Chapter 12: Blackthorn Garden

Lyra stirred from her long, dreamless slumber to the feel of silky fabric brushing against her arms. Her eyes blinked open, heavy and raw, the lashes crusted with dried tears. It took her a moment to recognize the unfamiliar ceiling above her, the surreal edges of the mansion's guest room still as haunting as the night before.

She lay on an enormous four-poster bed that looked like something carved for royalty. The headboard rose tall behind her, intricately designed with thorny vines and peacock feathers forged from black iron. The silk canopy draped down in cascading layers of midnight blue and deep forest green. The bed sheets were velvet, soft as moonlight, with dark emerald embroidery tracing strange symbols she didn't understand. Her nightgown—a plain white silk slip she didn't remember changing into—clung to her body, and her dress from the formal dinner was gone. Someone had undressed her while she was unconscious.

Panic pricked her nerves.

She scrambled up to sit, her limbs still weak. Her eyes caught her reflection in the antique standing mirror nearby. What stared back was a ghost of herself. Her face was blotched red from hours of crying. Her eyes were so swollen they looked bruised. Her perfect makeup had run, painting black rivers down her cheeks.

"What... what is happening to me?" she whispered.

Then she remembered her journal.

She turned and rushed to the drawer where she had tucked it away. It was there, untouched—but as she opened the pages, her stomach twisted. Her tear-stained scribbles smeared the ink across the delicate parchment. Sentences half-formed, words trailing into erratic curls, desperation written in every stroke.

"Why did I come here? What am I to him? Am I just a puppet? A doll to fill some empty seat?"

Her emotions screamed louder on the page than her voice ever could.

A knock interrupted her thoughts—but before she could answer, the door opened.

One of the pale, emotionless maids entered, carrying a silver tray adorned with covered dishes. She set it on the table and left without a glance. As if Lyra wasn't even there. No warmth. No acknowledgment.

The food looked exquisite, sure. But she couldn't eat. Not even a bite.

"What now?" she whispered, sitting back down. "No phone. No contact with my grandparents. No Adrian. No friends. Just... me."

The hours crawled. She lay on her bed, then sat again. Then back to the journal, writing and writing. More smudged ink. More tears. Sometimes she would fall asleep mid-thought, then wake to the silence and pick up the pen again. Her untouched meals collected like silent witnesses to her misery.

When night finally swallowed the mansion whole, she was startled by the door creaking open again.

"You are to go to the garden," said the maid. Her voice was flat as stone.

Lyra wiped her face, still wearing the same white slip gown. She pulled on a cloak that hung by the door, her steps trembling. The halls echoed her every breath. She avoided the west wing like death itself, ignoring the faint whispers and strange pulses that seemed to linger in the shadows.

The garden awaited her beyond tall, rusted iron doors. As they opened with a deep creak, a cool wind brushed against her skin.

It was unlike any garden she had ever seen.

Bathed in eerie moonlight, the place was filled with night-blooming flowers that glowed faintly in shades of blue, violet, and silver. Thorned vines curled around stone pillars. Strange statues stood in corners—winged creatures and robed figures with no faces. The air carried the scent of night jasmine, spiced with something ancient and metallic.

But then her gaze dropped to something moving by a black-stone fountain.

A cat.

Pitch black. Sleek, graceful, and with eyes like molten gold. It stood still as a statue, staring at her as if it had been waiting.

Lyra hesitated, then crouched slowly. "Hey... it's okay," she whispered.

The cat didn't run. Its gaze stayed locked on hers—intelligent, deep, as if it understood far too much.

"You're not just any cat, are you?" she said softly, reaching a hand forward.

To her surprise, it let her touch it. Her fingers stroked the cool, velvety fur.

"I'll call you Mystie," she whispered. "Short for mysterious. Because you're dark and strange... and I think I need a friend right now."

The cat blinked once, turning its head as if unimpressed.

"His name isn't Mystie. It's Vale," a voice rang behind her.

She startled.

Out of the hedged shadows emerged a tall, radiant figure—blue-haired and beaming. Seren.

He was dressed casually tonight, in an unbuttoned white linen shirt that revealed a sliver of his chest, and relaxed dark trousers. His hair looked damp, strands falling over his brow, shimmering under the garden's ghostly glow.

"Valefor named him. He likes to name things after himself," Seren chuckled, walking closer. "That grumpy guy? Yeah, don't let him catch you cuddling his cat. He might actually kill you. Or give you a very long, very boring lecture about boundaries."

Lyra stood quickly, brushing her hands. "I—I didn't know. I just... I found him here. He didn't seem to mind."

Seren grinned wider. "Don't worry. I won't tell. I'm Seren, by the way."

"I know," Lyra replied softly. "From the dinner. You were the only one who smiled."

"Well, someone's got to lighten up the mood around here. Between Mr. Eternal Brooding and Lady Threat-to-Kill, it's a circus."

She laughed despite herself. A small, broken sound. But real.

Seren's smile softened. "Rough night?"

Her eyes welled again, but she shook her head. "I've just... had enough surprises."

He nodded. "Understandable. But hey, you're stronger than you look."

She looked away. "I don't feel strong."

"You're still standing, aren't you?" he said gently. "Most people would have run away screaming after what happened with Xanthe."

