Chapter 7: The First Thread of Light

I can't believe it.

That woman… was me.

Not Kael, the meek palace servant, but Lyrielle—the girl I buried beneath bindings and baggy clothes. My light brown hair tumbled down my back in soft curls, the way it used to before I chopped it. My eyes… golden, wide, dazed in pleasure, locked with mine. My true self. The one I buried. The one I've never seen in such a state.

Even as the dream version of me moaned under the relentless touch of those four princes, my mind reeled in horror and disbelief. Raelth was still rutting into my dream-self's trembling body, his grip bruising, his pace feral. My mouth trembled as our eyes met in the haze of that overwhelming climax. And then—

I jolted awake.

My lungs struggled to pull in air. My chest rose and fell erratically, and sweat soaked my clothes, plastering them uncomfortably to my skin. My heart was a wild creature caged in bone, thrashing to escape. My skin burned with shame and something else—something unnamable. The sheets twisted around my limbs like binds I couldn't shake.

It was a dream.

Just a dream.

But it didn't feel like one.

My body still ached with residual heat. The image of Lyrielle—of me—entangled between the princes' limbs, their cocks, their touches… it lingered too vividly, branded behind my eyes. I buried my face in my hands.

"I need to wash this off," I murmured, already swinging my legs off the thin mattress.

The idea of passing the garden made my stomach lurch. Even in the dark, I could feel it pulsing with that impossible dream. So I avoided it, choosing instead a longer path that circled past the storage huts and wound near the laundry basin, before opening up to the quiet lakeside. There I could bathe, rinse away the filth of my mind, the images I didn't know how to deal with.

As I passed the silent laundry area, a soft sound halted me in my steps.

Sniffing. And the muffled hiccup of someone trying hard not to cry.

My blood ran cold.

Not again. Am I still dreaming?

No.

My feet moved before my brain could make sense of it. Through the hanging white cloths pinned on line—long sheets flapping in the wind—I saw her. A girl, maybe sixteen or seventeen, her baby face not giving away her exact age, crouched by the washbasin. Her hands were raw, cracked and pink from cold water. A few long scratches adorned her cheeks, one of her braids was half undone, and her apron soaked as she furiously scrubbed at what looked like wine stains.

She hadn't noticed me yet. She just kept mumbling to herself between sobs.

"...They'll hang me if I don't finish… stupid bitches, all of them…"

I crouched a few feet from her. "Are you alright?"

She jerked, flinching as if I'd struck her. Her puffy eyes blinked through strands of hair, trying to place me. "Who…?"

I didn't answer. Just shifted closer and glanced at the fabric she was scrubbing—an enormous white cloth meant for a banquet table, stained dark red.

"I have to get these clean before sunrise," she whispered, voice shaking. "Some maids poured wine on them as a joke… because I... I called them out earlier when they messed up the glassware. Said I was a 'show-off rat from the provinces.' Now they've made sure I'll be punished."

She sniffled. "These are for the main imperial table. The dining hall is being decorated for tomorrow's festival. If they see them like this... I'll get lashes."

My chest tightened.

"Move," I said quietly.

She blinked. "Huh?"

"Move," I repeated, motioning her aside.

I rolled up my sleeves and grabbed the cloth. The cold water bit at my fingers, but I scrubbed in silence. Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she watched me in disbelief.

"You don't have to…" she started.

"Sit," I said simply.

She obeyed. For a few moments, all was silent but for the splash of water and the scrape of bristles.

Eventually, her sniffles lessened. Then—she talked.

"I'm Aera, by the way. I'm 19 years old and I'm from Derlyn, the river village west of here. You ever been?"

I didn't answer.

"Didn't think so. Nobody ever has," she said with a wry laugh. "Too small for maps. My uncle once said if the cows sneeze too loud, the whole village wakes up."

She chuckled at her own joke. Then: "What about you? Where are you from? You don't talk much, huh?"

I gave her a sidelong glance. She didn't seem to mind.

"Guess that means I can do all the talking. That's fine. I've been told I talk too much." She leaned back, swinging her legs over the edge of the basin. "What's your name, quiet one?"

Again, I said nothing.

But something about the way she didn't press—just smiled, just kept chatting about her annoying younger brother and how the stewardess had a stick up her ass—was oddly comforting. No one had spoken to me like this in years. Not since…

I forced that thought away.

Together, we worked through the last of the cloths. My hands stung. My back ached. But somehow, her presence made the night feel less heavy.

As the first hints of dawn turned the horizon lilac and gold, Aera wiped her hands on her apron and sighed in relief.

"I can't believe we did it. Thank you. Seriously. I owe you."

I just nodded, already turning to leave.

"Wait!" she called. I turned halfway, glancing at her over my shoulder. Her braid had fully unraveled now, her cheek still scratched, but she smiled. "I didn't even get your name."

I said nothing.

She tilted her head. "Mysterious, huh?" Then she laughed. "Fine. I'll find out eventually."

I slipped away into the shadows before she could say anything else.

And for the first time in what felt like years, I didn't feel completely alone.