Prologue and Chapter One-Five The rising of Selene Thanatos_Ashes of the Lost

Prologue

I am Selene Thandros. Born under the darkness of the moon, heir to death’s shadow. My fate was sealed before I took my first breath—to become the darkness itself. But I will not surrender to it. I will fight, I will endure, and I will survive, no matter what the cost.

I stand in the midst of a battlefield, the bodies of the fallen, both enemy and ally, strewn around me. He lies amongst them, cold and still, and I know deep down that I am the reason for his death. A voice cuts through the chaos, low and insistent, pulling me toward it. The voice from my nightmares. To my right, a wall of darkness rises, shifting and writhing like something alive. Every instinct screams for me to flee, to turn back. But I don’t. I take a step toward it. And another. And another. Until I am standing at its edge. In the depths of the shadows, I see her. My reflection. My own, but not my own. A woman in a torn black gown, a shredded cape draped across her shoulders. She is crowned with dark, shattered antlers atop her dark red hair. Her eyes gleam with something dark, twisted. She smiles, and the world around me shifts. I know what she is. She is me. The version of myself I have feared becoming. Her reflection becomes clearer, closer , and she stretches out her hand towards mine. And I take it.

Chapter 1

I jolt up in bed, gasping for air. The echoes of the nightmare still linger, suffocating me with their weight. Sweat clings to my skin, and I try to steady my breathing, but my heart is racing like I’ve just run a marathon.

My room feels like a lifeline, safe and familiar. Floral curtains line the windows, my dark oak wardrobe is where it always is, and Zeus, my cat, is curled up at the foot of my bed, oblivious to my panic. Sunlight filters through the curtains. I hear the chirp of birds outside, but my chest is tight, as if the world is still spinning with the remnants of the dream. I blink, trying to piece together fragments of it, but I remember nothing, the thoughts I had are slipping, fading into the distance. Focus. Think. I slap my palms to my face. The interview. Harvard. I shake my head, trying to shove the terror back down where it belongs. I don’t have time for this.

I stand, my body trembling slightly as I head for the bathroom. I turn the faucet in my shower to cold, and then I gaze at myself in the mirror. My reflection shows a woman I barely recognize; tired, worn, like I haven’t slept in days. My flat red hair is stuck to my forehead from sweat and my hazel eyes seem dull from a restless night. The weight of everything presses down on me at once; my parents, the pressure of this interview. I want out. The stress is evident on my face. I want a future beyond this suffocating city, but… will this next step be enough?

Focus. I step into the shower, letting the cold water hit me. It’s a shock to my senses, but it doesn’t clear the fog in my mind. The eucalyptus scent from the leaves hanging from my shower head fills my lungs, and for a moment, I allow myself to relax, let the calming scent consume me. But my thoughts keep pulling me back. My parents. My life. The interview today. Everything feels too close, too heavy. I stand there until my body starts to tremble from the cold. I grab a towel, blot my face, and dry myself off, while pushing the thoughts aside. Shit (my actual reaction IRL LOL) . I’m running late.

Zeus is still where I left him. I give him a quick pat on the head as I rush to get dressed. I put on Black slacks, a maroon shirt, and neutral heels. I don’t have time for anything else, but I make sure I look presentable. After all, today is possibly the most important day of my life. A chance to attend Harvard for Law school, an exciting future. Everything I’ve worked for comes down to this interview. My heart pounds as I think of my future slipping away if this doesn’t work out. I can’t go back to Idaho. I can’t be another small-town girl who never made it and moves back in with her parents. It’s what everyone expects of me and I’m determined to prove them wrong.

I grab my keys, run out the door, and race through the parking lot. I hop into my Toyota Corolla, feeling the weight of the morning pressing on me. I’m only five minutes early, unlike my usual 30 minutes early to any event, and I can’t afford to be late. Not today. But of course, traffic is a nightmare. I merge onto the interstate, only to stop dead in my tracks. The usual chaos of honking horns and impatient drivers feels like a background hum to my rising anxiety. The interview, the opportunity, I can’t let it slip. I can’t. I glance at the GPS. Now I’m five minutes late. Screw it.

I swerve to the shoulder, cutting through traffic with a reckless abandon. I blow through a red light, dodging a few cars honking behind me. My hands are white-knuckled on the steering wheel as I push the car faster, earning me the occasional middle finger. I don’t care. I’ll get there. I’ll prove I deserve this. I finally reach my exit and speed down the road, ignoring every rule I’ve ever followed. But just as I think I’m safe, I pull into the parking garage, and a man steps out in front of me, blocking my path. Black clothes. Mask. I slam on the brakes, barely stopping in time.

"Roll down the window,” he orders. I can tell his voice low, chilling, even through the glass. I hesitate for a heartbeat, then roll it down. “Get out of the car,” he demands, his tone leaving no room for argument. “No.” My voice shakes, but I’m defiant. I’ve had my fair share of New York crack heads “Get out of my way, or I’ll run you over.” Before I can react, three more men step from the shadows, their faces masked, their movements too deliberate. I size them up, calculating how fast I can run, but I know the answer. There’s no way out. With a pounding heart, I shut off the engine and step out, but before I can do anything, something heavy is thrown over my head, and the world tilts.

CHAPTER 2 ( IF THIS WAS LONG ENOUGH TO BE A FULL CHAPTER WHAT AM I EVEN TRYING TO ACCOMPLISH)

