Chapter 9

Not because I expected the words to have changed overnight. I wasn't completely losing my mind.

At least, I hoped not.

I had left the notebook open on my desk the previous night, intending to write down a few additional details before going to sleep. Instead, I had spent twenty minutes arguing with myself about whether recording my dreams was a sensible way to understand them or an excellent way to encourage myself to become obsessed.

Eventually, I had decided that a notebook was cheaper than a therapist.

I wasn't sure that was sound reasoning, but it had been enough to get me to bed.

Now, with the morning sunlight creeping through my curtains, I pulled the notebook toward me and read the last thing I had written.

Are you still there?

Beneath it, I had added a second line.

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

I stared at the words.

There was something uncomfortable about seeing them written in my own handwriting. Not because I had written them, but because I hadn't.

Seraphina had.

I rubbed my forehead and shut the notebook.

  "Good morning to you too, imaginary princess."

My stomach growled.

I looked down at it.

  "Yes, I'm getting to that."

I got dressed, tucked the notebook into my drawer, and went to the kitchen.

Daniel was standing in front of the refrigerator, holding a carton of milk and examining its label.

I paused.

  "Please tell me you're not having another argument with breakfast."

He looked over his shoulder. "I'm checking the expiry date."

  "And here I thought you were developing a personal vendetta against dairy products."

  "Would you prefer I serve you expired milk?" He asked 

I considered it. "Depends. Is it expensive?"

Daniel slowly lowered the carton. "Sometimes I wonder how you survived before I started cooking for you."

  "I had a strong survival instinct."

  "You once put an empty kettle on the stove." Daniel said 

  "That was an experiment."

  "An experiment in what? Creating smoke?" Daniel asked 

I pulled out a chair and sat down. "Are we eating, or are you planning to continue insulting my scientific achievements?"

He shook his head, but I caught the small smile tugging at his mouth.

Breakfast passed much as it usually did. Daniel complained about a bill he had received, I complained about a lecturer who seemed to believe students had no lives outside his classroom, and we argued over who had finished the last of the bread.

It was ordinary.

Comfortably, wonderfully ordinary.

And yet, halfway through my tea, I found myself thinking about a locked cabinet in a palace I had never visited.

I imagined Seraphina waking that morning, remembering the question she had written the previous evening. Would she check the book before breakfast? Would she wait until Mira had left her alone? Or would she decide that she had been foolish and tear the page out?

I put my cup down.

This was ridiculous.

I didn't know the girl. I didn't know her circumstances, her family, or why she was writing messages in a book. For all I knew, the entire thing was a bizarre construction of my imagination, assembled from fragments of history documentaries and novels I had read years ago.

There was no reason to wonder what she would do next.

  "Elena?"

I looked up.

Daniel was watching me.

  "Sorry?"

  "I asked whether you wanted me to pick up anything on my way home." Daniel said 

  "Oh. No, I don't think so."

  "You don't think so?" Daniel asked 

  "I mean, no. I'm fine."

He studied me for a moment, then nodded. "All right."

I returned to my tea.

I could feel his attention lingering, but he didn't question me further. Daniel had a way of noticing when something was bothering me without necessarily demanding an explanation. Sometimes, that was a relief.

Other times, it made keeping secrets considerably more difficult.

University was busy enough to distract me for most of the morning.

I attended my lectures, took notes, and spent an unreasonable amount of time trying to understand a section of an assignment that seemed to have been written specifically to ruin my afternoon.

By the time I met my friend outside the cafeteria, I had almost convinced myself that the dream had been nothing more than an unusually vivid experience.

Almost.

She was sitting at one of the outdoor tables, scrolling through her phone with a bottle of water beside her. When she saw me, she lifted her head.

  "Finally." She said 

I checked the time. "I'm just two minutes late."

  "Two minutes is a long time when a person is hungry." She said seriously 

  "You could have started eating."

  "And miss the opportunity to complain about you? Never." She said 

I dropped into the chair opposite her. "Your dedication to friendship is inspiring."

