Chapter 8

6:32 a.m.

I stared at the screen for several seconds, hoping it would somehow tell me whether I'd slept peacefully or spent another night wandering through a palace that had no business occupying so much space in my head.

It offered nothing.

I dropped my phone onto the mattress and rubbed my eyes.

  "Wonderful. Another productive night of doing absolutely nothing."

My voice sounded rough with sleep.

I sat up, pushed the blanket aside, and reached for my notebook.

Then I stopped.

For a moment, I considered leaving it alone. I could get dressed, eat breakfast, and go about my day without recording another detail about the dreams. Perhaps that was what I needed: a little distance from the whole thing.

But curiosity had always been my greatest weakness.

I opened the notebook.

The previous night's notes stared back at me.

Seraphina, approximately fourteen.

Underground archive.

She wrote another message.

I turned to the next page and added a new line.

She was waiting for an answer.

I studied the sentence.

It looked harmless enough.

Unfortunately, it brought the entire dream back into focus: Seraphina standing beside the desk, her pen resting between her fingers, her expression changing as she waited for something that never came.

I closed the notebook.

  "Nope."

I placed it inside my drawer and got ready for university.

I was not going to spend another morning thinking about a girl who existed only in my sleep.

At least, that was what I kept telling myself.

Daniel was already in the kitchen when I arrived.

He stood beside the counter, examining a piece of toast with the grave expression of someone who had just discovered a serious flaw in its character.

I stopped at the doorway. "What did the poor toast do to you?"

He glanced at me. "It's burnt."

  "It's bread. I'm sure it will recover."

He looked at the toast again. "Your sympathy is overwhelming." He said sarcastically 

  "I try."

I took a seat, and he slid a plate toward me.

For a few minutes, we ate in comfortable silence. Daniel had always been good at that. He never felt the need to fill every quiet moment with conversation, and I appreciated it more than I usually admitted.

Eventually, he looked up. "What time will you be back?"

  "Probably around five. I have a lecture and then some work to finish."

  "All right. Let me know if you'll be late."

  "I will."

He returned to his breakfast.

I watched him briefly.

There were things about our parents' deaths that we rarely discussed. Not because we had forgotten them, but because grief had a strange way of becoming part of the furniture. It was always there, even when neither of us acknowledged it.

Daniel had taken on more responsibility than he should have needed to at his age. He worried about bills, meals, university schedules, and whether I was getting enough sleep.

Especially that last one.

If he knew how much of my sleep had recently been occupied by a mysterious princess, he would probably insist on taking me to a doctor.

I couldn't blame him.

I wouldn't have believed myself either.

  "You're staring," he said.

I immediately looked down at my plate. "I was thinking."

  "That's usually when I worry." He said 

  "About what?"

  "Whatever you're thinking about." He said deadpan 

I laughed.

He smiled faintly and returned to his tea.

For the rest of breakfast, I concentrated on eating.

There was no reason to involve Daniel in something I couldn't explain.

Not yet.

By lunchtime, I'd almost forgotten about the dreams.

Almost, at least 

I was sitting outside one of the university buildings, trying to finish an assignment before my next lecture, when a sentence from the previous night suddenly returned to me.

Whoever you are, I hope you can hear me.

I stopped writing.

The words had been so clear in the dream that I could remember exactly how Seraphina had formed each letter.

I frowned at my paper.

Why that sentence?

Why had my mind chosen to end the dream with those particular words?

Perhaps I'd encountered a similar phrase somewhere. A film, a novel, a conversation I couldn't remember. The brain collected an extraordinary amount of information, and dreams could combine it in unexpected ways.

That was a reasonable explanation.

I liked reasonable explanations.

They made the world feel less like a place where ordinary things could suddenly become impossible.

I resumed writing.

A few minutes later, my phone vibrated.

A message from my friend appeared.

#Are you coming to the library today?#

I replied that I would meet her after my lecture.

Then I put my phone away and finished the assignment.

I wasn't going to let a dream interfere with my education.

I had enough problems without adding imaginary royal correspondence to the list.

The library was quieter than it had been the previous day.

My friend had already claimed our usual table. Several books were arranged in front of her, and she was staring at her laptop with the kind of concentration normally reserved for solving crimes.

I sat opposite her. "Should I call the authorities?"

She didn't look up. "Not unless they can explain this assignment."

I laughed and took out my materials.

We worked for nearly an hour before she leaned back and stretched.

  "Have you been sleeping better?" She asked 

My pen paused. "Why?"

  "Because yesterday you looked like you'd been awake all night." She said 

  "I was tired."

  "That wasn't an answer."

I gave her a look.

She grinned. "Fine. Keep your secrets."

I returned to my notes, relieved that she hadn't pressed the question.

Then she said, "Actually, I had a strange dream last night."

I looked up before I could stop myself. "What kind of dream?"

She shrugged. "Nothing serious. I was in an airport, but all the departure boards had my name on them. Then I missed a flight to somewhere I'd never heard of."

  "That sounds inconvenient."

  "It was. I spent the entire dream arguing with a man who insisted I couldn't board because my suitcase was too small."

I laughed. "What did you do?"

