CHAPTER TWELVE
12
Morwenna
“I‘m not dead, I’m not dead, I’m not dead,” I repeated in my mind, my breath quickening.
The first thing my hand found was my chest, and I placed it there to feel the reassuring beat of my heart. Thank God, it was still beating.
Three seconds I held my breath, counting them out like a prayer. One. Two. Three. A shaky exhale, releasing the phantom taste of bloody air from my lips.
I was still alive. Whatever I had just experienced was only a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. It wasn’t real, I reassured myself.
Next, I checked my hair, pulling out a strand to inspect it.
It was still my familiar dark brown, except for that one streak of white in the front. Nothing had changed; it was all just a dream.
Given the castle’s reputation for magic, it wasn’t surprising that I would have such vivid dreams.
Nightmares like this were probably what demon hags fed on.
Stretching my back, I tried to settle back into sleep. But how could I sleep after such a nightmare? I needed something to take my mind off it, but what? That’s when I heard a knock at the door, causing my heart to skip a beat.
Then my mind began to conjure up unnecessary thoughts. What if they’re here? What if they’re after me?
“Hey Morwenna, it’s me! Open up!” I recognized Elara’s voice. Thank God, finally someone. I hurriedly got out of bed, my feet thumping heavily on the ground as I unlocked the door and opened it. My ragged breaths turned to relief as I saw her standing there. Without hesitation, I threw myself into Elara’s arms, holding her tightly and inhaling deeply, making sure she was real and not a product of my nightmare.
Elara, seemingly caught off guard by my sudden embrace, managed a startled, “Goodness, Morwenna, what’s gotten into you?”
I released the hug, taking a deep breath. “I had a bad dream,” I explained. Then my eyes fell on the dress she was holding. “What’s that?” I inquired.
“Oh, this!” she replied, pushing it into my chest. I caught it before it fell. “It’s for you. A gift from Lord Draven. He asked me to deliver it.”
The dress was breathtaking, a masterpiece of shimmering silk that whispered of unimaginable wealth. In my mind’s eye, I could almost see the astronomical sum it must have cost, though for Lord Draven, I suspected it was a mere trifle.
“Why the face?” Elara questioned, noticing the contorted look on my eyebrows.
“I’m a servant, so I was expecting something more like servant attire, not this,” I voiced my complaint.
“Well, I guess he’s making an exception for you. Take it as if he’s treating you like some form of royalty,” Elara suggested, performing a little curtsey.
“Oh, stop it. I don’t like feeling royal,” I complained again.
“Come on, all the servants here would be dying to receive a dress from Lord Draven!” she insisted.
“Well, exclude me from that list because I prefer a normal housekeeper’s dress that doesn’t make me feel like royalty, but just like a housekeeper,” I insisted.
“Just accept it, Morwenna. It wouldn’t do you any harm, you know,” Elara urged.
“Nope,” I said firmly, refusing to budge. “Please return it to Lord Draven,” I added.
“And do you think he’s going to accept it back like that after you’ve returned it?” Elara challenged.
“I’m returning it to him respectfully, nothing else,” I stated, holding out the fabric to Elara.
But she didn’t take it from me. “Stop being ungrateful. Wear it. Don’t you want to look different, prettier than all the other servants here?” Elara pressed.
I pondered for a moment. “Nope. Looking pretty only turns him on, and I hate him. I don’t want to look pretty for him...” Another thought struck me, “And that’s why I’ll have to look the opposite of pretty!” I declared, stepping back into the room and heading towards the nearby wardrobe.
“Are you serious, Morwenna?”
“Yes,” I replied sharply to Elara’s question, my fingers rummaging through the clothes in the wardrobe. “There must be something unappealing in here somewhere!”
“Come on, just accept it!” Elara urged.
“No,” I muttered under my breath, refusing to give in. I searched every row of clothes in the wardrobe, but everything looked so extravagant, old-fashioned, and good. I was trying to achieve the opposite, but nothing here fit my needs until my eyes fell upon a pair of scissors. Scissors, really? I sighed, giving up, and glanced back at Elara, who stood behind me with her hands against the wall. “Do you happen to have any less attractive clothes?” I inquired.
