The first thing Isabella felt was water. Cool, gentle ripples brushing against her skin. Her lashes fluttered as she sat up slowly, her hair clinging wetly to her shoulders. The faint scent of rain and lilies filled the air. For a mont, she thought she was still dreaming.
She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the soft, silvery glow that surrounded her. The world around her was quiet — too quiet. No sound of night insects, no echo of voices, no Glimora curling beside her. Only the low hum of wind brushing over still water.
She looked down and realized she was sitting in the middle of a pond — not deep, but wide, the water smooth as glass beneath the pale shimr of the moon. The sky above her wasn’t the familiar night she knew. It was strange — streaked with faint colors that moved, alive, like the surface of an oil painting.
"Hello?" Her voice broke the silence. "Where... where am I?"
Her heart began to race. This wasn’t the palace courtyard. This wasn’t even the forest. The last thing she rembered was—
She swallowed hard, glancing around the vast expanse. Her voice echoed faintly as she called again, "Is anyone there?"
At first, nothing answered. Then — from beyond the mist that gathered along the edge of the pond — sothing shifted.
A silhouette.
Isabella froze, her pulse leaping. The mist curled and parted as a figure began to erge, each step slow, deliberate, silent. The light seed to bend around her, softening her outline, wrapping her in a glow that felt... familiar.
And when the figure finally stepped forward, Isabella’s breath caught in her throat.
Her vision blurred for a mont, disbelief flooding her mind as her lips parted. The woman’s face — the eyes, the smile, the gentle curve of her jaw — it was impossible.
"...Mama?"
The word slipped out before she could stop it, raw and trembling.
Then she froze, her own breath catching, realization striking her like a wave.
She shouldn’t have said that.
She couldn’t have.
The woman’s face shimred like a reflection caught in water — there and not there all at once. Her expression was heartbreak made flesh, her eyes heavy with tears that glowed faintly in the strange half-light. The silence between them was deafening, stretching out like the calm before a storm.
When she finally spoke, her voice trembled — soft, sorrowful, but edged with warning.
"I warned you," she said. The words cracked, barely a whisper, but they cut through the stillness like a blade. "I warned you not to get owned. Not to give your heart to anyone. If not..."
Her lip quivered, and her voice dropped lower, a shiver running through every word.
"You would end up like ."
Isabella’s stomach twisted.
"What—?" she stamred, taking a step back, her feet sinking into the water. "What are you talking about?"
Her mind was racing. Owned? What did that even an? She looked at the woman again — her mother — and it was like staring into a mory she had tried to bury. Her mother’s eyes, once warm, now seed darker, hollow. The faint bruises she rembered from her old world glimred faintly under the ethereal light.
And then, as the words sank in, Isabella’s heartbeat stumbled.
Her mind flashed — skin against skin, the taste of wine on her lips, Cyrus’s hands holding her, his whisper against her neck — and she froze.
No.
No, no, no.
Her eyes widened. "Wait—" she whispered, her voice shaking. "You an... because he—"
Her breath caught. The realization hit her so fast it hurt. She touched her own neck, half-expecting to feel sothing there — a mark, a burn, a bond she couldn’t see.
"This has to be impossible," she muttered, shaking her head. "It’s not like that. I—"
Her mother’s expression softened for a heartbeat, sorrow flashing behind her eyes, and then she smiled — but it wasn’t warm. It was the kind of smile people wore when they’d already given up.
"Oh, but you are wrong, child," her mother said, voice heavy with sothing old and aching. "I was once in love too. He treated so well. Spoke softly, smiled gently. I thought the stars themselves had blessed ."
Her tone changed, darkened, breaking into sothing brittle. "And I was so stupid... so blind... that I didn’t know when to stop."
The wind picked up. Ripples began to form on the surface of the water, circling Isabella, swirling faster with every word her mother spoke.
"I let him own ," her mother continued, the glow in her eyes fading into shadows. "And when he did, I ceased to be myself. My life beca his, my thoughts beca his, my soul—" she stopped, her voice cracking, "—my soul beca a cage he built for ."
