Nightmare

A cold gust of wind, sharp with the bite of winter, whipped through Rose's hair as she slowly stumbled into the garden, dressed in an elegant white gown. The snow clung to the branches of old trees, their gnarled limbs reaching out like skeletal fingers. Yet, the garden itself was a blaze of color. Crimson roses, defiant against the icy winter, bloomed in arrogant profusion. Each petal, dusted with a delicate layer of snow, shimmered like a ruby in the pale winter sun.

Rose looked up, her senses heightened beyond human, and inhaled the crisp air, the scent of frozen soil mingled with the intoxicating perfume of the roses. She ran her fingers along a thorny stem, a shiver of delight coursing through her. This was not a nightmare, not a vision of impending doom. This was… joy.

She chased a mischievous snowflake, its intricate patterns a marvel to behold. It landed on her nose, melting instantly, leaving a trail of icy moisture. Laughter bubbled up within her, a sound that felt foreign and unfamiliar. She spun, her arms outstretched, the world a kaleidoscope of white, red and green.

Then, this world shattered.

Slowly the sky turned red and the garden filled with flowers and roses was now a pool of blood and corpse. The crimson roses, once symbols of a vibrant life, now dripped with a viscous, crimson liquid. The snow, once pure and pristine, was stained deep red. Rose's laughter choked in her throat. The playful wind, now a chilling gale, carried the stench of iron and death. Where the snow had been, now lay a carpet of werewolf corpses. The werewolves face contorted in agony, their bodies twisted at weird unnatural angles. Their eyes, usually eerie green, were now dull and lifeless. Rose stumbled back, her heart pounding against her ribs like a trapped animal.

 Then, she saw them.

Vampires, their eyes glowing like pools of obsidian, were feasting. Not on the flesh of the werewolves, but on something… else. Rose's blood ran cold. They were feeding on the very life force of the garden, draining the vibrant roses of their essence, leaving behind only withered husks and a trail of death and decay.

The dream dissolved into a cacophony of screams and the guttural snarls of the vampires, leaving Rose gasping for breath, the scent of blood and death clinging to her like a shroud.

The scene was too terrifying to behold, she hugged herself with her head down trembling in fear. Suddenly someone grabbed her hand from behind, as If pulling her from that scenario, then she heard a soft voice, more like a whisper

"There is no other way… the one in grey must be die." Only then did she realize that she was holding a trigonal blade, drenched with blood and covered with ancient writings by the grip.

The voice kept repeating and slowly everything went dark.

…

She woke up panting and hyperventilating, Cold sweat slicked down her skin, and she shivered, the memory of the dream still vivid in her mind – the crimson roses, the stench of blood, the terrifying image of the vampires feasting on something… else.

Doris, her ever-vigilant maid, rushed in, her face full of concern. "Young mistress! You startled me. Are you alright?"

Rose, still trembling, nodded weakly. "A nightmare, Doris. A terrible nightmare."

Doris, quickly ushered Rose back to bed. "Let me get you some healing soup. You had siphon paralysis and look pale as death."

Rose, exhausted as if she had been drained just like the roses in her dream, allowed Doris to feed her the steaming thick broth. The potent concoction, a blend of special herbs and enchanted spices, soothed her aching throat and warmed her chilled bones.

As she slowly regained her strength, she remembered the events of the

previous night. "Doris," she rasped, "tell me, what happened last night? I… I don't remember much."

Doris hesitated, her gaze fixed on the floor. "Young mistress, you were… attacked. Vampires. They… they nearly killed you."

Rose's breath hitched. "And who… who saved me?"

"The pack," Doris replied, her voice low. "They found you… badly wounded. They brought you back here. But… there was someone else they brought back as well."

Intrigued, Rose sat up straighter. "Someone else? Who?"

Doris looked uncomfortable. "A… a prisoner, my lady. They brought him back chained."

Curiosity increasing, Rose insisted, "Where is he? I must see him."

Doris tried to dissuade her, "But young mistress, you are still weak—"

"I must see him, Doris!" Rose insisted, her voice firm.

Finally, Doris relented, leading Rose down the long, dimly lit hallway towards the dungeon. As they approached the heavy oak door, Rose's heart began to pound.

The door creaked open, revealing a damp and dark chamber. In the center, chained to the ancient cold stone wall, was a figure. The figure, gaunt and bruised.

It was Jack!

Rose gasped, her breath catching in her throat. Jack, the boy she had secretly admired. Jack, with his unruly brown hair and those mischievous green eyes…

Seeing him like this, broken and battered, shattered her heart. Even though they had only known each other for a short while, something else stirred within her—a primal instinct, a jolt, a spark igniting a fire deep within her soul. It was a connection she couldn't deny, a bond that resonated with a raw, primal power.

The werewolf within her, dormant for so long, stirred. And for the first time, Rose understood the true meaning of her heritage.

Rose was so drowned in her own thoughts that she didn't know when she reached out towards Jack to touch his face. Seeing Jack in that state felt as if she was the one bound by heavy chains, her own heart constricting with a suffocating weight.

Just as her fingers brushed against his cheek, a strong hand gripped her wrist, yanking her back. Startled, Rose spun around to see Doris, her maid, her face etched with concern.

"Young mistress, you shouldn't," Doris whispered, her voice trembling. "If your brother finds out… he will be really pissed and angry."

On hearing Doris's statement, Rose stood up abruptly, as if the last string of her composure just broke. She stormed out of the dungeon, leaving Doris standing bewildered in the doorway.

Doris felt a pang of guilt. Had she said something wrong? She hurried after Rose, calling out, "Young miss! I-am s-sorry I didn't mean to…"

But Rose didn't stop. "Not now, Doris," she said curtly, not sparing a glance at her maid.

"But mistress, where are you going?" Doris asked, trying to catch up with her.

"I'm going to find my brother," Rose replied rather indifferently.

Doris trailed behind reluctantly, her head bowed.

…