  "I know. You should be grateful." She said, while laughing 

I laughed too and reached for my bag.

We ordered food, exchanged complaints about our coursework, and spent several minutes discussing a lecturer whose habit of announcing surprise tests had become a personal threat to our peace.

For a while, I was entirely present.

Then my friend mentioned a book she had borrowed from the university library.

  "It's actually quite interesting," she said, stirring her drink. "It's about a historian who discovers that an entire kingdom has been removed from historical records."

My hand stopped halfway to my mouth.

She didn't notice.

  "Apparently, every record of the place disappears over time. Maps, documents, even references in other people's journals. The historian spends the whole book trying to prove that the kingdom existed."

I lowered my hand. "What book is that?"

She frowned thoughtfully. "I can't remember the title. Something about a lost kingdom, I think. I only read the first few pages."

I forced myself to take a bite of food. "Sounds interesting."

  "Doesn't it? Imagine discovering that an entire country existed and nobody remembered it." She said 

  "That would be difficult to explain."

  "Exactly. How do you lose a whole country?" She said 

I shrugged. "Bad record-keeping?"

She gave me a look. "An entire country, Elena."

  "I heard you the first time."

  "Sometimes I genuinely worry about you." She said playfully 

  "That's touching."

She laughed and returned to her food.

I tried to do the same.

It was only a book. A story about a lost kingdom wasn't particularly unusual. Writers had been inventing forgotten civilizations for centuries, and historians regularly argued about places whose existence remained uncertain.

There was no reason to connect her description to Aurelia.

No reason at all.

Still, I found myself wondering whether the book she had borrowed contained a reference to the kingdom in my dreams.

I hated that my mind had immediately gone there.

By the time we finished eating, I had decided not to ask any more questions. I wasn't going to turn an ordinary conversation into another investigation.

I had enough unanswered questions already.

That afternoon, I visited the university library.

I told myself I was there to find a reference for my assignment.

This was technically true.

It was simply not the only reason.

The library was cool and quiet, with tall shelves stretching across the far end of the room. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, falling across the reading tables in long, pale rectangles. A few students occupied the seats near the windows, while others moved between the shelves with the distracted expressions of people searching for something they should have found twenty minutes earlier.

I collected the books I needed for my assignment and settled at a table.

For nearly forty minutes, I worked without interruption.

Then I noticed the history section across the aisle.

I stared at it.

  "No," I whispered.

A student passing behind me glanced over.

I immediately lowered my head.

  "Talking to myself," I muttered. "Completely normal."

The student continued walking.

I sighed and returned to my work.

Five minutes later, I stood up.

I would have liked to claim that curiosity was a force beyond my control, but that would have been an exaggeration. I could have remained in my chair. I could have finished my assignment and gone home.

Instead, I walked to the history section.

The shelves contained books on ancient civilizations, royal families, lost settlements, and the occasional historical mystery whose title seemed designed to make ordinary people believe the author had discovered something extraordinary.

I scanned the spines.

Ancient Kingdoms of the Eastern Lands.

Royal Houses and Forgotten Dynasties.

The Disappearance of Early Civilizations.

Nothing.

I moved to the next shelf.

There were books about medieval architecture, old trade routes, and the political history of several regions I had studied before. I examined their titles one by one, feeling increasingly foolish.

What exactly was I expecting to find?

Aurelia: The Kingdom That Apparently Lives Inside Elena's Dreams?

I almost laughed.

Then a dark green spine caught my attention.

Unrecorded Kingdoms: The Gaps in Our History.

I pulled the book from the shelf.

It was thicker than I expected, with worn corners and a faint crease running down the centre of its cover. The author's name was printed in small gold letters beneath the title.

I opened it.

The first few chapters discussed civilizations that had left behind incomplete records, settlements whose names had changed over time, and historical accounts that contradicted one another.

Nothing unusual.

I flipped through several pages.