“No,” she replied, unwilling to help me with this. I knew she had some, but she wouldn’t go against Draven’s wishes to give them to me. “Even if I did, I wouldn’t give them to you,” she added firmly.
“Very well,” I said, turning my gaze back to the wardrobe that was still open. “That’s why there’s a plan B!” I exclaimed as I picked up the cloth still in my hand and used the scissors to cut it, making it look less appealing.
“What are you doing, Morwenna?” Elara questioned.
I gave a sly smirk. I was doing the opposite of making the cloth attractive, of course. “Fashion!” I indirectly responded to her words as I used the scissors to cut some portions of the red dress.
“Do you know what you’re doing, Morwenna? Lord Draven will get mad,” she said.
“No, I don’t know what I’m doing, and besides, you said it’s a gift from him, so of course, it’s my dress now that it’s handed to me,” I said as I continued cutting the cloth.
Placing the altered dress on my body, I faced Elara. “So, Elara, how does it look? Does it give you that certain je ne sais quoi?” I questioned.
Elara raised her eyebrow. “Looks less attractive... you’ve totally destroyed a perfect dress!”
“Yes, yes. Those are the words I want to hear!” I exclaimed.
Elara sighed, her expression softening. “Wow... you look so much like the late Queen!”
Her words caught me off guard as strange flashbacks from my nightmares flooded my mind, making my head throb. I nearly stumbled, feeling as if the room was spinning, but Elara was quick enough to catch me, holding onto my arm for support.
“Are you okay, Morwenna?” she asks, her face closer to mine.
“I dreamt of her,” I said, my voice a whisper, my throbbing head calming down. “Do you know what happened to her?”
“Hmm, she died,” Elara says hesitantly.
“How did she die? Was she killed?” I questioned.
“Others say she died of the plague that haunted her village, others say she was killed, but my mom says she was killed,” Elara says, and my mind flashes again.
“Do I really look like her?”
“Um, I don’t know, I just guessed. I wasn’t born then, but I’ve seen pictures of hers. But you’re not going to see them because none of her pictures are here. Lord Draven hides them. I was only able to see them because I peeped through my mom’s magic pot,” she says.
“What is your mom doing with Victoria’s picture?” I questioned.
Her eyes looked a little surprised. “Wow, you know her name?”
“As I’ve said, I dreamt of her,” I said.
“Morwenna, you...” Elara’s voice trails off as she looks into my eyes. “You have her eyes. You’re starting to look a lot like her. My mom must hear this.”
“What the hell is happening?” I questioned.
“I’m not meant to tell you this, but a thousand years ago, after Lady Victoria’s death, the wife of Lord Draven, she performed a dangerous ritual that was not meant to be performed. She wanted to transfer her soul into another, and that soul she wanted to transfer into was my mother, who was also a witch like her. But it failed because she didn’t have enough life force energy to do it, and she ended up dying. Half of her life force left her and roamed in 6000 souls that were meant to be a rebirth of her, but none of their energy was capable of preserving her soul. They all ended up dying. So, twenty-six years later, her soul found a new vessel in the Petrova’s family, and that vessel is you, Morwenna.” My breath caught in my throat immediately. That could explain everything: why I saw a similar version of myself in her. So, whatever dream I had was real. Nothing was fake. And then Elara added to her words, catching me immediately off guard, my heart beating rapidly, “Morwenna... you’re Victoria’s reborn!”
The revelation crashed over me like a tidal wave.
A thousand-million questions swirled in my head, the most pressing bubbling to the surface, “Is this resemblance to the late Victoria just a coincidence? Like, doppelgangers exist in different realms, right? We could have the same eyes, same hair, but that doesn’t mean we’re the same person, does it? Like I said, it could all be a coincidence.” I wanted to scream, but the only sound that escaped me was a strangled gasp.
Elara reached out, a placating gesture, “Morwenna, I know this is a lot to process, but...”
“A lot?” My voice cracked. “It’s an understatement. I have no idea what’s happening!”
“You’ve always wondered why you felt so different, haven’t you? A sense of unease, a nagging suspicion that you don’t quite belong?” Elara’s voice was gentle.
