"Why have I been brought here?" I asked.
I didn't expect an answer, and I didn't get one. I risked a glance down, hoping my question would distract her while I looked around. The drop was too far for me to try to escape. Even if I'd managed to escape, where would I go? How far would I get in a foreign country without money, identification, or means to return home? I stifled a sob as the hopelessness of my situation hit me once again.
"I just want to go home, Seraphina. You have a home, too. Don't you understand how I feel? My mum will be frantic by now.”
Seraphina approached and gathered me in an embrace. I appreciated her warmth. Still, it was little comfort as I pondered a future full of unknowns.
"Come and sit with me. You look exhausted."
She didn’t ask about my mum. She didn’t need to. Her silence felt deliberate, neither dismissive nor uninterested, but steady, as if she understood more than she revealed.
Still, she offered no explanation as she led me back inside toward a satin floral daybed, which was piled high with beautifully embroidered cushions.
“Why have I been brought here, Seraphina?” I asked once more.
We nestled against the cushions while she held me in her arms and stroked my tangled hair. I pulled away from her slightly. I didn't want her comfort; I wanted answers. She smiled almost sadly at me.
"You must calm down. I know today has filled your heart with fear. You don't know what's happened, and you don't know what will happen. Understand, you'll be treated with respect in this house."
She cupped my chin and raised my eyes to hers. Her eyes shifted like a kaleidoscope.
"There are far worse places in the universe than here."
I wondered about those worse places, but my curiosity and fear slowly ebbed as Seraphina cradled me in her arms. The situation seemed unbelievable, and, for a moment, I might have imagined I was dreaming had I not heard her heartbeat against my ear.
I so badly wanted to resist her comfort, but it was getting harder and harder to stay strong when faced with Seraphina's peaceful air.
I thought about my Mum. I missed her terribly. Somehow, I knew I might never see her again. My only connection to my family was my rose hair clasp, a gift from my mother for my nineteenth birthday. Glumly, I wondered what had happened to my phone and the photos stored on it and grieved for the memories irretrievably lost.
"Go refresh yourself, Tilly," Seraphina urged gently, her hand on my shoulder a weight meant to comfort but felt like an anchor, pulling me deeper into this alien reality. "You'll feel better. We'll talk more after you've rested."
I opened my mouth to argue, but I knew it would only be stubbornness, making me resist. I had already seen how Seraphina reacted when her authority was challenged, and it would be reckless to risk herrageover something so mundane.
NINE
QUESTIONING FATE
Irose and walked past the French doors, stepping into a palatial room that resembled a spa. Tiered spillways fed into a vast circular marble tub, which was flanked by candles and an exotic array of salts and toiletries. To the side, I noticed a frosted cubicle reminiscent of a steam room. Wonderful fragrances drifted from perfume bottles displayed on a large marble counter, which held three basins fed by swan-shaped taps.
My eyes drifted to the oval, gilt-edged mirror above the basins. I couldn’t help feel the mirror was off.
As I eased myself into the steaming bath, surrounded by the opulent luxury of the marble-clad room, a wave of unease rippled through me, subtle at first, then insistent. The steam from the bath thickened, curling upward in slow, deliberate coils. The mirror blurred, then sharpened, then blurred again, like it was trying to decide whether I was real or just a memory struggling to take shape.
I stared, horrified, at the dirt-smudged face that looked back at me. My swollen, mascara-smeared eyes seemed unfamiliar, as if they belonged to someone else. My auburn hair hung in a tangled mess past my shoulders, partially veiling the scars I always tried to forget. But it wasn’t just the reflection, it was the shimmer at the edge of the glass. A flicker, then a shadow shifted behind me.
I turned quickly. It was nothing, just steam, I told myself. But I knew what I saw. Or thought I saw. I need to get a grip and stop being paranoid, I reassured myself. It’s my imagination. It must be. But it felt like a hot breath exhaled on my face,
The steam curled upward in delicate tendrils, cloaking my reflection as if trying to erase me or maybe protect me from something I wasn’t ready to see. I blinked hard trying to straighten my thoughts.
“Am I losing touch with reality?” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the gentle trickle of water. I sank deeper into the fragrant bubbles, the warmth of the water enveloping me like a cocoon. But cocoons aren’t safe, they’re transitional. They signify change. They mean something is coming.
Instead of offering solace, the feeling only intensified my sense of disquiet. “These thoughts… they’re like fragments of a dream,” I murmured quietly, my thoughts drifting aimlessly through the haze of steam. “But dreams aren’t supposed to feel alive. What if I’ve crossed some invisible boundary and slipped into a world of my own making?”
I reached for the edge of the tub, fingers slick with oil and traced the marble grain like it was a map. I needed to remember this room. Its layout. Its exits. I needed to remember every detail about this manor.
The silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the rhythmic beat of my own heart. I closed my eyes, willing myself to find some semblance of clarity amidst the chaos of my thoughts.But the harder I tried to grasp onto reality, the further it seemed to slip from my grasp.
Perhaps I am starting to become like my real dad. Maybe I’ve always been this way and just hadn’t noticed until now. A flicker of self-doubt crept in. I’ve been pretending for months that this is normal, acting like everyone else sees shadows in mirrors and hears whispers in the walls.