A map appeared near the middle of the book. It showed an old network of trade routes, with small kingdoms marked along the edges of a vast region.

I examined the names.

None of them looked familiar.

I turned another page.

There was a photograph of an old stone inscription. The accompanying text discussed the difficulty of interpreting damaged records when only fragments survived.

I read the paragraph twice.

Then I closed the book.

This was pointless.

Even if I found the word Aurelia somewhere, what would that prove? Names could repeat. Fictional kingdoms could borrow details from real ones. A familiar word wouldn't mean anything.

I returned the book to the shelf.

I had barely turned away when I noticed something on the next shelf.

A narrow volume had been pushed behind two larger books. Only a portion of its cover was visible, and the title had faded so badly that I could barely read it.

I pulled it out.

Unlike the others, it had no printed illustration. The cover was plain brown, with a small library label attached near the bottom.

The title read: Fragments of Royal Correspondence: Selected Translations.

I opened it to the contents page.

The book was a collection of translated letters, copied inscriptions, and surviving passages from private documents belonging to various royal households. Most of the entries were brief. Some consisted of only a few lines, accompanied by notes about the uncertain origins of the original texts.

I began turning pages.

I wasn't looking for anything in particular now. I was merely curious about the collection.

Then I came across a heading that made my fingers go still.

The Aurelian Records.

I read it again.

Aurelian.

Not Aurelia.

The similarity could have been coincidental. It probably was.

I turned to the page.

The entry was short. It described several damaged fragments believed to have originated from an unidentified royal household. The language suggested that the documents had once been part of a larger collection, but the original source had not been established.

Beneath the paragraph was a translated passage.

The western archive remains sealed by order of the crown. No further correspondence is to be permitted until the matter has been reviewed.

I stared at it.

Western archive.

The words sent a faint chill through me, though I couldn't have explained why.

There were archives in countless historical accounts. There were royal orders, sealed rooms, forbidden collections, and families that had kept secrets from their subjects. None of those things belonged exclusively to the palace in my dreams.

I read the passage again.

There was nothing about a princess. Nothing about a mysterious book. Nothing about messages crossing between worlds.

I was making connections because I wanted there to be connections.

That was all.

I turned the page.

A footnote explained that the collection's compiler had been unable to determine the exact location of the royal household. Several names appeared to have been altered, and the documents were too incomplete to support any firm conclusion.

I frowned.

Then I checked the publication date.

The book had been published decades ago.

I looked at the library label, memorizing the call number so I could find it again if I wanted to.

I wasn't sure why I wanted to.

Before I could read further, someone approached the end of the aisle.

  "Excuse me?"

I turned.

A librarian stood a few feet away, holding a small stack of books.

  "Are you using that one?" The librarian asked

I looked down at the volume in my hands."Sorry. Yes. Well, I was just looking through it."

She nodded toward the shelf. "If you're going to continue reading, you can take it to a table. Just make sure you return it to the trolley when you're finished."

  "Of course."

I carried the book back to my table.

For the next fifteen minutes, I read the remaining pages of the entry, but they offered little more than what I had already seen. A few translated fragments, several uncertain dates, and a note suggesting that further research might clarify the origins of the documents.

Nothing conclusive.

Nothing that explained why a kingdom in my dreams seemed to echo a name buried in a real book.

Eventually, I shut the volume and checked the time.

I had spent almost an hour in the history section.

My assignment was still unfinished.

I pressed my fingers against my forehead. 

  "Excellent work, Elena. Truly outstanding."

I returned the book to the trolley and went back to my original table.

This time, I forced myself to finish the assignment.

I didn't open another history book.

I didn't search for the name Aurelia on my phone.

And when I finally left the library, I made a deliberate effort not to think about the Aurelian records.

The effort lasted until I reached the bus stop.

Then I thought about them again.

Daniel was home when I returned to the apartment.

He was standing at the kitchen counter, chopping vegetables, with music playing softly from his phone.

