsettling.
One morning, as she was making coffee, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over her. The kitchen shimmered and distorted, the familiar objects around her taking on a strange, almost ethereal quality. She gripped the counter, her knuckles white, trying to regain her equilibrium. The feeling passed as quickly as it had come, leaving her shaken and disoriented.
As the days went by quickly, Emilia often found herself staring at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, and for a fleeting moment, she didn’t recognize the face staring back at her. It was her face, yet somehow… different. Older, wiser, with a hint of something dark and knowing in her eyes. The image flickered and vanished, replaced by her own bewildered expression.
She longed to hold someone to feel someone's heart beating against hers. She remembered Luca and how her heart fluttered wildly when he held her hand. Emilia often imagined what it would be like being his woman. If she was being honest, his seductive charm had worked on her from the moment he walked into her life. Whenever he assured her about her abilities and how they were bound by the oath, she found him very sexy and couldn't keep her eyes off his lips.
Living alone gave her enough time to imagine herself kissing Luca or being in bed with him, his muscular build pressed against hers but Emilia often chided herself because her desire for Luca and her lustful imaginations of him was currently a distraction from her very messy and mysterious life.
Not long after Cyrus stopped visiting her, Emilia started to have dreams. Vivid, visceral nightmares that left her gasping for air in the middle of the night. She saw flashes of dark figures, of ancient rituals, of swirling shadows and whispered incantations. She heard voices, low and guttural, speaking in a language she didn’t understand, yet somehow recognized on a primal level.
One dream, in particular, haunted her. She was standing in a vast, stone chamber, lit by flickering torches. A circle of robed figures surrounded her, their faces obscured by shadows. In the center of the circle, an altar stood, stained with a dark, viscous substance. She felt a surge of terror, a primal fear that gripped her heart and stole her breath. Then, a figure stepped forward, his face hidden in shadow, but his voice clear and resonant. “You are bound,” he said, his voice echoing through the chamber. “You are bound by blood.”
She woke with a start, her heart pounding, her body drenched in sweat. The dream felt so real, so visceral, that she couldn’t shake the feeling that she had actually been there, that she had witnessed something terrible.
She tried to find information about blood oaths, about ancient rituals, but her online searches yielded nothing but vague references to folklore and mythology. She felt isolated, adrift in a sea of uncertainty, with no one to turn to.
One afternoon, she decided to visit the local library, hoping to find some answers in dusty old books. She wandered through the stacks, her fingers tracing the spines of ancient tomes, searching for anything that might shed light on her situation.
She found a book on ancient rituals and folklore, its pages filled with cryptic symbols and faded illustrations. She flipped through the pages, her eyes scanning the text, searching for any mention of blood oaths.
She found a passage that caught her attention, a description of a ritual involving the binding of two souls through a shared blood sacrifice. The ritual was described as ancient and powerful, capable of forging a bond that transcended time and space.
As she read the passage, a strange sensation washed over her, a feeling of recognition, as if she had read these words before, as if she had witnessed the ritual herself. A wave of dizziness swept over her, and she gripped the book tightly, trying to steady herself.
Suddenly, a vivid image flashed before her eyes: the stone chamber from her dream, the robed figures, the altar stained with blood. She saw herself, standing in the center of the circle, her hands outstretched, a dark, gleaming blade in her grasp.
The image vanished as quickly as it had appeared, leaving her breathless and disoriented. She closed the book, her hands trembling, her mind reeling.
She left the library, her head spinning, her thoughts in turmoil. The images, the sensations, the dreams – they were becoming too real, too vivid to ignore. Something was happening to her, something she couldn’t explain.
As she walked back to her apartment, she noticed a shadow following her, a dark figure lurking in the alleyways and doorways. She stopped, her heart pounding, and turned to face the shadow. But it vanished, melting into the darkness.
She hurried back to her apartment, her senses on high alert, her fear growing with each step. She locked the door behind her, her hands shaking, and leaned against it, trying to catch her breath.
She knew she couldn’t ignore what was happening any longer. Luca Valois was right. The memories, the sensations, they were coming, unbidden, unsettling. And they were leading her down a path she didn’t understand, a path that was both terrifying and strangely familiar.
She pulled the silver locket from beneath her shirt, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings. She felt a strange pull towards it, a sense of connection, as if it held the key to her past, to her identity.
She closed her eyes, trying to focus, trying to connect with the locket, trying to unlock the secrets it held. Suddenly, a vision flashed before her eyes: a dark, imposing mansion, shrouded in mist, its windows glowing with an eerie light. She heard a voice, a woman’s voice, soft and melodic, calling her name.
“Emilia,” the voice whispered. “Come home.”
Emilia opened her eyes, her heart pounding, her breath catching in her throat. She knew, with a certainty that defied logic, that the mansion was real, that the woman’s voice was calling to her. And she knew, deep down, that she had to go. She had to find the mansion, to find the woman, to find the truth about the blood oath, about her past, about herself.