  "Woke up. I wasn't going to spend my sleep arguing with imaginary airport staff."

I smiled and returned to my work.

Her dream was ridiculous, but it reminded me of something important.

People had strange dreams all the time.

They dreamed about impossible places, unfamiliar people, and events that made no sense. Sometimes they remembered them vividly. Sometimes they forgot everything before breakfast.

There was no reason mine had to be different.

I decided that was the explanation I would accept.

For the remainder of the afternoon, I concentrated on my studies.

I even managed to forget about the underground archive until I returned home.

Daniel was on the couch when I entered the apartment.

A book rested in one hand, and the television played quietly in the background.

He glanced up. "You're home."

  "No, I've been replaced by a remarkably convincing stranger."

  "Does the stranger know how to cook?" He said 

  "Unfortunately, no."

  "Then I suppose I'll keep you." He said 

I dropped my bag beside the couch. "What are we eating?"

  "Whatever you decide to make." He said 

I stared at him.

He turned a page. "That was a joke." He said looking worried that i will actually try that.

  "It wasn't funny."

  "You laughed." He said 

  "Out of pity."

He smiled without looking up.

I went into the kitchen and began warming dinner.

The ordinary sounds of the apartment settled around me: the tap running, a cupboard closing, Daniel occasionally muttering at something he was reading.

It was comforting.

Nothing unusual happened.

Nothing strange appeared in the corners of my vision.

No mysterious messages arrived from another world.

For several hours, I was simply Elena, university student, reluctant cook, and younger sister to a man who considered burnt toast a personal betrayal.

I wanted more evenings like that.

Even if I couldn't explain why, I had begun to feel that my dreams were taking something from me.

Not my memories.

Not exactly my sleep.

Something harder to describe.

The feeling that my own life was entirely my own.

I didn't want to lose that.

So after dinner, I watched television with Daniel, complained about his choice of programme, and went to bed at a reasonable hour.

I didn't open my notebook.

I didn't review my notes.

I didn't try to remember Seraphina's face.

I turned off the light and closed my eyes.

And eventually, I fell asleep.

I was standing in a corridor.

Not the underground archive.

Not the palace garden.

A corridor I had never seen before.

Tall windows lined one wall, their narrow panes revealing a darkening sky. Portraits hung between the windows, their painted subjects dressed in elaborate clothing.

The floor was polished stone.

Somewhere nearby, a clock chimed.

I counted the notes without thinking.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Six.

Then silence.

I looked toward the end of the corridor.

A door stood slightly open.

Warm light spilled through the gap.

I approached it.

Inside was a small sitting room, furnished with upholstered chairs, a writing desk, and a tall cabinet filled with books.

Seraphina sat beside the window.

She looked about fourteen again. 

Her hair had been braided loosely, and she wore a dark blue dress with sleeves that reached her wrists.

A book lay open on her lap.

She wasn't reading.

She was looking out of the window.

I followed her gaze.

Beyond the palace gardens, the city of Aurelia stretched beneath the evening sky. Buildings with steep roofs clustered around narrow streets, and the distant towers caught the last traces of sunlight.

It was beautiful.

But Seraphina didn't seem interested in the view.

She turned a page in her book.

Then another.

Finally, she sighed.

  "If you're going to remain silent, you could at least give me something interesting to read." Seraphina said 

I looked around.

There was nobody else in the room.

She wasn't speaking to a servant.

She was speaking to the book?

I stared at her genuinely confused 

  "You're arguing with a book now?"

She couldn't hear me, of course.

Seraphina closed it and placed it on the table.

For a moment, she sat perfectly still.

Then she reached into a small drawer and removed a folded sheet of paper.

She unfolded it carefully.

I couldn't read the writing from where I stood.

She studied the page, her expression growing more serious.

Then she picked up a pen and wrote something beneath the existing words.

She folded the paper again.

I watched her slip it between the pages of the book.

A knock sounded at the door.

Seraphina immediately stood. "Come in."

A girl entered carrying a tray.

Oh it.was mira from the last 2 dreams or maybe 3,(shrugged) i don't remember. 

She placed the tray on the table. "Your supper"

Seraphina glanced at the plate. "Is that all?"

Mira folded her arms. "Would you prefer me to persuade the kitchen to prepare an entirely new meal?"

Seraphina considered the suggestion. "Could you?"

  "No." Mira said deadpan 

  "Then why did you ask?"

  "I didn't ask. You did." Mira said smugly 

Seraphina's lips twitched.

Mira sighed and began arranging the dishes.

I watched them with interest.

Mira glanced at the book on the table. "You're still reading that?"

  "Occasionally."

  "You've been carrying it around for weeks." Mira said 

  "It's an interesting book."

  "What's it about?" Mira asked 

Seraphina hesitated.

Then she answered, "A place that doesn't exist."

Mira stared at her. "That's helpful."

  "I thought so."

  "Is it a story?" Mira asked 

  "Perhaps."

Mira narrowed her eyes. "You're hiding something."

Seraphina looked genuinely offended. "Me?"

  "Yes, you." Mira said rolling her eyes.

  "I am a princess. Hiding things is practically a royal responsibility."

