What the Night Brought Back
I was screaming.
But I couldn't hear my own voice.
The air tasted like copper.
And my body—
My body wasn't mine.
---
There were women.
Draped in red silks so thin they clung to blood and nothing else.
Their mouths moved in patterns I didn't understand.
Words too sharp for this world.
Too hungry.
They circled me slowly.
Their feet didn't touch the ground.
Their eyes didn't blink.
---
One knelt behind me and dipped her fingers in something thick and black.
She began carving symbols into my back.
Not with a knife.
Not with ink.
With her hands.
Her fingers pressed through skin like it was paper.
I couldn't move.
I could feel every stroke.
The runes glowed as she wrote.
---
Then came the others.
Bodies. Naked. Moving. Merging. Tangled in rhythm.
A sea of flesh and shadow and moans.
Not passion.
Ritual.
Like they weren't making love but feeding something.
And it was watching.
And it wanted more.
---
Above us, there was no sky.
Just a ceiling of cracked black stone carved with mirrors that showed things I didn't want to see.
And every time I blinked—
My reflection changed.
Delmira.
Elira.
Neither.
Both.
I was there.
I was screaming.
I was part of it.
And I was willing.
---
I woke up choking.
Sweat soaked through the sheets. My throat burned. My skin felt flayed raw beneath my nightdress.
My hands trembled as I pressed them against my face — trying to remember who I was.
Who I wasn't.
---
Pain Conversion:63%
System dormant.
Ashbind reaction: SHARD resonance spiking.
No skill unlocked.
---
The shard on my desk had cracked.
Just slightly.
A thin vein of red pulsed through its core.
It hadn't done that before.
---
Someone knocked.
Twice. Sharp.
Clarisse. Of course.
"Wake up, Lady Elira," she called. "You're summoned."
I didn't move.
Another knock.
"I said up. The palace sent for you. There's to be a gathering tonight — masks and silks. No one wants to see your nightmares on your face."
Nightmares.
She had no idea.
---
I washed quickly and dressed slower.
My skin still crawled.
The runes felt real.
My back ached like they'd been carved last night.
But the mirror showed nothing.
No scars.
No blood.
No proof.
Only my face. Pale. Too pale.
And eyes that now carried shadows I couldn't name.
---
The carriage ride to the palace felt quieter than usual.
Even the city streets didn't feel alive.
The closer we drew to the palace, the heavier the silence became.
Like something waited in the stones for me to return.
---
The masquerade wasn't a public event.
Private. Political.
Masks of gold and black.
Perfumes so thick they clung to breath.
Music with no melody.
It wasn't celebration.
It was a test.
Everyone watching. Smiling. Guessing.
And I stood by the wall, hands clasped, eyes lowered.
A shadow in lace.
A ghost they didn't yet recognize.
---
Until one of them did.
A woman in a black swan mask. Older. Regal.
She passed me by once.
Paused.
Turned back.
And then… she curtsied.
Not mockingly.
Not as a joke.
But low. Full. Formal.
Like she was before a queen.
And whispered:
"Your Majesty… you wore red that night too."
---
I didn't breathe for five full seconds.
When I looked up, she was gone.
Melted into the crowd like smoke.
But her voice stayed in my bones.
And the shard in my pocket pulsed — again and again.
As if remembering that night.
That room.
Those runes.