The road away from the castle felt longer than Marco remembered. It wasn't just the distance that stretched him thin; it was the crushing weight of the silence that followed him. He clutched the torn piece of Lily's cardigan against his chest, the rough wool his only anchor to a reality that seemed determined to fray at the edges.
He walked through the outskirts of the capital, heading toward the nearby town where the streets were cobbled and the merchant stalls usually bustled with life. But tonight, the moon hung low and sickly yellow, casting long, distorted shadows that seemed to reach for his ankles. Ahead of him lay the Evergreen Way, a stretch of land that usually promised lush fields and open skies. But as he looked toward the horizon, the world seemed to glitch, the scenery tearing at the seams.
Standing just beyond the treeline, bathed in an ethereal, ghostly light, were Jeremy and his mother, Lily. They stood perfectly still, their figures translucent against the dark pines. Their eyes were locked on him. There was no malice in their gaze, only a heavy, suffocating weight of guilt. It was the look of those left behind, the look that asked silently why he had survived when they had not.
Marco stopped, his breath catching in his throat, turning to ice in his lungs. He took a step forward, his hand reaching out instinctively. He wanted to tell them he was sorry, that he wished he could trade places, that the guilt was eating him alive. But as he moved, they retreated. It was a cruel optical illusion, a trick of the light and his fractured mind. No matter how many steps he took, the distance between them grew. Farther and farther they drifted, fading into the mist like smoke in the wind.
He tried to run, his boots pounding against the dirt, his lungs burning. "Wait! Please!"
But his legs felt like lead, heavy and uncooperative. The exhaustion of his grief finally overcame him, and he collapsed onto the cold ground, his fingers digging into the earth, tearing at the grass.
"It's not fair," he screamed into the dirt, his voice cracking and raw. "Everything changed just because of Colden."
He blamed the King. He blamed the crown. He blamed the relentless march of fate that had ripped him from his simple life and dragged him into a world of crowns and bloodshed that had cost him everything. The anger was hot and sharp, a temporary shield against the crushing sadness. He pounded his fist against the ground, the physical pain a welcome distraction from the agony in his chest.
But then, the world around him shifted. The vast, misty expanse of the Evergreen Way dissolved like a waking dream. The silence of the forest vanished, replaced by the chaotic noise of the town market. The truth was far more mundane and far more cruel. He wasn't running through a haunted landscape; he was lying on the cobblestones of the town square, his face pressed against the cold, hard stone.
He pushed himself up, his knees trembling, and wiped the tears and grime from his face. A few passerby's had stopped, staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and disgust. They looked at him as if he were a madman raving in the street, a specter of scandal they wanted to avoid.
He stood up, dusting off his clothes, trying to regain some semblance of dignity. But the humiliation was far from over. A young boy, holding a wooden top, pointed a sticky finger at him and tugged on his mother's skirt.
"Mother, look!" the boy shouted, his voice piercing the quiet evening. "It's the bastard! The one who has bespelled the King!"
The mother turned, her eyes narrowing as she recognized him from the stories whispered in the taverns and the jeers at the coronation. She quickly grabbed her son's arm, pulling him close as if Marco carried a plague.
"Don't look at him," she hissed, her voice loud enough for Marco to hear. She turned her son's face away forcefully. "And never look him in the eye. He is filth. He is a disease."
The words stung, sharper than any blade. Marco lowered his head, turning away from their judgmental stares, and walked towards the place that had once been his sanctuary. He moved with a singular purpose now, ignoring the whispers that seemed to follow him like a swarm of bees.
The house—the old inn where he had grown up—loomed ahead. But as he approached, his heart sank. It wasn't the golden palace of his memories, glowing with warmth and the smell of baking bread. It was a rotting carcass. The white paint was peeling, curling like dead skin, revealing the grey, splintered wood underneath. The windows were clouded with grime, staring out like blind eyes. The garden, once Lily's pride, was overgrown with weeds and nettles. It was dusty and gloomy, a monument to his absence and his failure.
He pushed open the gate, the hinges groaning in protest, a rusty scream that echoed the pain in his soul. He stepped into the garden, the nettles brushing against his legs. He approached the front door, his heart hammering against his ribs. He saw movement inside, a flicker of shadow passing by the window. Someone was already there.
"Hello?" Marco called out, his voice trembling.
He stepped inside. The air was stale, smelling of mold and old secrets. The furniture was covered in white sheets, looking like shrouded ghosts. He took another step, the floorboards creaking under his weight. Suddenly, the atmosphere shifted violently. The temperature plummeted. The smell of the old house vanished, replaced by the metallic tang of blood and the sweet, cloying scent of burning lavender.
It was the Lavender estate all over again.
Marco gasped, stumbling back. He was transported back to the day of the attack. The walls seemed to bleed, the shadows lengthening into grasping hands. Terror gripped him, freezing his muscles. He turned to run back out the door, to escape the memory, but his feet wouldn't move. It was as if the house itself had swallowed him.
From the shadows of the hallway, a figure emerged. It was Jeremy. He looked exactly as he had in the forest—pale, his green hair dull, his neck bent at that sickening angle, his clothes stained with old blood.
"Are you still trying to run away from all of this?" Jeremy asked, his voice echoing unnaturally in the small space, sounding like wind through dead leaves.
"Please, don't," Marco pleaded, backing up until his back hit the wall. "I... I can't do this."
Then, from the darkness behind Jeremy, another figure stepped out. It was Lily. But she wasn't the warm, smiling mother he remembered. Her face was twisted in a grimace of cold hatred. She looked at him with eyes that held no love, only accusation.
"You should've just died that day," she said, her voice cutting through him like a knife. "You know that. It should have been you. Why are you the one standing here while my bones rot in the ground?"
Marco shook his head frantically, tears streaming down his face. "No, Mama... I tried... I tried to save you..."
Suddenly, the house seemed to come alive. The rotting wood of the walls began to peel away, and thick, thorny vines burst forth from the cracks. They slithered across the floor with terrifying speed, like snakes striking their prey. They wrapped around Marco's ankles, crawling up his shins, binding him to the spot.
He struggled, kicking his legs, but the vines pulled tight, thorns digging into his skin. They dragged him back, pinning him against the wall. He was trapped, suspended in his own personal hell.
Lily walked forward, a rusted knife glinting in her hand. She didn't hesitate. She didn't offer comfort. With a swift, brutal motion, she drove the blade through his palm, pinning it to the wooden wall behind him.
A scream tore from Marco's throat, raw and agonizing, but it felt distant, swallowed by the nightmare. The pain was blinding, white-hot and absolute.
Jeremy stood by her side, his eyes downcast, filled with guilt, yet he did nothing to stop her. He simply watched, a silent witness to Marco's torture, his own sorrow a mirror to Marco's pain.
"Please," Marco sobbed, his body going limp against the restraints, the blood from his hand dripping onto the floor. "Please... stop..."
The darkness closed in around him, the faces of his mother and Jeremy the last things he saw before his vision blurred and his body surrendered to the terror, collapsing into the nightmare that had become his reality.
To be continued.