Isabella shook her head violently, her breathing uneven. "No," she said, voice trembling, almost breaking. "No, that’s not what this is. Cyrus isn’t like that. Not all n are like your husband."
The woman tilted her head slightly, watching her with that pitying look only mothers could give.
"Oh, my poor girl," she murmured, voice shaking as if she were trying not to cry. "That’s exactly what I said."
The ripples turned to waves, faint at first, then stronger. Water lapped at Isabella’s knees, her reflection trembling beneath her.
"I said he was different," her mother went on, her voice low, lodic, haunting. "That he loved . That he would never break . And for a while, I believed it. I wanted to believe it."
The air felt heavier, the pond darker. The faint shimr of the moon twisted into red. Isabella’s heart hamred painfully in her chest.
"Stop," she said, her voice trembling. "You’re not real. You’re not—"
Her mother took another step forward, her feet barely disturbing the water. "I am real," she said. "And the sa fate awaits you. Because love blinds even the strongest hearts, Isabella. And n—" her tone shifted into sothing sharp, bitter, "—n only know how to destroy what they love."
"Stop!" Isabella shouted, stumbling back, the water splashing around her.
Her mother only smiled. "You think you can escape it, don’t you? That you can love without consequence. But you’ve already chosen. You’ve already let him in."
"No, no, no, no," Isabella gasped, her hands pressing against her temples. "I won’t end up like you! I won’t!"
The woman’s eyes darkened, the glow in them fading until they looked almost human again — tired, broken.
"Neither did I."
Sothing cracked in the air. The water around Isabella began to churn violently, swirling into a spiral that dragged at her feet. Her reflection shattered as ripples turned to waves, pulling her down. She couldn’t breathe. The light flickered. Her mother’s face blurred, her outline dissolving like mist.
"Don’t—!" Isabella tried to scream, reaching out, but the voice that ca out wasn’t her own.
And then—
Darkness.
Her lungs burned. Her fingers clawed through nothing.
When she opened her eyes again, the world snapped back like a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.
Her eyes flew open — the light was dim, warm, familiar — and yet everything felt wrong. Her chest heaved as if she had been drowning. Her skin was cold, damp with sweat. The scent of herbs and smoke filled the air.
Sothing was shaking her.
A hand — warm, steady, desperate.
"Isabella," a voice whispered, rough with panic. "Isabella, please—"
Her heart leapt into her throat. The sound pulled her back fully, the edges of the dream — or whatever it was — tearing away as reality rushed in.
Her vision cleared, and she realized she wasn’t alone. Soone was holding her. Arms wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her against a chest that trembled slightly with relief.
She froze.
"Isabella," the voice said again, softer this ti — familiar, too familiar. "It’s alright. You’re safe."
Cyrus.
Her breath caught as she tilted her head, her cheek brushing against his chest still damp from sweat.
His scent hit her instantly — clean, earthy, and soothing, like rain after a long drought, with the faintest trace of wild blossoms. It wrapped around her, grounding her, calming her pulse even as her mind spun in chaos. He was hugging her tightly, like he was afraid she’d slip away if he let go.
Her mind spun. She could still hear echoes of her mother’s voice — I warned you. You’ll end up like . The words clung to her like ghosts.
She stayed frozen in his arms for a heartbeat, her eyes wide and unfocused. Then, suddenly, sothing in her snapped.
She pushed him away. Hard.
Cyrus stumbled back slightly, confusion flashing in his eyes. "Isabella—?"
She didn’t speak right away. Her breath ca out in sharp, uneven bursts as she stared at him — her pulse hamring, her chest tightening. The dream, the warning, the voice — it all tangled in her mind, twisting into one unbearable thought.
And then she looked at him.
Really looked at him.
Her expression hardened — hurt, confusion, sothing dangerously close to anger flashing behind her eyes.
He reached out instinctively, but she didn’t move toward him. Her voice, when it ca, was small — trembling, but edged with accusation.
Her gaze locked onto him, unblinking.
And she whispered, almost too quietly—
"...what did you do to ?"
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