The afternoon light bathed the path in molten gold as Amara walked away from the art hall, her thoughts swirling like leaves caught in the wind. Why did he vanish so suddenly? she wondered. Not a sound, not even a trace… The memory of that bronze-skinned man lingered like the scent of rain soft yet impossible to forget.
"Could he be… a ghost?" she whispered under her breath, then quickly laughed at her own thought. "That's ridiculous," she murmured, brushing her fingers through the curls of her black hair as a faint breeze carried the fragrance of blooming lilacs from the nearby garden. Still, a chill slipped down her spine, subtle but unmistakable.
As her boots pressed against the cobblestone path, the sound of birds fluttered above sparrows singing in playful harmony. The distant hum of the market faded behind her, replaced by the rustle of trees swaying gently in the wind. She paused for a moment, turning her gaze back toward the towering oak near the art hall. Its leaves shimmered in the sunlight, whispering secrets to the wind.
Her eyes softened. "Why does this place feel so familiar?" she said quietly, her voice trembling with curiosity.
And then like a whisper from somewhere beyond her thoughts the name came to her lips. "Severin…"
The name rolled off her tongue naturally, as though it had always belonged to her, tucked deep within the folds of her memory. Her brows furrowed. "Wait how do I even know that name?" she whispered. "Is that his name?" The question hung in the air unanswered, dissolving into the warm hum of the afternoon.
As her carriage waited by the stone steps, Amara stood still for a moment longer, staring at the distant figure of the tree glowing beneath the sun. "This is all so odd," she sighed. "First that dream… now this man who vanishes without a sound."
The scent of old parchment and oil paint drifted faintly from the art hall's open window, stirring something inside her chest. Should I tell Elyss about this? she thought, climbing gracefully into the carriage. The name of her old maid brought a strange unease Elyss, whose hands trembled when the clock was mentioned, whose face turned pale at the sound of midnight.
"No… I don't think so," she whispered to herself, gazing out of the carriage window as the horses began to move. The rhythmic clatter of hooves echoed across the stone path, blending with the quiet symphony of the countryside. "Father is always busy… maybe my friends will listen. I'll invite them for tea tomorrow. Yes, that would be nice."
The breeze slipped into the carriage, carrying the sweet scent of jasmine and freshly cut grass. Amara leaned back, resting her hand on the edge of the window, the golden sunlight washing over her pale skin. But no matter how she tried to dismiss it, the memory of the man's green eyes haunted her the way they seemed to pierce through her, calm yet filled with something unspoken.
"I must see him again," she whispered. "Just once more."
The horses neighed softly as they passed through the gate leading to her family's estate. The mansion stood tall in the distance, framed by fields of lavender swaying in the wind. Everything seemed peaceful, but Amara's heart carried a weight she couldn't name.
The world outside looked the same as always—noble banners fluttering in the breeze, villagers greeting the guards, the faint smell of bread baking from the nearby kitchens but to her, everything had shifted. Ever since that dream, ever since that clock… reality itself seemed thinner, more fragile.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the wind brush against her face. The sound of birds, the rhythm of the carriage wheels, and the whisper of leaves all blended into something strangely nostalgic like a half-forgotten lullaby from childhood.
"I'll visit again," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "I want to know who he is… and why he feels so familiar."
As the carriage rolled closer to the mansion, the great clock tower in the city's heart began to toll faintly in the distance. The echo of its chime reached her ears, soft yet haunting.
It was not midnight.
Yet still Amara shivered.
...
The mansion welcomed Amara with its familiar scent of polished oak and the faint sweetness of dried lavender woven into the curtains. As the carriage wheels slowed before the grand staircase, the sky had already begun to fade into a pale violet dusk. The last touch of sunlight brushed against the tall windows, setting the gold-rimmed glass aglow before surrendering to the shadows.
At the grand entrance stood Elyss, bowing with her usual grace.
"Welcome home, my Lady. How was your visit to the art hall?" she asked, her tone polite, though her eyes quietly searched Amara's face for something unspoken.
Amara paused before answering, brushing the hem of her dress as if to gather her thoughts. "It was… nice," she said softly. "The breeze there feels gentle today, and the sunlight it was perfect." Her voice trailed into a faint smile, as though she were remembering something that lingered just beyond words.
Elyss nodded, offering her arm as she guided Amara toward the grand dining room. Along the way, their footsteps echoed faintly against the marble floor, blending with the distant ticking of the hall clock. The air smelled faintly of roasted herbs and honeyed bread a meal already prepared for one.
"My Lady," Elyss said carefully, "shall I call for dinner to be served?"
"Yes, thank you," Amara replied. Her tone was polite, almost distant. As she took her seat at the long dining table, the candles flickered, their flames trembling in the draft that slipped through the window cracks. She looked down the table its endless stretch of silver and porcelain where no one sat but her. It had always been like this.
Her father's seat, draped in silence at the other end, was untouched.
Elyss stood nearby, watching discreetly as her lady ate with delicate patience. The clinking of cutlery was the only sound between them. Amara, as though wishing to escape that quiet, suddenly spoke.
"I would like to have a tea party tomorrow," she said, her eyes brightening a little. "With Clara, Elene, and perhaps the others too. It's been quite some time since we've gathered."
Elyss smiled faintly. "A lovely idea, my Lady. I shall make the arrangements at once."
Amara nodded. "And… I'd like to visit the art hall again tomorrow. I've grown rather fond of the place."
"As you wish," Elyss said gently, though something flickered in her gaze a thought quickly hidden behind her calm expression.
When dinner was finished, Elyss escorted her lady up the grand staircase. The halls were quieter now, save for the whisper of wind brushing against the ivy outside the tall windows. A few candles burned low, their wax dripping slowly onto silver holders, scenting the air faintly with beeswax and smoke.
Inside her room, Amara stood before the open balcony for a while, gazing into the moonlit garden below. The air was cool, carrying the fragrance of night-blooming jasmine. For a moment, she wondered if that mysterious man Severin, was it? was somewhere beneath the same sky. The thought made her chest tighten in a way she couldn't explain.
Elyss placed a small book on the bedside table. "Something light to read before sleep," she said softly, her voice as careful as the turning of a page.
"Thank you, Elyss."
"Goodnight, my Lady."
With that, Elyss closed the door behind her.
Once outside, her calm mask faded. She exhaled slowly, pressing a hand to her chest. The night was unnervingly quiet. Even the usual chirping of crickets seemed distant, as if the world itself held its breath.
Elyss made her way down the stairs, her shoes barely making a sound against the carpeted steps. She passed the long portraits of the family faces stern and proud until she reached the entrance hall once more.
The heavy front doors opened with a low creak.
A tall figure entered, his presence commanding the space before a word was spoken. It was Lord Varence the governor, Amara's father. His dark cloak brushed against the floor as he removed his gloves, his expression unreadable beneath the dim chandelier light.
"My Lord," Elyss greeted, bowing respectfully. "Welcome home."
He gave a short nod, his voice low and composed. "How is my daughter?"
For a moment, Elyss hesitated. Her eyes, calm but troubled, lifted to meet his. "She is well, my Lord," she said slowly. "But… there are things I believe you should know."
The governor's eyes darkened, his expression sharpening like the edge of a blade. The air between them grew heavy.
He straightened, his tone suddenly grave.
"Let's talk about it in my room."
And with that, the corridor fell silent again save for the faint rustle of his cloak and the creaking of the old floorboards, echoing into the dim heart of the mansion.