THE PROPHECY CHILD

Clara was sitting idly on the cushion, her eyes glazed over as she stared into space, when her mother’s sharp voice echoed from the kitchen. > “Clara! Aren’t you going to help me with the dishes?” “I’m coming, Mom,” Clara replied with a low grumble. She dragged herself off the cushion like someone carrying a mountain of invisible weight and trudged toward the kitchen. > “I can’t be washing the dishes and cooking at the same time, Clara,” Anastasia snapped, stirring a pot with extra force. “Sorry, Mom… my mind just wasn’t there,” Clara mumbled. She knew she was lying — and the regret hit instantly like a lump in her chest. She turned on the tap and started washing, her fingers moving slowly, mechanically. The silence in the room thickened — until Clara’s hand slipped and a dish shattered loudly on the floor. > “Clara! What’s wrong with you today? You’ve been acting weird lately,” Anastasia said, turning toward her with furrowed brows. “I don’t know, Mom. I really don’t know…” Clara swallowed hard. “Lately, I’ve been having these terrible dreams. I didn’t want to tell you.” Anastasia’s hand froze in midair. “What is it about?” she asked, voice soft but tight with worry. Clara placed a wet hand on the counter and looked down. “I keep seeing you. Your eyes are normal… but mine—they turn blue. And you’re choking… you can’t breathe. I just stand there, watching. I do nothing.” Her mother’s face drained of color. She stared past Clara, as if trying to remember something she’d buried deep. > “It’s okay, Clara,” she said at last, forcing a tight smile. “Don’t worry. It’s just a nightmare.” “But why the same nightmare?” Clara asked, her voice rising slightly with confusion and fear. > “Maybe because you keep thinking about it. Don’t worry. All will be well.” “I hope so, Mom. I really hope so.” Clara hesitated, then added, “That reminds me, Mom — I need to go to school. I’m old enough for high school now… please?” > “I know, dear,” Anastasia sighed. “But there’s no school fees.” “But there’s money for me to go to work and come back every day, right?” Clara’s voice cracked, rising with frustration. “That’s not fair!” > “Don’t you dare raise your voice at me or talk to me that way, Clara!” Anastasia barked. Clara clenched her fists and ran to her room, blinking back tears. She always does this, Clara thought bitterly. I’m old enough to go to school. I’m old enough to know who my father is. But no — I’m just locked in this house like a secret. --- Far away, in a quiet room soaked in sorrow... > “Andrielle, you’ve been sitting there — not eating, not drinking — for days. Will you continue like this?” Dalia asked, her voice sharp with irritation but softened by concern. Andrielle didn’t look up. “How do you expect me to eat or drink when my child has been stolen?” she snapped, her voice trembling. “What if it were you? Would you live a normal life?” Tears streamed silently down her cheeks as Dalia slowly moved closer and sat beside her. > “A day is coming, Dalia… when your daughter’s powers will be uncontrollable. Will you live a normal life then?” Andrielle whispered, her voice barely holding together. Dalia touched her shoulder gently. “Whoever took your child… won’t keep her forever. That day will come — the truth will rise.” Andrielle breathed in shakily, letting her friend’s words steady her heart. --- In the shadowy depths of a dark castle, danger simmered... > “What are you up to this time, Queen Latesha?” Tobi asked, eyeing her with a mix of loyalty and deep fear. Latesha flashed a grin as she dropped a steaming mixture into a glowing beaker. She stood slowly, her royal gown shimmering like liquid night. > “A lot, Tobi. A lot,” she said, licking her lips as she settled into her throne. “Every time I sit here, I imagine ruining the world. I dream of the day we finally destroy that prophecy child. No one — no one — can be more powerful than me. Not even that Clara girl!” Her voice rose into a sharp hiss, and her eyes crackled with unstable energy. A burst of magic shot from her fingers and shattered a nearby vase. Tobi jumped. > “Ehm… Your Majesty, if you wish, I’ll take my leave,” he said carefully, already backing toward the exit. He was the only one who ever survived her wrath. How, no one knew — but he always lived to serve another day. --- Back in the tiny home Clara wished wasn’t hers… She lay quietly on her bed, staring at the ceiling. I can’t do this anymore. Then — an idea. She jumped up and rushed to the kitchen, where Anastasia was packing up to leave. > “What’s chasing you, Clara?” Anastasia asked, startled by her daughter’s sudden entrance. “I was choking. I needed water,” Clara lied smoothly, grabbing a cup and gulping it. > “Well, I’m going to work. There’s food if you get hungry.” “Yes, Mom.” As soon as the door clicked shut behind her mother, Clara smiled and slipped her hand into her pocket. She pulled out the house keys — stolen earlier without a sound. She crept to the door and opened it slowly, her heart racing. The grass felt soft under her feet, and the breeze whispered secrets she hadn’t heard in years. She walked toward the crowd, face innocent, posture casual. Just blend in. Then she heard a voice. > “Hey, child! What’s the matter?” She froze and turned. A tall, kind-looking man stood watching her. “I… I want to go to school,” Clara said softly, her voice almost lost in the wind. > “I don’t get it. School hours are over — and you’re just now heading there?” “I’ve never been to school, sir. Not once,” she admitted, looking down. > “What? Why? Where are your parents?” “I don’t have any,” she lied, keeping her gaze sad but steady. > “Really? Well… I could help you register. But how will you pay?” “I’ll find a way,” she said firmly. “I just want to learn.” The man smiled. “Alright. Be here tomorrow at 9 AM. You can call me Mister Martin. And you are?” Clara hesitated. Her real name burned on her tongue. “Claudia, sir.” > “Claudia. Beautiful name. See you tomorrow.” Clara beamed and ran home, joy buzzing through her veins. > “What a lovely girl,” Mister Martin whispered to himself, watching her disappear. --- Clara got home just before Anastasia returned. She tossed the keys outside and went to bed, heart still pounding from the excitement. When her mom came home late, she fumbled for the keys, panicked — then sighed in relief when she found them on the ground. She opened the door, called out for Clara, and ate quietly before checking her daughter’s room. Clara was asleep. --- > “Mom!” Clara suddenly cried out in her sleep. She sat up, breathing hard. Her body was drenched in sweat. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. > “What a reoccurring nightmare,” Clara whispered, pressing her palms to her face as her glowing blue eyes slowly dimmed in the dark. She could still see it — floating on soft, blue clouds... her mother, gasping and choking for air… and she, Clara, just watching. Frozen. Unmoved. Her breath came in quick bursts, and her blanket felt heavier than ever. She curled up tighter, willing the image to fade. --- But Anastasia hadn’t slept. She was staring at the ceiling too — eyes wide open, thoughts racing. She rose quietly, tiptoed down the hall, and opened the door to a room Clara was never allowed to enter. She lit a candle, whispered a chant, and the air shimmered around her. She performed the ritual for almost an hour. When she stepped out, her face was pale — but her eyes were full of something else entirely: purpose. She went back to bed without saying a word.