It’s as if this morning has repeated itself. I wake up sweating, heart racing, and that cold knot of dread lodged in my chest. I don’t know why. The dreams, the terror, the feeling of being watched—they all fade into the fog the moment I open my eyes. But as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I realize something isn’t right. My breathing feels labored, shallow. I can't move freely. I blink a few times, trying to focus, and then it hits me: I’m suffocating. My head is trapped inside a rough bag. Panic floods my chest. Did I just get kidnapped? My heart hammers in my throat. I try to stay still, to control my breathing, but the reality of my situation gnaws at my sanity. I’m not an expert in self-defense, or anything really useful for a moment like this. So I do the only thing I can: I focus on staying calm, hoping they’ll think I’m unconscious, that maybe I’ll survive this. I hear footsteps, low mutterings around me. And then, the unmistakable click of a door opening, followed by more voices, more movements. The shadows in my mind twist. I’m going to die here. The thought settles over me like a cold blanket. Suddenly, the bag is yanked off my head. I blink rapidly, my eyes fighting against the harsh light. My vision is blurred at first, but then I focus. Where am I? The room is dimly lit, but I can make out the outline of a man standing in front of me. His face is obscured by a mask, but his presence is suffocating. My eyes shift nervously as he leans in closer. “Tell us why you did this to yourself,” his voice is rough, cold. "And don't you dare lie." The words hit me like a slap. Did what? I try to stay composed, but my heart is a drumbeat in my chest. “I don’t know what you’re talking about," I say, my voice shaky but defiant. I expect a pause, maybe a response. Instead, without warning, his hand strikes. The slap lands across my right cheek, stinging, shocking me into silence. I gasp, but the pain is nothing compared to the fear that tightens around my throat. “I just told you not to lie,” he growls, his face inches from mine, his breath foul against my skin. The world tilts. I don’t have time to react before his hand is raised again, but this time, another man enters the scene. “Stop,” he commands, a firm hand grabbing the first guy’s wrist. His voice is calm, controlled. "Leave her to me." Reluctantly, the masked man steps back, glaring at me one last time before turning and walking out of the room. My heart doesn’t slow. It only beats faster. The second man steps forward, his eyes sharp, scanning me like a puzzle he intends to solve. “You seriously have no clue why we’re here with you?” he asks, his voice low, intense. I refuse to show fear, but my body betrays me. I’m trembling. My throat tightens with every word. I keep my gaze steady, defiant. "I have no idea." His eyes narrow, as if trying to peer into my soul, and his expression shifts just slightly. “Untie her, and take her to him.” Him? The question gnaws at me, but before I can respond, one of the other men steps up behind me and starts loosening the ropes binding my wrists. My arms ache as they’re freed, but the relief is short-lived. The man grabs me by the elbows, hauling me roughly to my feet. My legs feel weak, and I stumble slightly. My body is heavy, like it's made of stone, and a dizzying sensation clouds my thoughts. Have they drugged me? The thought lingers uncomfortably. It’s like my body doesn’t belong to me anymore. They pull me down a dark corridor, and the air around me feels thick with tension. My mind races as I try to focus, try to make sense of what’s happening, but it’s all a blur. We round a corner, and I’m led into a room—an office, I think. The moment I step inside, the world sharpens. The room is stark—almost oppressively so. Black walls. A single window to my right, barely letting in any light. A fire crackles faintly behind a sleek, dark desk that reflects the dim flames. The man drags me across the room and forces me into a white leather chair. His grip is unrelenting. His words follow me like shadows. “Don’t move or try to escape,” he warns, his voice low and menacing. “We’re all going to be waiting outside the door, ready for any attempt you might make.” Great, I think, the edge of panic sharpening in my gut. The air in the room feels suffocating now. I scan the room quickly. My eyes flick to the only piece of art on the wall—an enormous painting that dominates the right side. It’s a battle scene, but it looks ancient, almost archaic. It doesn’t mean anything to me, but somehow, it feels important. I glance back toward the window, but the city view is obscured by a veil of darkness. The skyline, the streets—everything feels distant. Detached. As I stare at the glass, the weight of my situation comes crashing down on me. I realize, with a gut-wrenching certainty, that I am not just late to my interview anymore. My whole future—my whole life—has been hijacked by people who don’t care who I am. I’m just another pawn. I’m yanked from my thoughts by the sharp click of the door opening. My head snaps to the side, a reflex that betrays my growing fear. A tall man enters the room, his presence magnetic. He wears a dark blue suit with a red tie, and every step he takes is purposeful, confident, as though the room bends to his will. His eyes lock onto mine, cold and calculating. I stiffen, my breath catching in my throat. Is that a smile on his lips? Or a sneer? I can't tell, but it doesn’t matter. I know this man is trouble. Serious trouble. I’m dead. The thought lingers in my mind, a bitter truth.

He sits next to me, his gaze never leaving my face, as though he’s dissecting every reaction, every muscle in my body. The chair creaks as he leans in just slightly, too close. “So, Selene,” he begins, his voice smooth but laced with something dark, “I heard you’ve been reluctant to tell my men the truth.” My heart skips. I haven’t even had a chance to explain myself, but he already knows my name. I swallow the panic that rises in my throat, forcing myself to meet his gaze. But in those eyes... there’s no empathy. No humanity. Just cruelty. I don’t respond. What’s the point? He’s probably going to kill me anyways. He smiles—no, it’s more of a smirk. And it feels like the last bit of hope I had evaporates. “Your name is Selene, no?” he asks, his tone almost playful, but there’s nothing fun about it. I hesitate, unsure whether I should lie or tell the truth. Does it even matter anymore? The knot in my chest tightens. “Yes,” I say finally, my voice shaking. His smile deepens, though it’s not kind. The air in the room is thick with tension, and every muscle in my body is on high alert as he watches me with unsettling calm. The room feels smaller now, the fire crackling behind us, the shadows from the flames flickering on the walls like they’re alive. My heart is racing again, and I’m trying to steady my breath. But I can’t ignore the feeling that something is terribly wrong. He leans forward slightly, his dark eyes never leaving mine. There’s an almost imperceptible smile curling the corners of his lips, and for a moment, I wonder if this is a game to him. "So, Selene," he begins, his voice soft and cold, "you’ve been causing quite a stir lately." I swallow hard, my throat dry. Causing a stir? I don’t understand what he means, but I can feel the weight of the words pressing down on me. "What do you mean?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady, but I’m pretty sure it’s cracking. He tilts his head slightly, as if amused by my confusion. "You’ve been… missing for a while, haven’t you?" A chill runs through me at the way he says it. Missing? I don’t— I haven’t been missing. I’ve been right here, living my normal life. The life I’ve always known. But now his words feel like a thread being pulled, unraveling the edges of my reality. "Missing?" I repeat, my voice much smaller than I intended. "I— I haven’t been missing.” He doesn’t react to my words. His gaze is calculating, almost like he’s measuring me. "That’s the thing, Selene," he says, his voice laced with a quiet, mocking tone. "You’ve been here. You’ve been present. But you haven’t been living your life." He leans closer, the intensity of his stare sending a shiver down my spine. "You’ve been... avoiding it." I blink, trying to process his words. Avoiding what? "I’m not sure what you mean," I whisper, but something inside me is starting to twist uncomfortably. Avoiding it? What am I avoiding? What does he know? He pauses, his eyes narrowing slightly as if searching for something beneath my surface. "You’ve been stuck, Selene. Stuck in a loop. A pattern you can’t break. You think you’re moving forward, but you’ve been running in place." He watches me closely, the words landing harder than I expected. "You’re not where you think you are." His words cut through the haze of confusion in my mind. Not where I think I am? "What are you talking about?" I manage to ask, the unease in my chest growing. "I’m right here." He smiles—though it’s not a reassuring smile. “You know me Selene. Deep down you know me- us.” I recoil at his words, confusion and fear mixing in my chest. "No," I say, my voice shaking. "I don’t know you. I don’t know any of you." He leans back in his chair, studying me with an air of detachment, as if he's waiting for the pieces to fall into place. "Of course you don’t remember. That’s the trick, isn’t it? Memory is a funny thing. It changes. Sometimes, you forget the things you don’t want to remember. And sometimes, you forget what you never should have forgotten in the first place." I’m frozen, staring at him, trying to make sense of what he’s saying. What does he mean? "Why don’t you try remembering for me?" he continues, his voice laced with a cruel amusement. "Tell me, Selene. What’s the first thing you remember about yourself?" His eyes glint with something darker now, something I can’t quite place. I open my mouth, but my words come out halting. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say. "I… I remember my family. My parents. My childhood. I remember..." My voice falters. What do I remember? He watches me closely, his gaze sharp. "Your real parents, Selene," he says, his words slicing through the fog in my mind. "Do you remember them?" The room seems to tilt. What? Is he talking about my birth parents? How does he know so much about me. "My parents," I whisper, my voice barely audible now. The words sound strange coming out of my mouth. I don’t know why, but I can feel the ground beneath me suddenly feel a little less solid. "I— I don’t know what you mean." His smile widens slightly, though it’s no comfort. "Of course you don’t. You were taken from them a long time ago, Selene. And the family you have now… isn’t real. An illusion from your own mind." The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. "No," I say again, but this time it’s more desperate. "That’s not true. I know my life. I know my family." He leans forward again, his voice dropping lower, almost a whisper. "You really think you know, don’t you? But the truth is, you don’t remember anything about your real life." I feel the chill in the room creep under my skin as he watches me with something close to amusement. He stands, moving deliberately toward a bookshelf on the far side of the office. My eyes follow him, my pulse quickening as I sense he’s about to drop some other bombshell. From the shelf, he retrieves a thick, worn leather-bound book, its edges frayed with age. He doesn’t say anything at first, simply walks over and places the book gently on the table in front of me with a soft thud. My eyes narrow instinctively. Something about the book feels… off. As if it carries with it the weight of secrets I’m not ready to uncover. “Do you recognize this?” He asks, his voice low and teasing, as though he’s asking a riddle that only I can solve. I glance down at it, but no immediate recognition comes. I can’t recall ever having seen it before. It looks like a relic from another time, the gold lettering faded, but still legible. I reach out tentatively and open the cover, scanning the yellowed pages. The text is written in an old, archaic style—one I can barely read. “Don’t bother,” He interrupts, as if sensing my hesitation. “Let me save you the trouble. The introduction is all you need.”

