Whispers In The Night
Lydia sat quietly in her room. The night felt long and heavy. She didn't move for hours. She only listened. Listened to the sound of footsteps. Doors closing. Silence filling every corner of the house.
When it was quiet enough, she slowly got out of bed. Her bare feet touched the cold floor. She moved to the end of her bed, where a low cushioned bench sat. She dragged it a little, careful not to make noise. Then she pulled off the soft padding at the top.
Beneath it was a small chest—old, dusty, but locked tight. Her hands trembled a little as she opened it. Inside lay a necklace, earrings, and a bracelet. All made of gold with dark red rubies. Her mother's jewelry. She hadn't looked at them in years.
When her uncle took over, he never found this box. Lydia had hidden it away the same night her mother was taken. For eight years, it stayed untouched. Now, she needed it.
She stared at the pieces. They looked heavy in the moonlight. Her chest hurt, but she knew what she had to do. Her mother would understand. Selling them was the only way to survive.
Then, she went to her drawer and took out a small pouch. It was the one her uncle gave her yesterday to buy clothes and shoes. She never spent it. Now it would help too.
Suddenly—footsteps. Coming closer. Her eyes widened. She hurried, putting back the cushion on the sat, then she pushed the chest under the blanket. She climbed back on her bed, pulled the duvet up to her chin, and held the pouch tightly under the cover.
The door opened.
Her heart raced. She didn't move.
It was her uncle. He stood at the door for a few seconds. Then, thinking she was asleep, he closed the door and left.
She waited a while. Then slowly let out a shaky breath.
Far away in the forest, Ivan lay on the ground. His cloak soaked with blood. His body hurt. Every movement felt like knives were cutting through him. He groaned, trying to crawl toward the path. His horse was just ahead, but he couldn't reach it.
He tried to sit up, but fell again. Blood ran from his mouth. His vision was fading.
"I… won't die here," he whispered, over and over.
Back at the estate, the clock struck midnight. Everyone was asleep.
Lydia was dressed in a plain black cloak. A small bag hung across her shoulder. Inside it were her mother's jewelry and the money. She tiptoed down the stairs, careful not to make any sound.
The servant door at the back was open—just as Daria promised.
She stepped out into the night.
The cold air touched her face, but she didn't stop. She walked quickly toward the barn. Her heart beat fast, but she didn't look back.
She untied a horse and climbed on it. Her hands held the reins tightly. Then, with one last look at the house she once called home, she rode off into the night.
In the forest, Ivan could barely move. His body was going numb. His lips were pale. He blinked slowly. The stars above looked like tiny dots through his weak eyes.
He coughed and turned his head to the side. Blood spilled from his lips. Still, he kept whispering, "Not like this… not like this…"
Lydia rode fast through the dark forest. The wind pulled at her cloak. Her eyes searched the path ahead. She followed the narrow trail just like Daria told her.
But suddenly, she stopped. Her horse neighed softly.
There were three horses standing in her path. No riders. Just the animals, alone.
Lydia got off her horse. She looked around, confused. The trees stood tall around her. Everything was still.
Then the clouds moved. Moonlight slipped through.
That's when she saw him.
A man was lying at the foot of a tree. His back leaned against the trunk. His clothes were covered in blood. His head tilted down, like he was sleeping.
But he wasn't.
He was barely breathing.
Lydia stood frozen, staring. She didn't know who he was. She didn't know if he was dead or alive. All she knew was—he needed help.