I dropped my bag near the dining table. 

  "Something smells good."

  "That's because I'm cooking." Daniel said,not looking at Elena. 

  "Your humility continues to amaze me."

He glanced at me. "Did you finish your assignment?"

I hesitated. "Mostly."

  "Mostly?" Daniel asked 

  "I'm planning to finish the rest tonight."

He gave me a suspicious look. "Did you spend the afternoon doing something else?"

  "No."

The answer came out too quickly.

Daniel stopped chopping.

I stared at him.

He stared at me.

A long silence followed.

Finally, I sighed.

  "Fine. I may have spent a little time in the library reading something unrelated to my assignment."

  "What were you reading?"

I could have told him the truth.

I could have said that I had found a book containing a reference to an obscure royal household, and that the name had reminded me of a kingdom I had been dreaming about.

But the words sounded absurd even inside my head.

  "A history book," I said.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. "You voluntarily read a history book that wasn't assigned to you?"

  "Don't sound so shocked. I contain multitudes."

  "I'm beginning to suspect some of them are deeply concerning." 

I laughed and went to wash my hands.

He returned to chopping the vegetables.

For a moment, I considered telling him about the book.

Not the dreams. Not yet.

Just the entry I had found.

But what would I say?

Daniel, I think I might have found a reference to a kingdom that appears in my dreams, although the reference is incomplete and could easily be a coincidence.

He would ask why I had been searching for it.

I would have to explain the dreams.

Then he would ask whether I had been sleeping properly, whether I was stressed, and whether I had been eating enough.

I could already imagine the conversation.

I decided to keep quiet.

Dinner was ready half an hour later. We ate at the table, discussing his day and the minor disaster that had occurred at his workplace when someone had apparently mistaken an important document for scrap paper.

I laughed at the story, and for a while, the history book slipped from my thoughts.

After dinner, I helped him clear the dishes.

Then I sat on the couch while he returned to his book.

The television played in the background, but neither of us was paying much attention to it.

  "Daniel?"

He looked up. "Hmm?"

  "Have you ever heard of a place that existed, but nobody remembered it?"

He lowered his book slightly. "What do you mean?"

I picked at a loose thread on the cushion. 

  "Just a place that disappeared from history. Not physically disappeared, necessarily. I mean, what if there were records of a kingdom, but the records were incomplete, and eventually people stopped believing the kingdom had ever existed?"

Daniel considered the question. "That's possible, isn't it? History isn't a perfect record of everything that happened."

  "So you think an entire kingdom could be forgotten?"

  "Forgotten by whom?" Daniel asked 

I looked at him.

He placed his bookmark between the pages.

  "People lose records. Libraries burn. Documents get destroyed. Names change. Sometimes one civilization builds over another, and later generations don't know what was there before. But forgetting something and proving it never existed are two different things."

I was quiet.

He studied my expression. "Why are you asking?"

I looked away. "I read something today."

  "About a lost kingdom?" Daniel asked 

  "Something like that."

He nodded slowly. "Did you find it interesting?"

  "Yes."

  "Then perhaps you should read more about it." He said 

I turned toward him. "That's it?"

  "What else should I say?" Daniel asked 

  "I don't know. I thought you'd ask a hundred questions."

  "Would you answer them?" He asked 

I opened my mouth.

Then closed it.

Daniel smiled faintly. "Exactly."

I threw a cushion at him.

He caught it against his chest.

  "Violence. That's how you respond to a perfectly reasonable conversation." Daniel said while smirking 

  "Give me back my cushion."

  "Ask nicely." Daniel said smugly 

  "Daniel."

  "Elena."

I reached for the cushion, and he held it just beyond my reach until I threatened to take the one behind his head instead.

Eventually, he surrendered.

I settled back into my seat, smiling despite myself.

The conversation had helped, in a way. He hadn't dismissed the idea of a forgotten kingdom as ridiculous. He hadn't looked at me as though I had suddenly developed a concerning interest in imaginary places.