Lyra lowered her gaze. "I don't know why I'm still here."

Seren tilted his head, his eyes suddenly more serious. "Maybe because deep down, you know this place hasn't finished with you yet."

She looked at him, startled. "What do you mean?"

He just smiled again, mischievous. "Let's just say... you're more important than you think."

Before she could ask anything more, Vale—the cat—jumped onto the edge of the fountain and let out a deep, rumbling purr.

Seren chuckled. "Look at that. He likes you. That's rare. Must mean something."

Lyra glanced at the cat, then back at Seren. "You talk as if everything means something."

He winked. "That's because, in this house, it usually does."

And just like that, he turned and began walking deeper into the garden, leaving Lyra to ponder the cryptic beauty of the night—and the stranger who made her laugh, even when her world was falling apart.

For the first time in days, she didn't feel completely alone.

But the question remained: what did Seren mean?

And why did everyone act like she was part of a puzzle she hadn't seen the pieces of yet?

As the garden whispered and shadows danced, the night carried her further into the mystery... and deeper into Adrian's world.

---

Lyra stood still, her hand frozen midair, hovering just above the black cat's sleek head. The name Seren had uttered—Vale—hung in the garden like a whispered warning. She blinked, realizing how careless she'd been. This wasn't just a cat lounging in moonlight. It belonged to Valefor, the red-clad stranger with a gaze like molten fire and a presence so intimidating, even silence seemed to bow to him.

Vale, the black cat, purred softly—almost smugly—and nestled near Lyra's ankle as if claiming her.

The garden glowed subtly now. The moon had shifted, casting a pale silver filter over the midnight flowers. The petals, delicate and surreal, shimmered as though touched by stardust. Dark roses with velvet hues opened as though listening. Twisting vines curled around marble statues—statues so lifelike they felt like they were once human.

The air carried the scent of midnight rain, cool earth, and something else—something enchanting, like forgotten magic.

Seren stepped closer, his soft leather boots barely making a sound against the stone path. Lyra studied him. The way his hair glimmered under moonlight, the way his lips curved in amusement even when he wasn't speaking, and the glint of intelligence in his crystalline blue eyes—it was all unnervingly perfect.

And yet, unlike Adrian, Seren felt... human. At least more than the others.

"You're not like them," she said before she could stop herself.

He smirked. "Them? You mean the cold prince and the demonic dolls?"

Lyra let out a reluctant laugh.

Seren's grin widened. "I get that a lot. Valefor's intense. Kaelith's a frozen sculpture. Xanthe—well, she's practically a walking storm. And Adrian?" He paused. "Adrian is something else entirely."

Lyra's expression fell. She lowered her gaze. "He is…"

Seren watched her carefully. "He hurt you."

Her silence answered for her.

"Sorry," he said gently. "He's... complicated. You'll never get his warmth, Lyra. He doesn't have any left to give."

Lyra blinked at him. "Then why me? Why bring me here? Why pretend this contract means anything?"

Seren sighed and sat on the stone bench nearby, crossing one leg over the other. "That's the question, isn't it? Why you?"

"I thought maybe I'd understand eventually. But now, I'm just locked up, broken, and confused. I don't even know if I'll ever see my grandparents again," she whispered. "No one checks on me. No one speaks to me. I feel like a prisoner in a fairytale gone wrong."

"You are," Seren said bluntly. "But not all prisoners stay in cages."

She looked at him, confused.

He met her eyes seriously for the first time. "You're in the middle of something ancient and dangerous. This mansion? Adrian's secrets? They're bigger than love stories and contract games."

Lyra's lips trembled. "Then why tell me this now?"

Seren shrugged. "Because for some reason… you matter. Vale thinks so. And I trust the cat more than most people."

Lyra let out a soft, tired chuckle. "Is this supposed to comfort me?"

"No," Seren replied honestly. "But I figured someone should talk to you before you completely spiral."

A silence fell between them. The air around the garden hummed, like it was alive with secrets.

"Can I ask you something?" she said hesitantly.

"Shoot."

"What is Adrian really?" she whispered. "Who is he?"

Seren's smile dimmed. "You'll wish you never asked that one."

"But I already did."

He looked at her carefully, as though weighing the cost of an answer.

Finally, he said, "Adrian is a fortress built by grief. A demon pretending to be a man. A storm that forgot what peace felt like."

Lyra stared at him, wide-eyed.

"But he's also… someone who once believed in light. A very long time ago."

The moonlight shifted again, casting shadows across Seren's face.

"You're not here by chance, Lyra. You're here for a reason."

Lyra's heart skipped. "What reason?"

Seren stood up and smiled again, this time softer. "That's the part you'll have to discover. And survive."

He turned, beginning to walk back toward the mansion, Vale following at his heels. But before disappearing into the shadows, Seren paused and said over his shoulder—

"Oh, and don't tell Valefor you touched his cat. Unless you want to see someone lose their eyebrows."

With that, he vanished into the darkness, leaving Lyra alone again.

But somehow… a little less afraid.

She stared at the night sky. The stars were scattered like whispers she couldn't hear. Her tears hadn't dried yet, but for the first time, she felt something different inside her.

Not hope.

But maybe… the beginning of a question that could lead to one.

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