He takes a seat beside me, his eyes never leaving my face. I swallow hard, the weight of the book pressing down on me, like it’s daring me to engage. A sick feeling churns in my stomach, but I force my eyes back to the first page. I don’t want to let him see my fear, but it’s growing. Something about this book is wrong. I begin to read aloud, each word sending a ripple of discomfort through me. "There will come a time in her life when she loses control. The demon inside her will rise, consuming her mind, her soul. She will show no mercy, no compassion, only destruction. She will become the storm that tears everything apart. And once it’s unleashed, nothing and no one will survive the desolation." My voice falters as the words burn into my mind, a chill crawling up my spine. I can barely finish the sentence before I feel like I’ve been doused in ice water. The words—though strange—strike a nerve deep within me. They feel... too familiar. I stop reading and look up at him, but I can't seem to meet his gaze. He watches me closely, his lips curling into that cold, calculating smile. “Sound familiar?” he asks, his voice nearly a whisper. I can’t answer. My mouth feels dry, and I try to push the disquieting sensation in my chest away. But the more I try to convince myself of that, the more the words feel like a truth I’ve been avoiding. I start to remember that it sounds similar to a fairytale my birth mother used to recite to keep me in line, woven with fear and punishment. She’d say it like a warning, as if the words themselves could bind me, shape me. My parents, obsessed with Greek gods, ancient myths, and prophecies like this, treated it like scripture. To them, the gods weren’t just legends. They were gods to be obeyed, feared, revered. And now, as the words burn into my mind again, I realize the story wasn’t just a lesson, it was a prophecy. A warning to me. I shake my head as if to dispel the thought of it being real. This shouldn’t affect me the way it does. It’s fake. Nothing more than a tactic to get kids to not disobey their parents.

“No,” I finally say, though my voice wavers. “I’ve never heard this before. It’s... just some story. It doesn’t mean anything.” I lie through my teeth. His smile widens, almost imperceptibly, and I can see the shift in his eyes—a spark of satisfaction at my discomfort. “Oh, but it does mean something. To you,” he replies, leaning in slightly, his voice dropping lower. “It’s not just a story, Selene. It’s a prophecy. One that’s been woven into your life since the very beginning.” I glance back at the book in my hands, now feeling the weight of it as if it’s alive with some dark secret. The words still burn at the back of my mind, echoing like a warning I should’ve heard long ago. “My prophecy?” I repeat, my voice sounding foreign even to my own ears. “No. This isn’t mine. It’s just... some old book.” But I know that’s not the truth. “Not just any book, Selene,” He murmurs. He reaches forward and lightly taps the page with one long finger. “This is a record of what was written for you. For your future. A future that is already in motion, even if you’re too blind to see it.” I feel a surge of panic, but I try to stay calm. I can't let him see how much his words are affecting me. "I don’t believe in this," I say, forcing the words out through gritted teeth. "I’m not... whatever this is talking about." His eyes narrow, and I can see the amusement draining from his face. He leans closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper, as though confiding in me—if only to tear my world apart in the process. “You don’t remember, do you?” he asks, a sharp edge to his words. “You’ve been running from it for so long that your mind has locked it away. But it’s still there. In your blood. In your bones. You’re a part of this, Selene. You always have been.” The room feels smaller again. The air feels thick, as if the walls are closing in on me. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My mind is whirling, trying to hold onto something solid, something real, but it’s slipping away, piece by piece. “Stop,” I say, my voice trembling, desperate to shut him down. "I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re lying. This... this is just some kind of game, some manipulation." He doesn’t flinch. His gaze is unwavering, and I can feel the weight of his stare pressing into me, demanding that I face whatever truth he’s laying bare. “I’m not lying, Selene,” he says slowly, his words like a knife twisting in my gut. “The truth is, everything you think you know is fragile. It’s built on lies. You were never meant to live the life you have. This reality? This ‘normal’ life? It’s all delusion.” (she a bit delulu some might say teehee) I try to process his words, but my mind is spinning too fast, like I’m standing on the edge of something enormous. Something that will change everything. I want to push him away, deny him, tell him he’s wrong. But somewhere deep inside, I’m afraid he’s right. “I- I can’t be what you’re saying I am.” I whisper, more to myself than to him. He stands up slowly, his posture relaxed but his presence overpowering. “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” He turns toward the door, pausing for just a moment before he speaks again, his words hanging in the air like a final sentence. “You’ll remember soon enough, Selene. You have no choice.” I sit in the silence, my heart thundering in my chest as I process everything he’s said. What does that mean? What’s he trying to tell me?Just as I think the conversation is over, he pauses at the door and turns to face me once more. His smile has faded, replaced by a cold, predatory gleam in his eyes. My breath catches in my throat. “I think it’s time you finally knew the full truth,” he says, his voice ice-cold. I open my mouth to speak, to protest, but I can't find the words. He takes a step forward, as if savoring the moment, and lets his gaze fall on me with unsettling finality. “My name is Thorn. Thorn Stavros.I killed your parents, Selene,” Thorn declares, his voice smooth, like it’s just another fact of life. “Your real parents. The ones you think you remember.”

CHAPTER 3

My heart literally stops when I hear those words. I barely remember anything about my birth parents, their faces are nothing but blurred images in the back of my mind. But despite everything, despite how much I love the parents who raised me, there has always been this gnawing, aching curiosity. I’ve always wondered who they were, where they came from, what they looked like. But now, hearing this, I feel as though my entire world has shattered. No matter how hard I try to fight it, tears start pouring from my eyes. I can’t stop them. I try to choke out the words, but they catch in my throat

“What do you mean you… killed my parents?” I can barely get the question out. His voice is calm, unsettlingly so. “Oh, don’t worry. It was the best for everyone, including you.” Anger surges through me like a tidal wave. The pain in my chest burns, but it’s overshadowed by fury. My hands ball into fists, and before I can think, I leap from my chair and lunge at him. But he’s too fast.

Effortlessly, he grabs my wrists, twisting them with a force I can’t match, and I’m pinned between his hands. “I knew you had a temper, but I thought it would take more to rile you up,” he says, a faint smirk on his lips. The way he talks about me as if he knows me just fuels my anger and confusion. I fight against his grip, desperate to free myself, but it’s futile. He’s not even trying.