He had simply treated it as a question.

A normal question.

I could work with that.

Later, when Daniel went to bed, I remained on the couch for a few minutes, staring at the television without following the programme.

Then I stood and went to my room.

The notebook was still inside the drawer.

I took it out and opened it to the latest page.

Underneath the notes about Seraphina's book, I wrote:

Possible historical reference to an Aurelian royal household.

I paused.

Then I added:

Probably a coincidence.

I stared at the words.

They looked less convincing than I had intended.

With a sigh, I closed the notebook and placed it beside my bed.

I wasn't going to search for anything else tonight,because i has assignment to finish. 

If the dreams continued, I would record them. If they didn't, I would return to my normal life.

That seemed reasonable.

For once, I wanted to believe I could leave a question unanswered without feeling compelled to chase it.

Then i opened my book and barely finished my assignment. 

Then switched off the lamp.

The room settled into darkness, and the familiar sounds of the apartment gradually faded as I grew sleepy.

I thought about the library book one last time.

The western archive.

The royal correspondence.

The incomplete records.

Then I turned onto my side and closed my eyes.

The first thing I noticed was the sound of rain.

It fell steadily against a window somewhere nearby, pattering against the glass in an uneven rhythm.

I opened my eyes.

I was standing in a room I recognised only vaguely. The walls were covered in dark wooden panels, and a fire burned in a narrow hearth. A long table occupied the centre of the room, its surface crowded with books, sheets of parchment, and a silver candlestick.

The room was smaller than the underground archive but considerably more comfortable.

I turned toward the window.

Rain streaked the glass, obscuring the courtyard beyond it.

Then I heard a chair scrape across the floor.

Seraphina sat at the table.

She looked about fourteen.

Her blue dress had been replaced by a pale grey one, and her hair was tied back with a ribbon. Several loose strands had fallen across her forehead, which she repeatedly pushed away with growing irritation.

An open book lay in front of her.

The same book.

I recognised the dark cover and the worn corners immediately.

Seraphina dipped her pen into a small pot of ink.

She wrote a few words, stopped, and frowned at the page.

Then she crossed them out.

I moved closer.

A second sheet of paper lay beside the book. It contained several attempts at the same message, each crossed through with a different stroke of her pen.

Seraphina leaned back. "This is becoming embarrassing."

I looked around.

She wasn't speaking to anyone.

Again.

I folded my arms. "At least you're aware of it."

She couldn't hear me, of course.

She picked up the discarded sheet, examined it, and crumpled it into a ball.

For a moment, she seemed to consider throwing it into the fire.

Instead, she placed it beside the inkpot and returned to the book.

She turned to a fresh page.

Her pen hovered above it.

Then she began to write.

I don't know whether my previous message reached you.

She stopped.

Her eyes moved over the sentence.

After a moment, she added another line.

If it did, I hope you will forgive the questions.

She paused again.

Then, with a small sigh, she wrote:

I have never had a conversation with someone who wasn't there.

I stared at the page.

That was an unfortunate choice of words.

Seraphina seemed to realise it too. She pressed her lips together, dipped the pen into the ink, and added a final sentence.

That sounded less foolish in my head.

I almost laughed.

It was such an ordinary thing to write. The sort of sentence someone might add to a letter when they were embarrassed by their own thoughts.

For a moment, I forgot that I was watching a princess in another world.

She could have been a student sitting alone in her room, trying to write a message to someone she wasn't sure would ever reply.

I knew that feeling.

Not the part about communicating through mysterious books, obviously.

I had limits.

Seraphina set the pen down and read the message again.

Then she closed the book.

I blinked.

That was it?

She wasn't going to wait for an answer?

She stood, gathered the loose sheets from the table, and carried them to a small wooden chest near the hearth. She placed the discarded pages inside and closed the lid.

Then she returned to the table and opened a different book.

For several minutes, she appeared to be reading.

I watched her.

She turned a page.

Then another.

