The girl of my dreams

"Leave," I told her in a low but stern tone, "And don't come back unless you have something useful for me."

Vivienne didn't move at first. Her brown eyes slowly scanned mine...as if she was hoping that I was joking. She was disappointed.

She tried her best to hide her shock. She pretended everything was okay. I saw it... disappointment washed over her face. But she was too proud to show it.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and she smoothed the silk of her robe as if she was buying time. When I said nothing, she spoke.

"Fine," she said, "You'll come crawling back when this little obsession of yours blows up in your face."

With that, she turned on her heel, the clicking of her heels echoing in the silence as she strutted her way to the door.

The moment I heard the click of the door, I ran a hand through my hair in frustration.

I let out a short sigh as I pressed my palms against my face. I could still feel her lips on mine, soft and comforting, yet it did nothing to soothe my frustration. If anything, it only fueled my frustration.

Vivienne was wrong.

This wasn't just an obsession. It wasn't just some obsession that would burn out.

Mira.

The name alone sent something dark through my chest, like a steel knife stuck in my windpipe. A feeling I couldn't quite explain.

I reached for the photograph again.

The two children were still there.

A boy and a girl, their smiles untouched by the sins of the world.

My eyes drifted to the locket around the girl's neck again. I couldn't have mistaken it. I know what I saw, and if it wasn't then lock me up in a mental asylum. I turned toward the swivel chair behind my desk, its leather creaking in protest as I sank into it.

"She's not a ghost," I murmured to myself, "She's real."

And I was going to find her.

No matter what it took.

No matter the cost. 

I leaned back, the leather of the chair creaking beneath me as my head hit the headrest. My grip on the photograph tightened for a moment before my fingers slackened, my eyes slipping shut against the glow of the dying fire.

The room blurred into darkness.

But even in sleep, she was there.

.................................................................

The sun bathed the meadow in a warm and golden glow. Tall grasses swayed from side to side due to the breeze, wildflowers dotted the meadow making it more beautiful and butterflies flew lazily from flower to flower. It felt like a memory.

My eyes scanned the open field. They then landed on her.

Mira.

But this was not the woman from the underground fighting club. 

She was smaller, younger, and happier. Her laughter rang like wind chimes as she twirled through the meadow, a locket catching the sunlight against her chest.

"Mira," I called her in a whisper, desperate for answers.

She froze mid-spin and turned to face me. The joy written all over her face vanished in an instant. The warmth in her eyes chilled, and the brightness of the field seemed to dim, shadows creeping along the edges of the horizon.

"Why are you here?" she asked softly. Her every word was dripping with disappointment.

I frowned, taking a step toward her. "Why would you ask me that?"

Her small fingers wrapped themselves around the locket tightly. "Do you even remember this?"

My eyes landed on the delicate chain and the pendant that rested on her chest. "Of course I do," I said slowly, my brows furrowing. "I gave it to you."

Mira's lips curled, but the sound that followed wasn't the laugh I had heard earlier. It was so hollow that it sent an icy shiver down my spine. "You literally think that's all it is? A gift? You don't even know what you gave me, do you?"

Everything changed.

Darkness filled the meadow. The sun was swallowed by a crimson haze. Shadows stretched unnaturally long across the ground, and before my eyes, she changed. The child before me shifted into the woman I had met at the club, her bright dress vanishing, replaced with dark, form-fitting leather.

"Mira," I murmured.

Her bright blue eyes met mine, no longer the light of a child but the cold, piercing stare of a stranger. "You don't know anything, Luca," her voice sharper than a dagger. "Not about me. Not about yourself."

They cut deeper than I expected, "Then tell me," I demanded, desperation slipping into my voice. "Why is there so much anger inside you? Why do you keep running from me?"

Her head tilted slightly, a bitter smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. "Running? No, Luca. I'm not the one running. I never have been."

The shadows thickened, twisting like living things, curling around my ankles, dragging me down. "Wha-" I fought against them trying to free myself.

"Help me, Mira," I felt weak under their grip, my voice barely even a whisper.

She didn't move to help. She just stood there, watching as the darkness swallowed me whole.

"Luca," she said, softer now, almost... pitying. "You'll never find me if you don't understand who you are. But maybe..." Her lips curled into something unreadable. "Maybe it's better this way."

The locket gleamed one last time in the dying light before the void consumed me.

I gasped awake, my body jerking forward in my chair. The study was still dark. My pulse thundered in my ears as I dragged a hand down my face, trying to shake the dream's grip.

But her voice lingered. You'll never find me if you don't understand who you are.

I exhaled sharply, cursing under my breath. "What the hell does that even mean?"

My gaze dropped to the photograph on my desk. The same woman. The same locket. Mira wasn't just some rival leader. She wasn't just another name in my way. She was something else entirely, something just out of reach, something I had to understand.

Clenching my jaw, I grabbed the photo and pushed to my feet. Whatever the dream had been—a warning, a memory, a ghost—it didn't matter.

I wasn't going to let her slip away.

Not until I had the answers.