Trapped In a World I Created

Agatha helped Syraelle into a long, elegant gown, its fabric flowing like liquid light. The soft palette of light blue and red hues gave it an air of grace, while a thin thread cinched her waist, falling delicately to one side and forming a captivating loop. Her hair was tied into a loose bun, with soft strands falling around her face, framing her features in a way that seemed almost intentional.

Elle stared at herself in the mirror, her reflection a picture of elegance she barely recognized. "Why am I dressed like a lady?" she muttered, her voice tinged with unease. The gown, though aged in design, exuded luxury. It didn't make sense. She had been sold, hadn't she? Slaves didn't wear such beautiful clothes or have their own rooms—rooms with candles, mirrors, and warm baths, no less.

Agatha, who had been carefully adjusting the folds of the gown, looked at Elle with a gentle smile. She seemed to sense the swirl of questions behind those wide eyes. "I don't have the answer, miss," she said kindly, her voice as soft as ever.

"Alright," Elle replied, though her mind remained far from settled. She glanced at Agatha, the only person who had shown her even a sliver of kindness in this strange world. For that alone, she held a quiet respect for the older woman.

But the questions gnawed at her. Why am I being treated like this? Is Cyon pulling something? The thought sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. And wait... is he even the real Halcyon, or just some shadow of this world?

Her pulse quickened as an idea sparked in her mind. The code. I'll use the code we always used to speak in riddles. If he's real, he'll know it. Her stomach churned. But what if he is the real Halcyon? What then?

The possibility left her breathless. Please let him be just paper and ink, she thought desperately. That would be easier—simpler. But if he was real, her composure would shatter like glass underfoot. Her hands clenched into fists, her nails biting into her palms as her thoughts spiraled into chaos.

A sharp knock at the door broke through her panic, jolting her back to the present.

She looked towards the entrance, her breath caught in her throat. The guard stepped in, his expression unreadable, his voice curt. "You've been summoned by His Highness."

Elle's heart thundered in her chest. So it's time. Her palms grew clammy, and her knees threatened to give out beneath her.

Agatha stepped forward, placing a comforting hand on Elle's arm. "You'll be alright," she said softly, her warmth grounding Elle just enough to keep her from collapsing.

Elle gave a small nod, her lips pressed into a tight line. She took a steadying breath and followed the guard out, her mind racing faster than her feet. I'm not ready for this.

Not long after, the guard stopped in front of the gate—the study room. Elle's breath caught. It was exactly as she had written it in Nova, down to the smallest detail. The black and gold dragons twisted together in a hauntingly intricate design, their bloody red wings almost glowing against the dark wood. To anyone else, it would be a terrifying sight, daring anyone to approach, let alone touch. To Elle, it was a reminder—a cruel one—of how much effort she had poured into crafting this world.

The guard stepped aside after pushing the massive doors open, gesturing silently for Elle to enter.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears as she took her first step inside. The room was a stark contrast to the bright, sunlit hallway behind her. Shadows clung to every corner, giving the space an oppressive chill. The faint scent of old wood and faint traces of incense tickled her senses.

As the door creaked shut behind her, the sound seemed louder than it should have been, echoing in the vast study room. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she fought the urge to whip around, to confirm there was no one creeping up behind her. It's the same feeling... Her thoughts wandered to the unnerving presence she felt last night.

Steeling herself, Elle scanned the room, her gaze darting from corner to corner. Where was he?

He has to be here.

Not daring to look too openly, she lowered her eyes and bent her waist in a respectful bow, keeping her head low. Her fingers clenched the fabric of her gown, a nervous habit she couldn't shake.

From the corner of her vision, she caught movement. Someone was pulling back the heavy curtains, letting the light spill in. Slowly, the room began to come into focus.

And there he was.

Her chest tightened as her gaze found him by the window, his tall figure outlined by the pale morning light. His hands rested casually in his pockets, but his broad shoulders and the deliberate stillness of his posture screamed authority.

It was him.

"You are dismissed," he said, his voice a low command that cut through the silence like a blade.

The deep timbre of his voice made her breath hitch. Her knees trembled, and she instinctively stepped back, her heart in freefall. Was he talking to me?

"Y-yes, Your Highness," the butler replied.

The butler's respectful bow caught Elle off guard, and she realized the command wasn't meant for her. She felt a flicker of relief, but it was fleeting.

As the butler moved to leave, his gaze flicked to her. His eyes lingered for a moment too long on her dress, narrowing in a way that made her stomach churn. Was something wrong with her attire?

Before she could decipher the look, the door clicked shut, leaving her alone with him.

The silence was deafening.

Halcyon didn't move. He didn't turn to face her. He remained by the window, the sunlight catching the sharp line of his jaw and the faintest smirk on his lips.

"Syraelle."

Her name rolled off his tongue with chilling familiarity. She froze, her pulse drumming in her ears.

Elle took a deep breath, though the air in the room felt as though it weighed a ton. The fabric wrapped snugly around her neck only heightened the suffocating feeling. Her fingers instinctively reached up, tugging at the collar as if loosening it would bring relief. It didn't.

Halcyon hadn't moved. He stood near the window, his back turned to her, the faint morning light casting his shadow across the floor. The silence stretched, heavy and unnerving, with only the faint sound of her own shallow breathing filling the space.

Say something. Do something, she urged herself, but her mind was a jumbled mess. Every second that passed felt like an eternity.

Finally, she summoned what little courage she had. Her voice came out barely above a whisper, "Your Highness, why was I summoned?"

The words hung awkwardly in the air, her tone unintentionally sharper than she intended, betraying her nerves. She bit her tongue almost immediately, cursing herself inwardly. Why do I always sound like I'm picking a fight?

"Uh... I mean, like…" she began to backtrack, her voice faltering as she stumbled over her words.

Before she could finish, Halcyon moved.

Slowly, he turned to face her, and the moment his eyes locked onto hers, her breath caught in her throat. His gaze was sharp and unwavering, the deep crimson of his irises glowing faintly in the dim room. His lips curled into a smirk that sent a shiver down her spine, one that felt less like amusement and more like the satisfaction of a predator cornering its prey.

Her heart pounded wildly as he took a step toward her, then another, his movements slow and deliberate, as though savoring her reaction.

Instinctively, she stepped back, her feet shuffling against the wooden floor. Her throat tightened, and her hands clenched at the fabric of her gown.

Before she could process it, he was in front of her.

Halcyon towered over her, his imposing height and presence making her feel smaller than she already did. He raised a hand, and Elle's breath hitched. Panic surged through her.

She squeezed her eyes shut, her body tensing as she braced herself for whatever was coming. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip—too hard. The sting of yesterday's wound reignited, and her eyes watered with the pain.

"Don't bite."

His voice was smooth, quiet, but it carried the weight of a command that jolted her back to reality. Her eyes snapped open, and she saw his hand move—not toward her, but toward the table beside her.

Her gaze followed his movement, and she let out a shaky breath as he picked up a glass of red wine.

Halcyon swirled the glass lazily, his eyes never leaving her face. "What were you thinking, Ms. Phalanor?" His voice was calm, almost conversational, but there was an edge to it that made her pulse race.

Elle swallowed hard, her throat dry. Her mind scrambled for an answer, any answer, but every thought felt like it slipped through her fingers the moment she tried to grasp it.

And then, as if her mouth had a mind of its own, she blurted out the most foolish thing she could think of:

"Th-that you were about to hit me."