Eventually, she glanced toward the door.

A knock sounded.

  "Come in," she said.

Mira entered without waiting for a second invitation.

She carried a folded shawl over one arm and looked thoroughly unimpressed by the weather.

  "The corridor outside is flooding." Mira said 

Seraphina looked up. "How can a corridor flood?"

  "Because the roof is leaking." Mira said it like it's obvious 

  "That sounds like something the palace should repair." Seraphina said 

Mira stared at her. "Thank you, Your Highness. I shall inform the royal council that water is entering the building."

  "Please do. Be sure to make it sound urgent." Seraphina said 

  "I'll tell them the princess has personally declared war on the rain." Mira said playfully 

Seraphina smiled.

Mira dropped the shawl onto a chair. "You are impossible."

  "I've been told." Seraphina said 

  "Repeatedly, I imagine." Mira said smiling 

  "Mostly by you." Seraphina said 

  "Because I have eyes." Mira said 

I found myself smiling.

Their conversations had a familiar rhythm. Mira complained, Seraphina made matters worse, and somehow neither of them seemed particularly interested in ending the exchange.

Mira walked toward the table and noticed the open book.

  "More reading?" Mira asked 

  "Yes." Seraphina answered

  "Is it still about a place that doesn't exist?" Mira asked 

Seraphina's expression changed.

Only a little.

But I saw it.

  "Perhaps."

Mira folded her arms. "You know, most people who read books can explain what they're reading."

  "Most people aren't very good at keeping secrets." Seraphina said 

  "Most people aren't princesses." Mira said 

  "Precisely." Seraphina said 

Mira rolled her eyes.

Then she noticed the inkpot and the discarded sheet beside it.

  "Have you been writing again?" Mira asked 

Seraphina moved the paper slightly."Occasionally."

  "That's what you said yesterday." Mira said unimpressed 

  "And it remains true today."

Mira leaned closer. "Who are you writing to?"

Seraphina didn't answer.

For the first time since Mira had entered the room, the humour between them disappeared completely.

Mira looked at the book, then at Seraphina."Is it someone in the palace?"

  "No." Seraphina answer 

  "Someone outside it?" Mira asked 

Seraphina hesitated. "I don't know."

Mira stared at her. "How can you not know who you're writing to?"

Seraphina glanced toward the rain-streaked window. "Because I haven't received an answer."

I felt something tighten in my chest.

Mira's expression softened, though suspicion remained in her eyes. "Then how do you know anyone is reading it?"

Seraphina lowered her gaze to the book. "I don't."

The room grew quiet.

Outside, rain continued to patter against the glass.

Mira pulled out the chair opposite Seraphina and sat down. "All right," she said. "Explain it to me."

Seraphina looked up. "I can't."

  "You can't, or you won't?" Mira asked 

  "I don't know enough to explain it." Seraphina said 

Mira considered that.

Then she reached for the shawl and draped it over the back of Seraphina's chair. "Fine. Start with what you do know."

Seraphina remained silent for a moment.

Then she opened the book.

She turned to a page near the middle, where several lines of writing were arranged beneath a faintly visible mark.

I tried to move closer, but the writing blurred whenever I focused on it.

Seraphina touched the page with one finger."Sometimes, there are words here that I didn't write."

Mira leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

  "I mean exactly that." Seraphina said seriously 

  "Someone else is writing in your book?" Mira asked 

  "Not exactly." Seraphina said,not sure

Mira looked at the ceiling. "I would like to apologise to every person who has ever told me that I ask too many questions."

Seraphina gave a faint laugh. "I'm serious," she said.

  "So am I. You're telling me that words appear in a book, but you don't know who writes them, and you have decided the sensible thing to do is write back?" Mira asked flabbergasted 

  "When you put it like that, it sounds rather foolish." Seraphina said 

  "That's because it is rather foolish." Mira said 

Seraphina looked offended.

Mira held up a hand. "However, I am willing to admit that it is also interesting."

