Echoes of a silver vow

Chapter 5

Lillian's POV

After mum tucked me into bed, I closed my eyes in happiness squibbling excited and I didn't know when I fell asleep. I felt the world slipped away into a heavy darkness, but sleep didn’t bring rest. It felt like sinking into thick, warm tar and I was aware of my body, but it was a distant, unresponsive thing. It felt as if a weight pressed on my chest, a deep, unnatural heat that pulsed through my veins.

I could hear a vague voice cut through the fog, strained and trembling. “ L... Lillian, oh God!.”

Mother?

I thought with doubt, but as I could smell the scents of rose and her hand was on my forehead, cool and shaking, I know immediately she was the one. I felt happy and I tried to turn my head toward the sound, to open my eyes and tell her I was here, that I could hear her. But unfortunately nothing happened, My limbs were leaden and my eyelids refused to open as it sealed shut. A silent scream built in my throat, but it died there, unheard.

“Her temperature isn’t dropping, Madam.” That should be Mrs. Nettle, I thought, as I heard her usual brisk tone frayed with a fear , a tone I’d never heard before. “It’s climbing higher.”

I tried to fight against the paralysis, pouring every ounce of my will into twitching a single finger, into forming a single word.

I’m here. I’m listening.

The effort was immense, a mental strain that left me exhausted, but my body remained a separate, feverish prison.

The voices around me shifted. I could hear mother’s soothing whispers cracked, giving way to raw, ragged sobs that tore at something deep inside me. “I can’t lose her. I can’t.”

I could understand why she said that as I tried to console her. Suddenly I felt a presence but as I smelt the fragrance of lilies I knew it was Catherine.

I could feel Catherine hold my hands, her voice low and urgent near my ear. “Lilly, you have to fight this. Please.”

Madeline’s voice joined hers, stripped of all its playful teasing. “Come on, little sister. Open your eyes for us.”

Hearing their words I felt scared

“ Was something happening to me was I dying ”

Their word brought me fear and confusion, but their words gave me courage. I gathered the shattered pieces of my consciousness, a final, desperate attempt to break free. I pushed.

And the world dissolved.

The heat, the bed, the voices—everything vanished into a violent, soundless rush. It was like being pulled through a starless night at an impossible speed. My awareness tumbled end over end, disconnected and weightless, until it slammed to a sudden, jarring halt.

I stood in a field of silver grass under a sky of perpetual twilight. The air was still and silent, charged with a strange, humming energy. This wasn’t my room. This wasn't any place I knew.

A figure stood a few paces away, his back to me. He was tall, dressed in clothes that seemed both foreign and vaguely familiar, fabrics that shimmered faintly in the odd light. He turned slowly.

His face was handsome, sharp-featured, with eyes that held a depth I couldn’t fathom. A smile played on his lips, a smile that was warm yet carried an unsettling weight of ancient knowledge. He looked at me as if he’d been waiting.

He took a step forward, the silver grass whispering against his boots. His voice, when it came, was clear and resonant, echoing slightly in the vast, empty space.

“Selene,” he said, the name a caress on the air. “At last.”

My breath caught in my throat. The name hung in the air between us, a word that felt both alien and intimately familiar. It echoed in the strange silence of that twilight field. I tried to speak, to ask who he was, to demand where I was, but my lips wouldn’t form the words. It was as if my mouth belonged to someone else, a puppet with its strings cut.

The man’s smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes . He spoke again, his voice a low murmur that should have been clear, but the words blurred into meaningless sound, like hearing a conversation through thick glass. I strained to understand, my confusion mounting into a low thrum of panic.

Then, the world shattered.

The silver grass, the twilight sky—it all dissolved into a dizzying swirl of color and light. The sensation was nauseating, a violent lurch that left my head spinning. When my vision cleared, I was somewhere else entirely.

I was standing in a sun-drenched garden, the air heavy with the scent of roses and something sweeter, more cloying. A man held my hand, his grip firm, almost possessive. He was handsome, with sharp, aristocratic features and eyes that held a fervent, unsettling light. He looked at me with an emotion I couldn’t name—a deep, consuming obsession that made my skin prickle.

“Selene,” he murmured, his thumb stroking the back of my hand. His touch felt familiar, a ghost of a memory I couldn’t grasp, but it filled me with a deep, instinctive revulsion. A cold dread coiled in my stomach.

He must have seen the recoil in my eyes. His adoring gaze fractured, replaced by a flash of raw anger. The shift was instantaneous. His grip on my hand tightened, bruisingly tight, as he tried to pull me closer.

“Don’t pull away from me,” he growled, his voice losing all its previous tenderness. “You are mine.”

My body moved without my conscious command, twisting, trying to wrench free from his aggressive hold. A silent scream built inside me. His face was inches from mine, his breath hot against my cheek. The repulsion was a physical force, a desperate need to escape his suffocating presence.

Then, just as his other hand came up to grasp my arm, the world tipped sideways again.

My eyes flew open.

I was gasping, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. The familiar ceiling of my bedroom came into focus, blurred by unshed tears. The oppressive heat of the dream was gone, replaced by the soft, cool cotton of my sheets. A dull, heavy weakness clung to my limbs.

I felt a movement at my side, it was mother. Mother was there, her head resting on the edge of my bed, her dark hair spilling across the coverlet. My slight shift jostled her, and she jerked awake instantly, her silver eyes wide and frantic.

“Lillian?” Her voice was rough with sleep and worry. She reached for me, her cool fingers brushing my damp forehead. “You’re awake. Oh, thank the heavens.”

Her exclamation brought my sisters rushing in. Catherine was at my side in an instant, her green eyes scanning my face with intense relief. Madeline hovered just behind her, her usual playful smirk replaced by genuine concern.

“How do you feel?” Catherine asked, her voice soft but urgent. “Can you speak? Are you in pain?”

I tried to find my voice, but it came out as a dry croak. “Thirsty,” I managed.

Madeline was already pouring a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. She helped me sip it, the cool liquid a blessing on my parched throat. The simple act seemed to ease the tight fear in the room. Catherine let out a long, shaky sigh, and Mother’s shoulders slumped in visible relief.

But Mother’s eyes were still shadowed. “Martha,” she said to the maid hovering in the doorway, her voice regaining its commanding edge. “Fetch Doctor Asher. Immediately.”