I nodded numbly. A flashback slammed into me, vivid and unsettling. “My mother always kept me hidden away, convinced the world was a dangerous place for me. She even sought out witches to conceal my heterochromia. I never understood why. I thought maybe she was ashamed, or afraid I’d draw attention. But now...” My breath hitched. “Did she do it because I resembled the Lord’s late wife, Victoria? Did she know about her too?” The question tumbled out, uncertainty laced with dawning dread. It wasn’t clear if I was directing it at Elara, considering she mentioned a rift between our mothers.
“Morwenna, right now I don’t need you thinking too much about it. I’ll go tell my mom, and she’ll advise me on what to do. But for now, Morwenna, do not say a word to anyone,” Elara assured me.
As for her last words, who on earth did I want to tell? Maybe Mom, Theresa, but nah, I’m not even that close to them.
But I do have lots of curious questions, and I want to ask them, especially Mom since she’s the only one who can give me answers.
However, I doubt it, and I doubt I’ll be leaving this castle anytime soon. At least I can try to escape, maybe for... I don’t know how many hours. But Vimic’s security will be too tight, too strict, so it will be hopeless. Theresa is my only hope now, but where do I find Theresa?
I managed a weak nod in response to Elara’s earlier words.
Suddenly, Lady Jen’s booming voice cut through the air, shattering Elara and my conversation.
“Ah, you’re awake!” she boomed.
We both turned to look at Lady Jen, who was accompanied by three other servants. “A lovely day, Lady Jen,” Elara chirped, breaking the scrutiny of Lady Jen. I broke free from Elara as she went to join Lady Jen by the side.
Lady Jen’s gaze swept over Elara. “Elara, what are you doing here?” she inquired, a hint of suspicion in her voice. “I thought you’d gone to meet your master!”
“Well, you know I’m just around, trying to make our guest here feel comfortable!” Elara replied, her eyes flitting towards me.
“The only one you should be making feel comfortable should be your master, not Lord Draven’s servant!” Lady Jen said rudely.
“Her name is Morwenna Petrova, the daughter of Alina Petrova, sister of Theresa Mol Petrova. That’s her name...” Elara corrected Lady Jen’s words, which made her roll her eyes.
“Whatever, Elara. I didn’t ask, and I know her name!” Lady Jen retorted.
“Then why are you referring to her as ‘servant’ if you know her name, Lady Jen?” Elara questioned.
“Because she’s nothing more than a mere servant here, going to be discarded soon,” Lady Jen bristled, her eyes bitter, not wanting to delve too much into the topic that Elara kept bringing up. It felt like she wanted to leave at that moment.
“Don’t say that, Lady Jen. She’s our guest here, and she’s meant to be treated as one,” Elara insisted. Lady Jen scoffed, and Elara continued, “Besides, you don’t want our guest here to report you to Lord Draven. He wouldn’t be pleased to see you bullying her.”
“And what is he going to do? dismiss me,” Lady Jen scoffed. “I’ve served for Lord Draven for years...”
“Actually, Lady Jen, you served the late Mistress. Lord Draven offered you continued employment out of kindness, not obligation.”Elara said.
Jen frowned, a furrow etching her brow. “I’ve been here longer than anyone,” she pointed out, her voice laced with suspicion. “Why are you defending her? You weren’t even around back then.”
Elara tilted her head. “True, but I have access to information.”
Jen’s suspicion deepened. “I hope you’re not poking around in the past, Elara. Your mother wouldn’t be happy if I told her.” Her voice was a low murmur.
Elara offered a placating smile. “Relax, Lady Jen. My abilities aren’t that advanced yet. I have a long way to go.”
“I don’t care what you do, Elara. Just return to your own quarters,” Jen dismissed her with a curt nod. Then, turning to me, she plastered on a fake smile. “Morwenna, Lord Draven requires your presence immediately. He has work for you.”
“Right now?” I blurted, not surprised by the way.
Jen gave me a cursory head-to-toe inspection. “Yes, right now. You have ten minutes to get ready.” Her sudden leniency surprised me, considering Lady Jen had denied me time to catch my breath before. Was it her decision, or had Draven commanded her to do so? Then her gaze shifted to Elara. “And you, Elara, can start going now,” With that, Lady Jen swept out, her three servants trailing behind like an entourage for a nonexistent royalty.
Elara gave me a sympathetic smile. “Take your time to change.” She closed the door softly behind her, leaving me alone in the room.