  "Thank you." Seraphina said,feeling a little gratefully 

  "Don't thank me yet. I haven't finished telling you how foolish it is." Mira said 

Seraphina smiled despite herself.

Mira turned another page, examining the faded marks near the edges. "Have you shown anyone else?"

  "No." Seraphina answered 

"Your father?" Mira asked 

Seraphina immediately shook her head.

Mira sat back. "Of course not."

  "You don't have to sound so disappointed." Seraphina said 

  "I'm not disappointed. I'm trying to decide whether to be angry with you or impressed by your ability to get yourself into trouble without anyone's assistance." Mira said 

  "I haven't gotten into trouble." Seraphina said, feeling a little offended 

  "Yet." Mira said, rolling her eyes

Seraphina closed the book.

Mira watched her carefully. "Do you think someone is trying to contact you?"

  "I don't know." Seraphina answered truthfully 

  "Do you think it's dangerous?"Mira asked 

Seraphina's fingers rested on the cover. "I don't know that either."

Mira was quiet for a moment.

Then she said, "You really don't know anything about this, do you?"

Seraphina looked at her. "No."

It was a small answer.

An honest one.

And somehow, it made the room feel different.

Mira glanced at the book once more. "Then promise me something."

  "What?" Seraphina asked 

  "If anything strange happens, you tell me. No disappearing into forbidden rooms. No sneaking around the palace at midnight. And absolutely no opening mysterious doors because you're bored."

Seraphina frowned. "That last one seems unnecessarily specific."

  "That's because I know you." Mira said 

Seraphina's lips twitched. "I promise to tell you if something happens."

Mira held out her little finger.

Seraphina stared at it. "Really?"

"Do you want the promise or not?" Mira asked 

With a sigh of exaggerated suffering, Seraphina hooked her little finger around Mira's.

  "There. Satisfied?" Seraphina asked 

  "Not remotely." Mira said 

Mira stood and headed toward the door.

She had almost reached it when Seraphina spoke again.

  "Mira?"

She turned. "Yes?"

  "If I told you that I sometimes feel as though someone is standing in the room with me, even when nobody is there, would you think I was being ridiculous?"

Mira's expression became thoughtful. "Do you actually feel that way?"

Seraphina looked down at the book."Sometimes."

Mira glanced around the room.

For a moment, her gaze passed directly across the place where I stood.

I held perfectly still.

It was an absurd reaction. She couldn't see me any more than Seraphina could.

Still, I found myself watching her eyes.

Mira turned back to her friend. "I would think you were tired," she said. "Or worried. Or that you needed someone to talk to."

Seraphina's shoulders relaxed slightly. "And if it wasn't any of those things?"

  "Then we'd find out what it was."Mira opened the door. "But not by yourself," she added. "Whatever happens, don't try to solve everything alone."

Seraphina nodded. "I won't."

Mira gave her a final, doubtful look before leaving.

The door clicked shut.

Seraphina remained standing beside the table.

For several seconds, she didn't move.

Then she returned to her chair and opened the book.

I stepped closer.

She turned to a clean page.

Her pen hovered above it.

Then she wrote a single question.

If you can hear me, how do I know I'm not imagining you?

I stared at the words.

I had no answer.

Not one that could explain anything.

I could have told her that I was just as confused as she was. I could have explained that I didn't understand why I kept seeing her, or how I had ended up in a room that existed nowhere in my world.

But I couldn't speak to her.

I couldn't touch the book.

I couldn't even make her look up.

All I could do was stand there while she waited for an answer that would never come.

Seraphina studied the question.

Then she placed the pen beside the book and rubbed her eyes.

She looked tired.

Not the ordinary tiredness that came from staying up too late or having too much to do. There was a quiet frustration in her expression, the kind that came from trying to understand something that refused to make sense.

After a while, she closed the book.

She didn't lock it away this time.

Instead, she carried it to the window and sat in the chair beside it, holding the book against her knees.

