Ch 22 *another dream"

Todays song is Rabbit Hole by Aviva...

 ENJOY

I wasn't sure when or how I fell asleep, but I woke up burning. A feverish heat spread through my hands, searing like I had been gripping hot iron for too long. My skin prickled, my pulse pounded in my ears, and my head felt stuffed with cotton.

My eyes were open—or at least, they felt like they were. But I couldn't see.

No. I wasn't awake.

This was a dream.

A white spider. A book.

Where are they?

The thought slipped away before I could grasp it, like trying to hold onto water. I tried to focus—tried to remember—but everything blurred at the edges. Something was wrong.

Okay, Lilith. Calm down. Think.

You were in the library. You saw a spider—a cute little thing. You found a book. You were reading.

And then—

"Night, princess."

My breath caught. That voice.

No. No, that wasn't possible.

My pulse stuttered, then roared in my ears as I turned. He wasn't supposed to be back yet. It had barely been three days.

"How? You weren't supposed to be back—"

I never got to finish.

Alex didn't answer. He only stepped forward—slow, deliberate. A predator sizing up his prey.

Move.

I tried, but my body wouldn't respond.

I was frozen.

Then—darkness.

The library disappeared, sucked away into nothingness. The air turned cold, thick with something rancid, and the scent of damp rot curled in my lungs. A shiver raced down my spine.

This place—it felt like the cell I had been locked in when I first arrived.

But worse.

A scream tore through the silence. High-pitched. Agonized.

"MOOOOOOOM!!"

I flinched. The voice was small—young. A child. And it wasn't just fear in his cries. It was something raw, something that made my stomach churn.

"Mommy, please don't do this! I promise I'll be better next time! I promise, but please don't—!"

A woman's voice cut through the sobs, cold and drenched in something bitter.

"You are just as useless as always. And the worst part? You look exactly like him."

The words rang in my ears like a slap. I couldn't see anything—just darkness pressing in on all sides—but the voice felt too close, as if the woman was whispering right beside me.

"I'm sorry, Mama…" The boy's voice trembled.

SMACK.

I gasped, my head snapping to the side. My cheek stung—no, burned—like I had been the one struck.

But no one had touched me.

"Don't be sorry," the woman murmured, her voice sickly sweet now. "Be better."

The world flickered.

Suddenly, I could see.

I was back in the library. But something was wrong.

A small boy sat at the desk where I usually sat. No older than ten, with messy black hair and piercing green eyes, wide with unshed tears. His left cheek was red, the imprint of a slap stark against his pale skin.

And beside him stood a woman.

She was tall, poised, draped in a gown that should have made her beautiful. But I couldn't see her face. A shadow swallowed it whole, leaving only a vague, hollow shape where her features should have been.

She leaned toward the boy, brushing his hair from his forehead with a touch that should have been gentle. But there was nothing kind in her movements.

"Much better, darling," she cooed.

The boy's expression changed instantly. His lips trembled, then curled into a small, desperate smile—like a starving man being thrown scraps.

My stomach twisted.

Who were they?

I had never seen them before.

And yet… that boy.

He looked so familiar.

Why did he look so familiar?

If I just got a little closer—

But before I could take a step—

"!!Princess!!"

A voice ripped me out of the dream like a knife slicing through fabric.

My eyes flew open. My vision swam.

I was back in the library. The real one.

Obrovsky loomed over me, his sharp eyes scanning my face, his expression lined with something close to concern.

"What are you—" My voice cracked. My mouth was dry.

"Are you alright, Princess?" His tone was urgent. "You're bleeding."

Bleeding?

I lifted a shaky hand to my face. Wet warmth smeared beneath my fingertips. My nose.

Weird. I didn't feel any pain.

"I'm… not sure," I mumbled. "I was just readi—"

Alex.

My heart lurched as the memory slammed into me.

"Alex," I gasped, trying to sit up. "Where is he?"

Obrovsky's brows furrowed. "Who?"

I swallowed hard. "Alex. He was here not long ago. Where is he?"

"We should get you checked," he said firmly. "Lady Adele will be here shortly, she sho—"

"No," I snapped, gripping his sleeve. "I need to see Alex. Where is he?"

"What is all this noise?" A new voice. Tired. Irritated. Then—sharp with concern.

"Oh my God, Lilith, what happened to you?"

Adele.

She rushed over, eyes darting across my face, her expression twisting.

"I'm fine," I muttered. "Probably just hit myself on something."

"That's not just a bump," Adele said, frowning. "Your left cheek is bruised. You're bleeding. It looks like… like someone slapped you."

Slapped.

My breath hitched.

"That's impossible," I whispered.

Because the only slap I had felt was in the dream.

Obrovsky crossed his arms. "Let's go, Princess. You need that wound cleaned."

"No," I said again, more forcefully this time. "I need to see Alex."

Adele and Obrovsky exchanged looks.

"Alex?" Adele repeated, voice cautious.

"Yes, Alex," I snapped, frustration curling in my chest. "Who else?"

Adele sighed. "Sweetheart, Alex hasn't arrived yet. He still has more than a week before he's back."

No.

That was wrong.

I saw him. I heard him. I felt him standing over me, his breath against my skin.

A dream?

No. It couldn't have been. It felt too real.

"But… I saw him," I whispered, my voice smaller now. "I swear, he was just here."

Obrovsky let out a sharp exhale. "Maybe you hit your head harder than you thought, Princess."

Adele placed a gentle hand on my arm. "You haven't been eating well. It's not uncommon for exhaustion and hunger to cause lucid dreams."

Her reasoning made sense.

But still—

It felt real. Too real.

I swallowed hard, nodding weakly, though the doubt gnawed at me.

"Now, let's get that wound cleaned up," Adele said, offering a soft smile. "I'll make some tea afterward."

I hesitated.

Then, something else clicked.

The book.

I turned sharply, scanning the couch, the desk, the floor.

Gone.

"Where is the book?" I asked, my pulse picking up again.

Adele frowned. "Book?"

"Yes," I insisted. "The one with the little white spider. It was right here."

Obrovsky shook his head. "I didn't see any book. Or spider."

My blood ran cold.

No Alex.

No book.

What the hell was happening to me?