“In this realm,” he says, his voice colder now, “you’re powerless. So I’d suggest you don’t try anything else.” Realm? The word hangs in the air, chilling me to the bone. “What do you mean ‘realm’? Is everyone around me insane?” He studies me carefully, his eyes dark and unreadable. “You really don’t know, do you?” I shake my head, my breath shallow, the rawness in my chest still overwhelming. I close my eyes, trying to steady myself. “Please,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “Explain to me what’s going on.” His hands loosen slightly on my wrists, but he doesn’t let go. There’s a flicker of something in his gaze, softening, maybe, but not quite warmth.

“I can’t risk showing you yet,” he says quietly. Then, slowly, he releases me. I draw my hands to my chest instinctively, pulling them away from him. I close my eyes and focus on calming myself. My body is shaking, but I try to find something, anything, to center me. And then, I feel it. A faint, familiar tug on my heart. I remember… My birth mother. I can see it now, clearer than before. Her hands in my hair, softly braiding it. The way she hummed as she worked, that tender smile she would give me when she tucked a strand behind my ear. The softness of her touch, the love that radiated from her. I breathe deeply, letting the memory wash over me. I can almost feel her here, her warmth wrapping around me like a blanket. The anger starts to fade. The pain in my chest lessens.

Slowly, my breathing steadies. I wipe away a tear, but before I can fully wipe it away, I feel a hand on my cheek, but not my own. I look up and Thorn’s fingers are gently brushing away the tears. The touch is… soothing. As if he gave me the memory himself. But that’s impossible, right? Was it even real? I swallow hard, trying to push the questions from my mind. “What did you do to me?” “I only helped you recover something precious from your memory,” he replies softly. There’s understanding in his eyes, an unsettling kind of peace that makes my pulse slow, even as my mind races.

“Who are you, really?” I ask, my voice trembling. His expression hardens slightly. “That’s another thing I can’t tell you yet,” he says, though there’s a note of regret there. “But I’ll work with you until we get where we need to be.” The sudden weight of everything, the truth of what he just said, sinks into my chest like a stone. A sob catches in my throat. I can’t hold it back. It’s not fear, it’s a feeling of being utterly lost, trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts that don’t make sense. “What is going on with me?” I ask, barely able to breathe through the tears. Thorn’s voice softens, but it’s firm. “All you need to do is stay calm and trust me.” He removes his hand from my cheek, and I suddenly feel empty. A cold ache spreads through me, the loss of his touch unsettling in ways I can’t explain. He has been threatening my life. I should do anything but feel this attachment to him.

“Why does it feel like I know you?” I ask, though I don’t know if I really want an answer. “Wake up, Athena.” His voice snaps me out of my spiraling thoughts. I feel a jolt in my chest, the energy in my body surging again, like it’s trying to escape. I push it back down, forcing myself to breathe. “Athena,” he repeats. The way he says my name feels too familiar. Too intimate. “You need to wake up,” he says again, his voice more insistent now. I close my eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to block out the confusion.

But when I open them again, everything is different. I’m not in that cold, strange room. I’m back in my apartment, lying in my bed. I freeze. I slap my face hard, but the pain doesn’t help. I try to shut my eyes tighter, trying to force myself to wake up, to snap out of it. But when I open them again, I realize this is real. I look down at my hands to ground myself, only to notice they’re covered in blood. I gasp and close my eyes again, but when I look down again, they’re clean. I breathe a sigh of both confusion and relief. It was just a dream. Worry settles over me as I replay my dream over and over. I’ve never had such intense dreams in my life, one of which I can’t even remember.

Once I get a hold on my thoughts, I glance over at my clock and see that it’s 7:00 AM, an hour before I was supposed to wake up. I push the lingering unease away and get out of bed, walking to my bathroom. But as I turn the shower on, a shiver runs down my spine, déjà vu. I shake it off, dismissing it as nothing, and step into the warm water. The scent of eucalyptus fills my senses, calming my nerves. It was just a dream. Nothing more. I’m fine. I repeat this to myself over and over until I force myself to believe it.

I finish my shower, wrap myself in a towel, and look out the bathroom window at the blue sky. Something in my gut tells me I’m missing something. I get dressed; black slacks, maroon shirt, and tan heels. I put on my usual makeup, and head out the door, hoping my routine will ground me. At least in reality, I have time for coffee. As I drive to my usual coffee shop, traffic free, I focus on the feel of the steering wheel beneath my hands, grounding myself in the present. I arrive at the coffee shop and order my basic vanilla latte, and sit down and wait. I gaze out the window and watch the people walk by. Someone catches my eye and I see the man from my dream, Thorn. I shake my head and blink, and see only an old man in a black coat. My name is called and I quickly walk up to grab my coffee. I take a few sips, then head back out to my car and put the address for my interview into my GPS. I’ll be arriving 30 minutes early, just like I planned.