Rain slid down the glass.

Seraphina watched it for a long time.

Then she opened the book again and rested her fingers on the page.

  "I hope you're there," she whispered.

The words were so quiet that I almost missed them.

My throat tightened.

I wanted to answer.

I wanted to tell her that I was there, that I had heard every word, and that if I could find a way to make myself understood, I would.

But the dream had its own rules.

And I had no idea how to break them.

Seraphina lowered her head and closed the book.

The room grew dim as the afternoon light faded.

Eventually, she rose, placed the book on the table, and left without locking it away.

I remained beside the window, listening to the rain.

Then the sound grew distant.

The room blurred.

And the dream ended.

My alarm went off at 6:30 a.m.

I reached for my phone and silenced it before the second ring.

For several seconds, I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling.

Then I sat up.

  "Well," I muttered. "That was unnecessarily personal."

I reached for my notebook.

The pages were becoming crowded with descriptions of rooms, fragments of conversations, and questions I couldn't answer. I flipped to a fresh page and began writing.

Seraphina had written another message.

Mira knew something was wrong.

The book contained words Seraphina hadn't written herself.

I stopped.

My pen hovered above the paper.

That last detail bothered me more than the others.

Until now, I had assumed that Seraphina was simply writing messages into a book, perhaps as part of some strange ritual or an imaginary correspondence. I had never considered that the words might appear without her involvement.

But that was what she had said.

Sometimes, there are words here that I didn't write.

I wrote the sentence down exactly as I remembered it.

Then I leaned back.

There were several possible explanations. Perhaps the dream had invented the detail because I had been thinking about the historical book in the library. Perhaps I had unconsciously borrowed the idea from a story I had read years ago.

Or perhaps I had misunderstood what Seraphina meant.

That was possible too.

I wasn't going to jump to conclusions because of a few strange dreams.

I had no evidence that the palace existed outside my imagination. The old book at the library hadn't proved anything, and I wasn't going to pretend otherwise.

Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had missed something important.

I looked at the notebook again.

At the bottom of the page, I wrote one final sentence.

What if Seraphina isn't the only one writing in the book?

I stared at it for a moment.

Then I underlined the question.

My phone vibrated on the bedside table, startling me so badly that I nearly dropped the pen.

I grabbed it.

A message from my friend.

Are you awake?

I typed back.

Unfortunately.

Her reply arrived almost immediately.

Good. I need you to help me with the assignment before I lose my mind.

I glanced at the notebook.

Then I closed it.

Give me ten minutes, I replied.

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

There would be time to think about the dreams later. I had lectures to attend, work to finish, and a friend who apparently believed my purpose in life was to rescue her from academic disaster.

Normal things.

Manageable things.

For now, I could leave the mystery alone.

I tucked the notebook into my drawer and went to the kitchen.

Daniel was already awake, standing by the counter with two cups of tea.

He glanced at me. "Morning."

  "Morning."

He slid one of the cups toward me.

I wrapped my hands around it and took a sip.

For a while, neither of us spoke.

Then Daniel looked at me over the rim of his own cup. "Sleep well?"

I paused.

The question was ordinary. He asked it almost every morning, usually without expecting a detailed answer.

I could have said yes.

I could have told him that I had slept perfectly well, that I hadn't spent the night watching a princess struggle to understand a book that seemed to contain messages from an unknown person.

Instead, I looked down at my tea.

  "More or less."

Daniel nodded. "Good."

He returned to the counter.

I watched him for a moment, grateful that he hadn't asked anything else.

Then I took another sip.

The tea was warm, the kitchen was bright, and the morning was moving along exactly as it should.

I had no reason to suspect anything different.

And yet, as I stood there with my brother, one question continued to follow me.

If Seraphina was writing to someone she couldn't see, and I was watching her from somewhere she couldn't reach, then what exactly was the book connecting us to?

I didn't know.

But I had begun to suspect that the answer wasn't going to come from my imagination alone.