Lucian moved with a tense, uncomfortable energy. He was no longer the calm and composed young master of the Oakheart family, but a man compelled by memories of his missing past, memories of the other world and a bone freezing chill that felt like a death sentence. The oak door of the study room clicked shut behind him, the sound was impossibly loud in the absolute silence of the sleeping manor.
He knew it was already past midnight and so he didn't bother with clocks or lamps; his feet already knew the path. He walked down the hallway, but after a while, his steps faltered and stopped. He had reached the garden in the south wing. The opposite side of the manor. He couldn't bring himself to check the place in the north wing.
"It's past midnight. I'll go there tomorrow," he muttered to the dark. "I'm not an idiot who goes looking for trouble alone this late at night. After witnessing these strange events happening lately, I don't have the guts anymore to do something this stupid. I'm not like those idiotic main characters in movies and novels!" Lucian chuckled to himself, at the silly thought that had just crossed his mind. Lucian didn't notice this but the memories of the other world have started to mix with his own memories and now he can't say for sure if the knowledge he possess is his own or because of the memories.
As the wave of self-mockery and rationality washed over him, he began to calm down. A cold, steady wind flowed through the beautiful garden, and he felt his racing heart which was beating like crazy slow down. The moonlight that shines all over the garden created a mesmerizing scene.
Then, he looked up.
The sky was a perfect blend of darkness and countless twinkling stars, they were shining so brightly and beautifully that they looked as if they were declaring their existence to the world .But something their wasn't blending perfectly with the stars and the sky. It was the moon...
The moon was an unsettling anomaly. It was deep red, the color of dried blood.
At first, Lucian only found it odd and scary, but he quickly banished his initial suspicion. He reasoned, "It's only the moon that's strange, everything else seems normal. I have read about it somewhere. It was stated that, this happens every two and a half years in their world. It's rare, but not uncommon. I suppose that people just don't pay much attention to it or they didn't think much of it, as it happens once every three year." He forced himself to find beauty in it. "If you look closely, it's quite beautiful. The red color casts a faint glow on the nearby stars, making the whole scene even more captivating.
He stood there for a long moment, gazing at the starry sky, letting the cool wind settle the last of the fear in his mind. A new thought surfaced, a desperate attempt at peace: "What if none of it was real? What if all these strange events that occurred to me.The whisper, the vision were just illusions created by my own panicked mind, triggered by the old story Mary had told me?"
He considered this for only a second before shaking off the doubt
"Even if the whisper was born from suggestion, the shadow behind the doctor and the figure I saw that day were real. Even the scene I saw felt real.I felt it; they were not tricks of the mind."
He sighed, pushing the heavy questions away. "Well, whether the girl in the vision is real or not, I will know after asking Mother tomorrow. Until then, I should get some sleep. It's gotten far too late."
With that resolution, Lucian took one last, lingering look at the deep red moon, then turned and left the garden, his figure disappeared into the vast and waiting darkness of the mansion.
Lucian woke up late in the morning and rush to find his mother, Lady Oakheart in the morning room, a space drenched in the early light spilling over the south garden. She was already immersed in her coffee and the morning papers. His mother, a woman of sharp intelligence and impeccable composure, didn't immediately look up.
"You're late, Lucian," she noted, her voice smooth and devoid of any judgment, yet carrying an edge of expectation and concern. "Did you sleep well last night?"
He asked the servant to pour him some coffee and said deliberately avoiding the casual question. He knew he had to be delicate; his mother was a master of evasion when she chose to be.
"Mother," he began, keeping his voice carefully neutral as he sat opposite her. "I had a rather specific memory surface last night. It was about when I was very young."
Lady Oakheart folded the corner of her paper, placing it down. Her gaze finally met his it was measured and entirely unreadable. "You had many dreams back then, dear. Which one are we discussing?"
"It involved a girl," Lucian continued, watching her closely for any flicker of recognition. "She was older than me, possibly a maid, and she was terrified. She was near the old wall in the north courtyard." He leaned forward slightly. "Her name... I just can't recall it. Do you remember her?"
The composure never broke. Lady Oakheart picked up her coffee cup, taking a slow sip.
"Lucian," she said, setting the cup down with a soft, decisive clink. "We never had a maid fitting that description near the north wing when you were a boy. Not one that stayed, anyway. You likely dreamt of one of the kitchen staff that came and went." She paused, her eyes narrowing just a fraction. "Why the sudden interest in forgotten servants, dear? Are you feeling okay?"
Her denial was calm, direct, and delivered with a finality that brooked no argument. It was precisely the kind of answer that made Lucian's own certainty crumble and then immediately harden. She hadn't denied the existence of a maid; she denied one "fitting that description" was near the north wing. It was a precise, defensive answer.
"Yes, Mother, perfectly well," Lucian replied. " It was just a passing curiosity."