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As I drive, my thoughts spiral back to the dream I had last night. It’s like a weight, something I can't shake off no matter how hard I try. The man’s words still echo in my ears: "I killed your parents." “This life here isn’t real.” The memories swirl, foggy but sharp, and I can’t make sense of it all. Why would I dream about that stuff? And that book, the one I can’t remember… It feels like a warning. Am I losing my mind? I need therapy. Before I know it, I’m pulling into the parking garage. A breath of relief escapes me as I park—no strange men jumping out to abduct me, no shadowy figures chasing me down the street. I should be grateful for the calm, but instead, there’s a gnawing unease in the pit of my stomach. My hands are shaking as I step out of the car, and I’m suddenly all too aware of the heels on my feet, awkward and out of place. Two blocks to the building. You can do this. I tell myself that, but my feet feel heavier with every step. By the time I reach the entrance, my palms are damp. I take a moment to steady myself before walking inside. The lobby is gorgeous. The light pouring in from the massive windows is almost blinding, but the elegant chandelier above me softens the harshness. Marble sculptures line the walls like they belong in a museum, and the sound of the fountain in the center is strangely soothing. But… Everything feels foreign. An out of body experience. My dream last night really set me off. I keep my awe in check as I walk to the desk and check in with the receptionist. She barely looks up as she speaks. “Name?” Her tone is flat, impersonal. “Selene Thandros. I’m here to see Dr. Archer.” I say it with more confidence than I feel, but the receptionist doesn't seem to care. “Ah, yes. Dr. Archer is very excited to meet you. Sign in here, and her assistant will be right out.” She hands me the clipboard like it’s a formality, but I can feel her dismissiveness in the air. I don’t belong here. I sign my name, my handwriting sloppy and hurried, then sit down on a stiff wooden chair across from the desk. The seconds stretch into minutes. Five minutes… fifteen… thirty. Sweat beads on my palms, my mind running in circles as doubt creeps in. Why am I even here? What do I think I’m going to prove? What if I’m just wasting everyone’s time? My dream once again comes back to me, like an echo from another life. The man’s voice rings in my ears again: "I killed your parents." Out of everything from my dream, that is what terrifies me the most. A chill runs down my spine, and I force myself to focus on the ticking of the massive clock on the wall. The minutes stretch on endlessly. I try to calm myself, but my thoughts are everywhere. It makes me wonder if my birth parents are dead and my brain is trying to get rid of any hope I had of meeting them one day. Did I get my red hair from my mother, or father? Which one of them has my hazel eyes? I’m 5’6, so I’m assuming they were relatively tall. Are my clumsy tendencies genetic, or just something from how I grew up. These are all things I would hope to find out one day, but my adoptive parents have never been keen on giving me information regarding my birth parents, and I don’t try to push them on that topic to avoid seeming ungrateful for them. I’m suddenly pulled from my thoughts by the sound of my name. “Selene?” I glance at the clock. Fifteen minutes. That’s how long I’ve been lost in my own head. I look up, a smile plastered on my face, trying to look calm even though my stomach is in knots. A woman stands at the door, dressed in a black pencil skirt and a light blue silk blouse. Her heels are so high that I wince at the thought of wearing them—if I tried, I’d be flat on my face in two seconds. I try not to feel self-conscious as I get to my feet, suddenly hyper-aware of the difference between me and this woman. If she’s the assistant, how much more elegant will Dr. Archer be? I wipe my palms on my pants, trying to erase the sweat. Don’t mess this up. The assistant, Sarah, leads me down a narrow hallway to a small office that feels underwhelming compared to the grandeur of the lobby. The lack of windows makes the room feel suffocating, and the tan walls are cold, unwelcoming. Why does everything feel wrong? She gestures for me to sit in front of a desk. “Dr. Archer will be with you in just a moment.” Then she’s gone, leaving me alone in the sterile space. I glance around, my thoughts a whirlwind again. I get a flashback from my dream and have to convince myself that Thorn, the man from my dream, is not going to emerge from the door at any second. The walls around me are tan, and the floor is made up of white marble, just like the lobby. I focus on the details, an attempt to keep the fear out of my heart. The sound of the door knob turning interrupts my thoughts. I turn to see Dr. Archer standing in the doorway. The woman who holds my future in her hands. I’m caught off guard by her appearance. She is wearing light tan slacks, and a black shirt that looks like an old T-shirt. I’m not sure what I had expected, but it wasn’t that. Her eyes rake over me before she steps into the room. Her smile is thin, barely a curve of the lips. “Selene?” she says, her voice crisp and cold. I stand up quickly, my breath catching in my throat. “Yes,” I reply, trying to muster some composure. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” I extend my hand, but she doesn't even acknowledge it. She glances down at it, and then walks past me, without so much as a shake. Ouch. That stings more than I expected. My confidence cracks like glass, but I hold my ground and sit across from her. This is it. Don’t blow it. She sits behind the desk without looking up. Her gaze stays fixed on some papers in front of her. “I assume you’ve prepared a long, rehearsed speech about why you should be accepted to Harvard?” she asks, her tone dripping with condescension. I blink, caught off guard by her words. I thought I was ready for anything, but now, I’m not so sure. “I know I don’t deserve anything, but I have worked hard, and prepared nearly my whole life for this moment. I strive to-” “Enough with the sob story,” she cuts me off, her voice harsh. “Tell me something new. Everyone has the same pitch you have.” I freeze. Tell me something new? What else is there to say? I’m not like everyone else. I’m not like the students who have family names tied to legacies, who can afford every opportunity. I’m just… me. I clear my throat, fighting back the panic rising in my chest. “Alright,” I say slowly, my voice a little steadier now, “I was adopted when I was five. I never knew my parents.” The words feel like a weight in my chest, but they’re nothing compared to the strange, dark thought that creeps in. “I killed your parents.” My hands shake as I force myself to keep going. “My whole life, a part of me has felt like I was never wanted. I was never good enough for the people around me, for the world.” I take a shaky breath, pushing through the fog in my mind. “I never felt in control of anything, so I decided to take control in one area—what I can do with my life, who I can be. And that’s what’s driven me to excel, to push myself harder than I ever thought I could.” I look at Dr. Archer, trying to read her, but all I see is coldness. “I’ve worked my entire life to prove that I am worthy of something better.” She leans back in her chair, crossing her arms, her lips pressed into a thin line. “That being said, I chose to pour all my time and emotions into becoming…” Wait. What is it I want to become? Why am I here? My dream is interlacing with my reality. Causing me to not be fully present. I shake my head softly, unsure of why my brain is betraying me. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Archer, my thoughts seem to have disappeared.” “So it seems.” She has no pity or remorse in her face, only impatience and slight cruelty. I’m wasting her time and I know it. She knows it. “The world doesn’t care about your sob stories, Selene. It cares about results.” Her words hit harder than I expected. I clench my fists under the table, trying to keep my composure. I feel the walls closing in, the weight of her judgment suffocating me. Before I can say anything else, she cuts me off with a sharp gesture. “We’re done here.” The words feel like a slap to the face. I freeze, the reality of it hitting me in waves. “But Dr. Archer, please—” She looks up at me, her gaze unbothered, dismissive. “I said we’re done.” Her voice is final, and she turns her attention back to the papers on her desk without another glance in my direction. I swallow the lump in my throat, feeling the sting of her rejection more acutely than I want to admit. My hands tremble as I stand, my mind reeling. “Thank you for your time,” I mutter quietly, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. Without waiting for a response, I leave the room and walk back through the lobby. The fountain that was in the middle is now gone. I stop in my tracks, trying to come up with an explanation for its disappearance. I shake my head and decide I must’ve imagined it. Unlikely, but more likely than it just… disappearing.I push open the doors and step out into the sunlight, Leaving my dreams and my soul behind me. It feels like I’m in a daze, walking through fog. My phone starts to ring, and I see that it’s my mother. She is the last person I want to talk to right now, but I take a deep breath and answer. “Hey mom!” I say with faked enthusiasm. “How did it go?!” The joy and excitement in her voice destroys me even further. I can’t disappoint her, she was too excited about me getting this interview. “Great! It was… great!” I lie through my teeth, the words like acid on my tongue. I have never lied to her. Never. I hear her yell in joy and tell my dad that it went great. I hear his excitement through the phone and I’m disappointed that I’m the cause of their false excitement. “I’m so proud of you!” she says, her joy suffocating me. I can’t tell her the truth. I can’t tell her that I’ve failed, that I’ll never be good enough for people like Dr. Archer. That the world doesn’t care about my story, about my struggle. “As much as I would love to talk mom, Dylan is calling, so I’m gonna let you go. I’ll call you later?” “Of course sweety! Tell that man to grow up and propose! Then we’ll have two things to celebrate when we come to town this weekend!” Crap. I forgot they had planned to come visit, assuming I would get the scholarship. I have 3 days to figure out wheter i want to tell them the truth, or dig my grave deeper by more lying “Will do. Love you!” The fact I can lie so well is scaring me, but that’s the least of my worries. I hang up the phone before she can respond, not being able to take any more. Dylan in fact was not calling me. I’m full of lies today. As I walk back to my car, through the busy streets and running into other people, I realize just how normal I am. How many people around me want to be something great? How many of us will never get the chance to do so? I get back to my car and I don’t even have time to turn it on before I start crying. I sit in my car for a long moment, the tears still flowing, and I realize the truth: I am just one more dreamer, lost in a world that doesn’t care about me. The thought is unbearable.

