A wall of angry flames danced before Xylia, tainting everything with harsh blood-red light. Silhouettes of people danced in the fires. She tried to cry out, but smoke invaded her lungs. With watery eyes, she searched for salvation, but the figures were gone, consumed by the fire growing closer and closer.

“Xylia! Where are—”

The voice gave way to a blood-curdling scream.

Xylia whipped her head around to find there was a door behind her, unmolested by the flames. She threw it open with a relieved sob but stopped when she saw what horrors awaited.

Corpses littered the floor. The bodies were crumpled in their own pools of blood, frozen forever in whatever positions they were in when they tried to escape their fate. The faces were fixed in expressions of shock and desperation, their blank stares following her. Slit throats. Glassy eyes. Xylia’s tears blurred her vision as she slammed the door shut once again. Shrieks echoed through the flames, and her name reverberated above the crumbling rafters and collapsing walls. She covered her ears and spun around, only to find another body: a boy with his legs trapped under a burning beam. He lifted his head, pain etched on his bloody face.

“Don’t abandoned me!” he begged, his voice broken with betrayal.

His shirt rippled with fire, and the flames engulfed him before eating away at the rest of the house. She backed away with a helpless yelp, not wanting to watch. Little hands grabbed for hers. Desperate faces stared out at her with terrified eyes, calling her name.

“Leave me alone!” she screamed, not knowing where to turn. Everything was burning. She wailed in unbearable agony as the fire spread through her mind.

Fire. Death. Smoke. Blood. Ash.

Xylia shot out of bed, tears streaming from her vibrant green eyes as she clutched her head. Pain seared through every nerve and bathed her in suffering. She clamped her eyes shut and forced her memories back into the dark recesses of her mind. With a few deep breaths, she cleared her head. She sat there for a minute, letting her aching heart calm. After a quick knock, her bedroom door opened. A bald man in a stiff suit poked his head in.

“Are you okay, Miss Lovec? We heard you cry out.”

His concern was simply a formality. He’d been on duty outside her door for weeks and was used to her outbursts.

“Just another nightmare. I’m sorry to disturb you,” she said with all the composure she could muster.

Nodding knowingly, he closed the door again.

She wiped her matted-brown hair from her dampened face, and after the ache faded into a distant memory, she let out a deep sigh and looked at the silver-lined clouds outside the window. Pale pink streaked across the dark sky, hinting the sun was just below the horizon. She played with the idea of trying to get a few more hours of sleep, but the forest called to her.

I guess I’ll be getting an early start today.

Wearily, Xylia dragged herself out of bed.

She was used to waking up in this manner. Her past often resurfaced in her dreams, causing enough unbearable anguish to wake her. All she truly remembered of her childhood was fire. It devoured her memories, burning her every time she tried to think of the day her life was destroyed almost five years prior. But her subconscious mind had never learned its lesson, even after years of night terrors.

She muttered bitterly as she threw on a dirty, torn dress that had been hidden in the back of her closet. Her aunt would be appalled if she saw it, but if Lady Vivian ever laid eyes on this particular garment, Xylia would be in trouble for much more than simply soiling a gown. They would know she’d found a way to leave the mansion, and the game of facades dominating Xylia’s life would end.

She pulled a hidden lever in her wardrobe, and the back wall swung outward to reveal a tiny room no bigger than a closet with a stool and a cot crammed inside. A small opening in the corner harbored a ladder, which descended into the darkness. The house dated back to the war era. Because of that, there were countless secret nooks and crannies all over the building. A few of the larger ones had been sealed off or turned into official rooms when her uncle, Lord Garn, had purchased the property, but most were hard to find, and therefore, intact.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

She knew every inch of the mansion by heart. Ever since she’d discovered her aunt and uncle’s true motivation for raising her after her family’s deaths, she’d searched for every possible way to evade the attention of her guardians, the guards, and the servants. Amongst the numerous crawlspaces, trap doors, and passages, the false wall in her closet was of the most interest. The small room’s ladder led to a tunnel under the foundation of the house and ended at a boulder in the woods. Through these, she’d found ways to escape her captivity every so often. Making it out the front door was about as likely as surviving a swim past a shark with a bloody cut. Guards were posted at every exit.