Mira gave her a flat look. “Your father would disagree."

  "My father disagrees with most of my decisions."

  "Perhaps because most of your decisions involve going somewhere you're forbidden to go."

Seraphina smiled.

Mira shook her head.

I found myself smiling too.

It was strangely comforting to see her behaving like an ordinary teenager with a crazy friend. 

She had responsibilities, friends, and people who complained about her habits.

Whatever mysteries surrounded the palace, she still had a life beyond them.

Mira picked up the empty tray.

  "Eat your supper before i stuff it in you mouth." Mira said acting serious

  "Yes, Mira." Seraphina said acting scared

Mira paused at the door. "And stop hiding books in places where you're not supposed to hide them."

Seraphina's expression changed.

Only slightly.

But I noticed.

Mira noticed too.

She looked at the book again, then back at Seraphina.

  "What have you found?"

  "Nothing."

  "Seraphina."

Seraphina looked down.

For a moment, neither girls spoke.

Then Mira stepped back into the room and quietly closed the door.

  "Does your father know?" Mira asked 

Seraphina shook her head. 

  "Does anyone?" Mira asked 

  "No."

Mira glanced at the book. "Then perhaps you should tell someone before you get yourself into trouble."

Seraphina gave a small, humourless laugh."That's precisely what I'm trying to avoid."

Mira didn't respond immediately.

Instead, she sat on the edge of the chair opposite Seraphina.

  "Is it dangerous?" She asked 

Seraphina looked toward the window. "I don't know."

It was the first honest answer she'd given.

Mira studied her for a moment.

Then she nodded.

  "All right."

Seraphina looked at her. "All right?"

  "I'm not going to force you to tell me something you aren't ready to explain." Mira said 

Seraphina seemed surprised.

  "But," Mira continued, "if you're going to do something foolish, at least tell me before you do it. I'm your best friend for god sake.

Seraphina smiled faintly. "I'll consider it."

Mira stood and reached for the door.

Before leaving, she turned around. "Seraphina?"

  "Yes?"

  "Whatever you've found, be careful."Mira said 

Seraphina nodded.

Mira left.

The door clicked shut.

For several seconds, Seraphina remained seated.

Then she picked up the book and opened it to the folded paper.

She unfolded the sheet.

This time, I could see the writing.

It was a question.

Are you still there?

My breath caught.

I stared at the page.

Seraphina took up her pen.

She waited, looking at the empty space beneath the question.

Then she added another line.

I don't know who you are, but I would like to know.

She set down the pen.

The room was quiet.

Outside, the last sunlight disappeared behind the rooftops.

Seraphina remained beside the window, waiting.

I wanted to tell her something.

Anything.

I wanted to tell her that I had seen her in the archive, that I remembered the messages she'd written, and that I had no idea how any of this was possible.

But sadly she couldn't hear me

I could only watch.

After a while, Seraphina folded the paper and returned it to the book.

She closed the cover.

Then she stood, crossed the room, and placed the book inside the cabinet.

She locked it.

The key disappeared into the pocket of her dress.

Whatever she was searching for, she wasn't willing to leave it lying around.

She extinguished the lamp and left the room.

I remained beside the window.

The city outside had grown dark.

One by one, lights appeared in the distant buildings.

I watched them until the dream began to fade.

I woke to the sound of my alarm.

For several seconds, I lay motionless.

Then I sat up and reached for my phone.

6:30 a.m.

I switched off the alarm and rubbed my eyes.

The dream remained clear in my mind.

Seraphina.

Mira.

The sitting room.

The book.

And the question. Are you still there?

I stared at the wall.

  "All right," I whispered. "That's new."

I reached for my notebook.

This time, I didn't try to convince myself that the dream had been unimportant.

I simply wrote down what I'd seen.

I recorded the conversation between Seraphina and Mira, the book hidden inside the cabinet, and the message on the folded paper.

Then I paused.

I had noticed something.

In the earlier dreams, Seraphina had written messages in the underground archive.

Now she was carrying them somewhere else.

She had hidden the book.

Locked it away.

And returned to it in private.

Why?

Perhaps she was afraid someone would discover what she was doing.

Perhaps the messages were connected to something forbidden.

Or perhaps I was trying to build a mystery out of ordinary details again.

I closed the notebook.

I didn't know the answer.

I didn't even know whether the questions mattered.

But I knew one thing.

I could no longer pretend that I wasn't curious.

I had tried ignoring the dreams.

I'd tried treating them as meaningless fragments of sleep.

Neither approach had changed anything.

So I would do what I always did when something refused to make sense.

I would pay attention.

Not because I believed the dreams were real.

Not because I thought I had some special connection to a princess.

But because, for reasons I couldn't explain, I wanted to understand what I was seeing.

I got out of bed and began preparing for the day.

Outside my window, the morning was bright and ordinary.

And somewhere in my memory, a girl in a blue dress was locking a book inside a cabinet, carrying a question she had no way of answering.

I wondered what she would write next.

Then I shook my head and went to find breakfast.

I had university to attend.

Whatever happened in my dreams could wait until night.

For once, I hoped it would.