REAL CHAPTER 4

The drive home is bland, my mind utterly blank and my soul devastated. First, I have a dream about my life being fake and that I’m some kind of monster, then i get completely rejected by my dream school. I scoff and shake my head. This comedy that I call my life only gets better and better. With the words from my dream in mind, I try to remember some small things such as graduating high school, childhood best friends, even meeting Dylan. Everything is fuzzy. I just need rest. Nothing from my dream was real. It’s all in my head. I drive with the windows down, no music, letting the air fill my senses. It’s New York, so there’s always a fowl smell in the air, but the wind is nice, grounding even. The sun is still shining, there’s people milling about, and yelling and cursing from drivers is nonstop. The World will go on. I will be ok. As I pull into my parking garage at my apartment complex, I get another call. Dylan. I might’ve been able to lie to my parents, but Dylan will see right through me, hear it in my voice. I let the phone ring until it stops, and then get out of my car. My feet feel heavy, my steps lined with defeat. I hardly feel the pain from my heels due to the pain in my heart. As I make my way to my apartment, my head hung low, I feel someone crash into me, embracing me. One breath, and I can tell it’s Dylan by his laundry detergent. I lean into him, allowing my body to rest. “How’s my Harvard girlfriend doing?!” The excitement is obvious in his voice. I love Dylan, but sometimes his overeager personality clashes with mine. I’d like to think I’m not dull, I’m just not as… enthusiastic as him. He released me to look at my face, and when he notices the running mascara, he pulls me back to him, softer. One of his hands embraces the back of my head while his other delivers soothing circles to my back. I’m not sure when I started crying again, but ai can feel the tears coming down my face. As much as I’m disappointed about my failed interview, the dream I had weighs heavy on me as well. Too much. Today has been too much. I pull away from him far enough to say, “I need a drink.” A forced smile appears on my face. He wipes away some of my tears and remaining mascara, then opens the door to my apartment and follows me inside. “I always think you’re beautiful, but maybe you should clean up a bit. I may or may not have planned for us to go out with Charlotte and Andrew.” He says sheepishly. His face flashes with guilt and tries to give me a smile. I roll my eyes, trying to appear amused, but when I go into my room and shut the door, a heavy weight settles on my chest. Just more people to tell about my failure. I should never have told anyone about what I had today. The less I tell, the less I have to let down. I know they won’t judge me for it, but they’ll look at me like some wounded animal. They love me and I know it. Charlotte has been my friend basically forever, and Andrew is her now fiance that she met online. My mind drifts subtly - How did I meet her? I shake my head, not letting my brain go there. Not right now. Right now, I have to pull myself together and prepare for a brutal night. I turn the water on in my sink and look at my reflection. I look even worse than this morning. I throw my hair up in a bun and try to scrub all my ruined make up off my face. The cold water makes me shiver. I dry off my face and decide that tonight is going to be makeup free to save me from having to clean off my face again. I brush through my hair and notice my split ends. When I look in the mirror, my hair is down to my waist. That’s not right. I close my eyes and look again, and I have my short bob as usual. I blink again and run my fingers through my hair. My fingers leave my hair right at the top of my shoulders. Strange. My eyes must be fuzzy cause of the water lingering in my lashes. I walk out of my bathroom and change into a pair of flared jeans, and a dark grey t-shirt. I’m not trying to impress anyone so I go for something as comfy as possible. I throw on a pair of white platform converse and look at myself in the mirror. The woman I see in front of me feels distant. I move my hand up, and hers follows. I turn my head, and the reflection does as well. What am i doing? I sigh, not having enough energy to be concerned for my mental health, and walk out of my bedroom and into the living room. I see Dylan sitting on the couch with Zeus trying to crawl into his lap. I smile as I see the discomfort on Dylan’s face. He’s always had a problem with cats, but tries to put up with Zeus for my sake. Zeus. My parent’s weird obsession with the gods must’ve passed down to me and I didn’t realize it. He looks up and is relieved that I’m ready so he can get away from Zeus harassing him. “You look even more beautiful without all that makeup.” He says as he presses a kiss to my head. For some reason, it makes me uncomfortable so I walk away a little too hasty. I’ll blame it on my mix of emotions. “I’ll drive.” He says, grabbing his keys off the counter. I follow him out of the parking garage and into the parking lot outside of the complex. He drives a white Audi with blacked out features. I didn’t fall in love with him for the money, but it’s definitely a perk. He opens my door for me and then goes over to his side. Once we start driving, he begins to look at me quizzically. “Do you want to talk about it?” I contemplate the question, but my pride takes over. “Not necessarily.” I respond. I feel guilty. Dylan and I tell each other everything. We know everything about each other. I know I’ll have to talk to him about today, and my dream, eventually, but tonight, I’m pushing it aside to try and enjoy this time with him. He’s an attorney so he’s always busy and he took the day off with me to celebrate, and now I’m dragging down the mood. It’s starting to get dark outside and the sky is in between dusk and full on night. That weird gray sky that happens in New York. It’s never fully dark here, but tonight the sky feels weirder. Foggier. As if there’s a shield of fog around the city. I turn my gaze back to Dylan and hold his hand he had placed on my leg. We sit in silence the rest of the drive, and when we finally pull into the parking lot of our usual bar, I already miss the silence. I step out of the car and regret not bringing a jacket. We walk up to the glass door that is lined with small LED bulbs, enhancing the dark oak that the building is made out of. A large, neon red sign hangs above the door that says “Bar”. It’s as if the owner couldn’t think of anything else, but it fits the vibe. We walk inside, and the dim lights comfort me. As soon as my foot steps into the bar, I see Charlotte waving intensely at me, causing her tight blonde hairs to move quickly with the force. Her rosy cheeks are glowing with excitement. Lovely. Time to ruin her night. I try not to be so pessimistic, but I can’t. Not when today has been the worst day of my life. Dylan takes my hand in his, as if sensing my nerves. I’m grateful for the action, and we walk towards the table. Andrew is seated across from Charlotte, his brown eyes that compliment his brown air are just as bright and joyful as Charlotte’s. I force a smile trying to seem just as enthusiastic as them, but I know it doesn’t reach my eyes. Charlotte jumps up and hugs me, jumping and squealing. Just like Dylan, sometimes her emotions overpower me. She lets go and studies my face, studies me. She has always been able to read my thoughts simply by looking in my eyes, and her face drops with something that looks like sadness. “I want to start the night off by saying that I don’t want to talk about my day, but rather just have fun. The four of us. I could use some normalcy.” I don’t dare bring up my dream to them, but that’s the real reason I need tonight. I need tonight to fully ground me, make me realize I’m not living in some dream. They simply nod, and try to erase any look of pity from their faces, but fail. Charlotte and Andrew’s wedding is in a week, so they talk nonstop about the details and I’m grateful for it. Grateful for the focus of tonight being on something so happy, rather than my defeat. I zone out as Charlotte talks about what kinds of flowers and cake she’ll be having, then suddenly the waiter comes to take our order. When it’s my turn, I look up at him, “I’ll take the buff-” My heart stops as I meet his eyes. Bright blue, black hair. Thorn. I close my eyes and shake my head. When I open them I see a younger guy with sandy blonde hair. A breath of relief escapes my mouth, earning me a strange look from everyone at this table. ‘I’ll take the buffalo cauliflower with ranch, and a Vodka redbull.” I struggle to get the words out, still struggling to find out why I saw Thorn. The waiter walks away and Dylan leans in, keeping his voice quiet for only me to hear, “What was that?” “Nothing.” I lie. Soon. I’ll tell him about everything soon. “So Charlotte,” I try and focus attention on her, “Did you get your dress yet?” She squeals with excitement, clearly forgetting my confusion earlier. She shows me pictures of her dress from every angle, hiding her phone from Andrew. She shows me her veil as well, and then what she wants the bridesmaid dresses to look like. Wait. Am I a bridesmaid? How can I not remember? I’ve had zero alcohol, yet my mind feels completely impaired. I wouldn’t dare to ask her and risk hurting her feelings by me not remembering the smallest detail of her wedding. “It’ll look great on you, ya? My maid of honor has to look amazing! Just… not as good as me.” She says this with a joking look in her eye. Maid of honor. What is going on with me. “I love it!” I try to mimic her excitement, but I catch Dylan’s eyes on mine and know he can tell something else is going on with me. I try and take in every feature of his face, trying to ease my mind. His light brown hair is ruffled as always, falling into his eyebrows. His brown eyes are bright with life and that smile I’ve learned to love. His lips are small, complimenting his slightly rounded face. He makes me feel like I’m at home. He is my home in a sense. I immediately feel calmer and try to turn my attention back to the wedding planning.