My eyes drifted to the once-opulent fabric, the color of a cardinal’s cloak, now lay crumpled on the floor, a casualty of my desperate scissors.
Gone were the layers of cascading silk that had whispered against my legs with each step.
Now, the hem grazed my knees, a stark contrast to the regal sweep it once possessed.
The sleeves, once billowing testaments to a bygone era, were mere stubs, offering no solace against the chill of the drafty castle.
With that done, I wanted to look at myself in the reflection but feared going near the mirror, given that I had just woken up from a nightmare about it.
Stepping out of the room, I was startled to find Elara still lingering by the door.
“I thought you’d left,” I blurted, clutching the ruined dress to my chest.
“I was about to, but my master has a little ritual planned, and it’s set to take place at none other than Lord Draven’s headquarters!”
“What’s it all about?” I questioned.
“You don’t need to worry about it. Just focus on serving your master!” With a mocking curtsy, she swept past me. Lady Jen, still hovering nearby, her ever-watchful eyes flitting about, remained silent.
Frustration bubbled within me. “Would you stop with that?” I hissed at Elara’s retreating form, referring to her insistence on addressing me as royalty. Turning back to the hallway, I braced myself. “So, what do you think? Does it work?”
Elara glanced back, her eyes raking over my disheveled form. “Spicy,” she smirked. I shot her a withering look, and with a sigh, she amended, “Alright, alright. You look... Serviceable.”
Before I could reply back, a vice-like grip clamped onto my arms. Lady Jen, a steely glint in her gaze, propelled me forward.
“Elara!” Lady Jen’s voice snapped, pulling my attention away from Elara. “You’re a distraction.” Turning to me, her tone softened marginally. “Come along, Morwenna. Lord Draven awaits.” With a murmured incantation, the room dissolved around us in a rush of swirling colors. We reappeared moments later, no longer in the hallway, but in a grand, old-fashioned dining room.
The air hung heavy with the scent of woodsmoke and something richer, perhaps aged leather.
A massive stone fireplace dominated one wall, its blackened maw hinting at many crackling fires enjoyed over the centuries.
The room was furnished in dark, heavy wood, with thick tapestries depicting fantastical creatures adorning the walls.
Moonlight streamed through tall, arched windows, casting an ethereal glow on the scene.
Lord Draven sat alone at the far end of a long, ornately carved table. An assortment of covered dishes, their contents hidden under silver cloches, lined the surface. His pale fingers tapped impatiently on the polished wood.
As we entered, a cascade of flickering candles erupted into life, suspended in mid-air near the ceiling.
Lady Jen thrust a tray into my hands, its contents jarringly simple compared to the opulent surroundings. A single, ornately decorated jug, seemingly made of the same heavy glass as the window panes, sat beside a delicate porcelain cup adorned with the same floral motif in the ceilings. “Don’t break it,” she warned tersely.
“What’s in it?” I ventured, curiosity piqued.
“Something to quench his thirst,” she retorted, a touch too quickly. My mind couldn’t help but wander. Was it some form of artificial blood, or something more… unnatural?
Then Lady Jen’s eyes scrolled over my attire. “Why are you dressed like that?” she questioned, finally noticing what I was wearing. Before I could even breathe a reply, she cut me off. “Never mind. Just... go.”
I took a deep breath, steadying the tray in my hand to ensure it didn’t fall. I couldn’t afford to let his special heirloom break because of my clumsiness in the dimly lit dining room.
Approaching the dining table, his features gradually became visible. His wine-colored hair, usually worn loose, was swept back in a messy bun, a few rebellious strands escaping to frame his face. One finger tapped impatiently on the table while his other hand held a small, old-fashioned cup. I didn’t dare look at what he was sipping; I knew it could be blood, nothing else.
With each step, an oppressive chill seemed to seep into the air, goosebumps erupting on my bare arms. It wasn’t just the temperature; an aura of raw power emanated from him, wrapping around me like a velvet shroud.
The cup remained glued to his sculpted jawline, those crimson eyes finally snapping up to meet mine. Their gaze, burning embers in the gloom, stole my breath and sent a jolt of something primal straight to my core.
Then, his voice. Deep, icy, and laced with an undeniable edge of impatience, spoke. “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes, Morwenna.”