When she’d first arrived at the secluded manor, her uncle told her the guards were there to shield her from the Sauri Du, the cult responsible for killing her family. He claimed the cult was bent on snuffing her out to prevent any chance of her shedding light on her parents’ research into their operations. She’d only been eleven at the time, so she wholeheartedly believed them when they said she couldn’t go outside for her own good. They even switched all the staff every six months to protect her.

I was such a blind fool.

With her uncle often away, she mainly spent time with her aunt, who enjoyed giving Xylia endless lessons on the ways of the court. The woman taught her about Bastil’s politics, the members of the noble houses and their standing with the crown, and dining etiquette. Xylia had soaked up every word, eagerly trying to become the perfect bride before her sixteenth birthday. After all, it was her destiny to marry the prince of Bastil. Her parents had been the king’s top advisors, and she’d been promised to the crown prince right after birth as a symbol of their allegiance. However, Crown Prince Stefan, who’d been visiting that fateful night, burned with the rest of her family.

By law, her engagement shifted to the next in line after his death, and Vivian had been grooming her for the position. Once she became of age, she planned to come out of hiding and travel to the capital, where her aunt and uncle would help her tell her story to King Balik and solidify her union with Prince Hyden, the king’s only living son. She’d memorized every name and fact, trying desperately to reclaim her supposed fate. After all, she couldn’t remember anything outside of what they taught her; the flames consumed every relationship, recollection, and loved one.

Everything changed when Xylia accidentally overheard her guardians discussing their true intentions. They’d caught wind of the imminent terror that fateful day, but instead of warning her family, they’d scooped her out of the rubble. They intended to use her parents’ arrangement and the impending revolution against the crown to further their agenda. By isolating her and keeping her dependent and friendless, they planned to control Bastil from the shadows as her only counsel. She’d listened in horror as they discussed their plans to rebuild the country and make themselves the most powerful individuals in the kingdom, with their broken niece as their puppet queen.

Their plan would’ve worked. She didn’t have friends or confidants. They even guaranteed the hired help didn’t stick around long enough to form relationships. She was their pawn, and through her they were going to achieve their dreams of wealth and power.

She’d pretended to go along with their scheme and diligently studied to become the perfect bride. She pretended she didn’t know they were the ones who let her parents die, and she didn’t eavesdrop at every opportunity. She pretended she wasn’t patiently waiting for the day they brought her to the capital so she could finally escape their clutches.

Xylia ran her hand along the dirt wall of the tunnel as she counted her steps. She no longer bothered with candles, as it was a long and straight path. Her pace quickened when she spotted dim light ahead. As she crawled through to the surface, the faint oranges of the sunrise tinted the morning sky. Smiling, she basked in the sounds of the forest.

She routinely considered running away, but the notion was pointless. While she had a solid grasp of Bastil’s layout from her studies, she had no idea where she was. Knowing her guardians, she was probably miles away from civilization. The help was banned from telling her anything about their location, and outside goods were brought in through the only road. As soon as they discovered she was missing, they’d send out search parties. She would get caught if she followed the road or die in the woods if she tried any other direction.

Xylia shook off the dreary thoughts and decided to instead head for her favorite meadow. She’d created her own forest sanctuary there, adding to her makeshift home whenever she could. It was the only place she truly felt free. She absently twisted a lock of hair around her finger as she walked through the wood.

Feeling something amiss, Xylia stopped. A shiver ran through her. As she strained her ears, she registered nothing but an eerie silence. Even the birds seemed wary of some unseen foe.

Did one of the guards see me?

Xylia spun around.

She walked in a small circle, trying to peer into every hole and crevice where something might be lurking amongst the darkness. Nothing around her stirred. In the silence, Xylia felt like a hunted animal. Bile rose in her throat, and her legs trembled as an overwhelming urge to run rose inside her. Xylia made a move to escape, but it was useless.

~To be continued~