We’ve now been here for at least two hours and none of us have barely gotten more than two words out since Charlotte is going on and on about family drama regarding the wedding. All this talk of weddings and getting married makes me think about my relationship with Dylan. We’ve been dating for… too long to remember. Yet, we’ve never talked about marriage… have we? How long have we been together? I can’t keep staring at him, his gaze alone is threatening to make my guilt eat me alive. I hear a loud crash behind me and when I look, I see a large puddle of blood. My blood freezes and I jump out of my chair and a blood curdling scream escapes my lips. I look around and no one else in the bar is showing any kind of concern. Only awe and judgement from my reaction. I look back and notice a waiter had dropped a glass of water. My head swims with confusion and I run to the bathroom, not giving anyone a chance to ask any questions. I’m so grateful it’s a one person bathroom so I can lock the door without the worry of someone else barging in. My body is trembling, sobs threatening to emerge. I hear a knock on the door but I ignore it. Voices are barely audible through my racing thoughts in my head. I look in the mirror and my hair is once again down to my waist. My stomach churns and my vision gets blurry. From tears or nausea I’m not sure. I close my eyes, tight enough to where it hurts. I’m real. I’m real. This is real. I repeat these words to myself over and over until I start to believe it. I look in the mirror again and my hair is back to normal and my emotions have somewhat calmed down. Maybe I have a fever. Maybe I’m sick and that mixed with the emotions from today and my dream are the explanation. I have no idea how long I stay in the bathroom, but the knocking becomes rougher and the voice outside is laced with fear as it screams my name. “SELENE!” It shouts. Sounding too similar to Thorn. The voice outside says my name over and over, pleading for me to come out. I splash cool water on my face, wipe my hands on my pants, and slowly open the door. As soon as I do, Dylan rushes in, grabbing me by my shoulders and starts assessing me head to toe. His eyes are laced with panic and worry. A part of me feels guilty - knowing that I’m the cause for that worry. “I want to leave.” I mutter under my breath. Without a second thought, Dylan grabs me by my hand and leads me out of the restaurant, not even stopping to give Charlotte and Andrew an explanation. I don’t dare to look at them, to face their concern. Dylan leads me outside, but doesn’t take me to the car. Instead, He takes me farther out behind the bar until we’re alone underneath a tree, dim light from the restaurant shadowing his face. I feel helpless, weak, and defeated. I can’t even bring my eyes up to meet his. I feel utterly sick in the head and don’t want to confess that. I know it’ll worry him, but I know I have no other choice but to tell him. I hear rustling behind us and muttering voices, but I know it’s Charlotte and Andrew, coming to check on my well-being. Without a word, Dylan shoos them away. Me and him. Alone. The man I love, but can’t remember anything about. Maybe I’m dying. Maybe I have a brain tumor. That would explain everything. I hear noise, then feel my body shaking, yet it’s not from me. Dylan is shaking my shoulders trying to snap me out of whatever trance I’m in. “Selene, please,” His voice is quiet and desperate. “When did we fall in love with each other.” The words flow out of me before I can make it stop. “What do you mean?” His face is covered in hurt and panic. I don’t even feel guilty as I ask again, “When did we fall in love...” My words come out strong, harsher than I meant. “I..” He stares at me as if he doesn’t even know me. “Are you on drugs or something?” He denies my question, but I don’t blame him. If it were the other way around I would most likely think the same thing. Everything feels wrong. He feels wrong. My friends feel distant. The night that was supposed to ground me the most has ended up enhancing my fears even more. “Are you insane? What is going on with you?” The harshness in his voice doesn’t even affect me. I have no more emotions left. I start to walk away from him, but he grabs me by my wrist. “Talk to me. Right now. You’re scaring me, Selene.” The fear and love in his eyes makes me stay. “Something… something is wrong with me, Dylan.” “Is this about the interview?” He asks, his voice still shaking from fear. “No…” My voice is quiet, not sounding like me. “I had a dream last night. A dream that has been haunting me all day.” He looks more concerned than ever as I tell him that. He looks at me as if he doesn’t even know me. “A dream?! This is all from a dream?” Of course he wouldn’t understand. He is strictly motivated by logic and doesn’t have a creative bone in his body. His reaction ignites anger in me. I look at him, but I don’t see the Dylan I saw earlier. There is no home in him. No love in my heart for him as I stare at him. “I need to go home.” Is all I say, avoiding his eyes. WIthout me even realizing it, he had helped me into the car. I must’ve fallen asleep during the drive because when I opened my eyes, we were back at my apartment. “Help me understand, Selene.” Dylan’s voice is demanding, but soft. “You’ll think I’m crazy.” I speak without any control. As if anything I do is not of my own choice. Dylan’s gaze softens as he holds my shoulders once more. We’re standing right outside my apartment door, so I’m sure my neighbors are about to get quite a show. I wish I could say I cared. Nothing matters right now. “I had a dream about my birth mother…” It’s not a lie, but not entirely the truth. “Is that what’s been bothering you?” I nod my head slowly. “Don’t lie to me, Selene. There’s more to it that you’re not telling me.” I wish I could keep myself from telling him, but I can’t. “You want to know the truth, Dylan?” My voice raises more than it should, his eyebrows raising in reaction to it. “I had a dream that I was kidnapped, a man told me my life wasn’t real - you weren't real. Then he told me he killed my birth mother.” I take a breath, trying to see from his point of view and knowing how crazy this is. Before he can get a word in, I continue, “In my dream, the man showed me a book from my childhood. It had a horrific prophecy in it and he said it was my prophecy. I know this sounds crazy, but all day, I have been seeing things, doubting things, doubting myself and the world I know. The book was real though. The words I read… I remembered. A deep part of me recognized them.” “It was just a dream Selene, Nothing more.” I knew he wouldn’t understand. How do I explain to him that he might be just a part of my imagination? What if I tell him that and then I realize that this is real. I’m real and he is real. I can’t risk ruining what we have, even if I’m not exactly sure what it is that we have. “I just need to sleep. It’s been a long day.” “No.” He interjects, “You’re not going to sleep until we talk about this.” My anger is rising and I can’t control my tongue. “Why? Because you’ll actually answer me when I ask when we fell in love? I don’t even remember being asked to be Charlotte’s maid of honor. I don’t even remember meeting you.” The words hit Dylan hard. I have never seen him more upset. “Dylan…” “Forget about it. I’ll see you tomorrow. Or whenever you decide if you actually love me or not.” My heart aches at his words. As I watch him walk away, I can’t help but curse myself for being so stupid. What was I thinking? I’m not even sure my mind is capable of having any more thoughts. I have to force myself to go into my apartment to keep from running to him, begging for his forgiveness. I walk into my place, and without changing, I fall into bed. Sleep hits me hard, and I am restless.

CHAPTER 5

I toss and turn all night, my sleep fractured by dark, suffocating dreams. The faces of my birth parents flash in and out of focus, their eyes hollow with accusation. I can feel their presence, their judgment hanging heavy in the air. The weight of it presses down on me, thick and oppressive, like the dark itself is alive, wrapping around me, squeezing the breath from my lungs. In the midst of it all, Thorn’s voice cuts through, sharp and insistent. “Wake up.” I can’t escape it. His words are like a poison seeping into my thoughts, every syllable deeper than the last. “This isn’t real, Selene. The chill in his voice makes the air feel colder, as though the very world around me is turning on its axis. My stomach lurches. Dylan’s voice follows, distorted but clear. “You’re crazy. You’ve lost it, Selene.” His words echo with frustration, his tone cold. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m leaving you.” I try to reach out, to stop him, but it’s like I’m trapped inside a nightmare where nothing makes sense. His figure blurs, fading in and out of the darkness. The more I grasp for him, the further he slips away. Thorn’s voice returns, louder now, more commanding. “Wake up.”

I quickly open my eyes, adjusting to the sunlight shining through. I’m covered in sweat and my heart is racing. My nightmare leaves a weight on my chest, but I can’t seem to remember what it was. I stretch, easing the tension in my body from my restless night. I pick up my phone to check the time - it’s 10:00. I have a calendar reminder for the interview, which is strange because that was for yesterday. I must’ve put it on the wrong date. I get out of bed and head straight to the living room and then towards the bookshelf in the corner. I’m more of a book collector than a reader, but my eyes scan the shelf, searching for anything that might resemble the book Thorn showed me in my dream. I search through every book, scanning every page, yet I come up empty handed. I go into my kitchen to make myself coffee, but then remember I’m out. It’s probably better for me to get out of the house for a bit anyway. I go into my room to change since I’m still in my clothes from last night and I change into sweatpants and a sweatshirt. It’s hot outside but I need the comfort of these clothes. I glance in the mirror seeing dark bags under my eyes, but at least my hair is short as it should be. I pray that I have no weird hallucinations today. I never knew dreams could affect someone so much, maybe I should get checked out. I throw on some slides and then walk out to my car. I drive in silence, grateful that traffic isn’t too bad and I am able to get to my coffee shop within 15 minutes, the time flying by to my mind still racing, trying to piece anything together from my dream last night. I just get glimpses of Dylan, Thorn, the water that appeared as blood, and my fight with Dylan. It all replays over and over, driving me near insane. I walk into the coffee shop, order my usual, and sit down at a booth. Not facing the windows to avoid the chance I’ll see Thorn in someone else’s face like yesterday. Once my coffee is ready, I get up to grab it and then head back to my booth, only to see that it’s been taken. I sigh, already feeling defeated for the day, and decide to take a walk as I sip on my latte. I end up walking far enough to reach a park. I walk around the park, enjoying nature and the rays of the sun on my skin; letting it sink into me and calm my mind. I pass by children playing, dogs barking, and some romantic picnic dates. I wonder if I’ll ever get the chance to do that with Dylan, now that I might’ve just ruined out entire relationship. Even without my dream haunting me today, I still can’t remember how I met Dylan. I accept my broken mind and continue walking. I get into the middle of the park when there are statues and some art painted on a bridge by our local graffiti artists. One of the drawings catches my eye; a near replica to the painting i saw in Thorn’s office in my dream. I walk up closer to examine it further. It’s a painting of horses and soldiers, seeming like they’re rushing into battle. I can barely make out the faces of the soldiers, but they have symbols on their skin, marking up their faces and necks. The’yre all symbols and some seem to be words in Greek. I’ve been in this part of the park before, but have never seen it. Maybe I have and didn’t pay attention, but it still freaks me out that I’m seeing it now after having seeing it in my dream. There’s a hushed voice around me, very distant. I hear it calling my name. I turn around to see who it is but there’s no one around me. I’m just lost in my thoughts, flashbacks from my dream in my mind. I look up to examine the bridge, and a man is staring down at me. For a split second, I see Thorn. I blink, and he’s gone. My heart begins racing, my breathing becoming uneven. Before I get the chance to panic, my phone starts to ring. The sound causes me to jump, scaring me out of my thoughts. I set my coffee on the ground so I can reach into my purse to grab the phone. It’s Dylan. I don’t know if I have the strength to face the consequences of our conversation from last night, but I owe it to him to try. I take a deep breath, and then answer. My voice barely above a whisper as I say hello. “Sooo… How did it go?!” My fave contorts in confusion as I try to process what he’s talking about. “What?” “How did the interview go?!” He’s joking, right? “Dylan, is this some sort of way to punish me after what I said last night?” He goes silent and I know he’s just trying to rile me up. “Are you ok? Did it not go well?” He’s dong a great job at frustrating me if that’s his goal. “Dylan you’re being a douche. I understand that I upset you last night, but that gives you no right to -” “What are you talking about? Why would you say that to me?” Ok. What’s going on. “Do you not remember last night?” I ask him quietly, my mind racing with any explanation for his confusion. “I mean, I had an important presentation at work, but nothing special. What’s going on with you Selene?” Was everything about yesterday just another dream? Was my interview actually today and I missed it? I’m so screwed. Now I’m the reason for my failed life. “Nevermind.” “No, don’t ignore this. We’re supposed to go out with Charlotte and Andrew tonight, are you gonna be able to make it?” That’s weird. The same exact night that happened in my dream is now actually happening? “I’ll call you back Dylan.” Before he can respond, I hang up the phone and turn my gaze back to the art on the bridge. Nothing is there. It’s just bare brick. I don’t even know what to do at this point. My whole life is falling apart and there’s nothing I can do to stop it. Maybe I’m still dreaming. Either way, I’m determined to try and stay as normal as possible. I walk back through the park, my thoughts drowning out the sounds of children and animals. I get back to my car and drive to my apartment. Once I’m back, I sit down on my bed. I sit in silence for minutes-hours. My mind is racing, yet empty. I’ve heard stress can induce psychotic breaks so I’m accepting that I’m going insane from everything. I’ll deal with Dylan and my parents later. A knock on my apartment door sends a jolt of fear in me, snapping me out of my thoughts. “Not now, Dylan.” I’m in no mood to talk to him and know that he would 100% show up unannounced after me hanging up on him like that. There’s another knock, harder this time. I don’t even respond as I lie down in bed, forcing myself not to give in. “Come on, Selene.” That voice. That dark, smooth voice sounds too familiar. Not Dylan’s. I slowly stand up, keeping my hands in fists to keep them from shaking. I’m hearing things. I have to be hearing things Thorn isn’t even real. Another knock. Three slow beats that make my heart stop with each one. “It’s been long enough, Selene. Just open the door, and accept this.” Screw it, I'm already going insane. I reach up to the door handle, cursing myself for being so curious, and when I open the door, Thorn is in front of me, a cool, calming look in his eyes - contrast to how he looked in my dream the other night. I glance behind him, and my heart stops. My hallway? Gone. Everything is dark and dusty, a different world. I try to retreat back into my apartment only for it to have been replaced by this nightmare of a world in front of me. My heart beats sky rockets with fear, and as I look into Thorn’s eyes, he’s only frowning at me. “Welcome home, Selene.”

Prologue and Chapter One-Five The rising of Selene Thanatos

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