Aurora’s P.O.V
A heavy weight sat on my chest, my breath caught in my throat as if some invisible force pressed down on me. My dreams had been restless, a swirling mess of distorted faces and whispered voices, none of which I could hold on to. The moment my eyes fluttered open, I wished I had stayed asleep.
Harmona was looming over me, her face unnervingly close, a smile curling at her lips that sent an instant jolt of unease through me. It wasn’t a warm, welcoming smile—it was eerie, stretched too wide, her eyes glinting with something unreadable. My heart slammed against my ribs as I flinched back, my body jerking upright before I could stop myself.
"What—" My voice came out hoarse, still thick with sleep. "What are you doing?"
Harmona didn’t even blink. Her expression remained unsettlingly composed, as if my startled reaction was expected. If anything, her smile deepened. "Today is a special day, Aurora," she said, her tone syrupy yet firm, as if she were delivering some grand revelation. "You must get ready. The garments have been provided for you."
My brows knitted together. My mind was still fogged with sleep, but even in my haze, I knew something was off. Special day? My skin prickled. "What do you mean, special?" I asked, my voice coming out sharper than I intended.
She tilted her head, a slow, deliberate movement that sent another chill down my spine. "You will find out very soon," she murmured, ignoring my question entirely.
That only made my stomach twist tighter. Harmona wasn’t one for games, not like this. And yet, here she was, practically dripping with secrecy, her words carefully measured as if she were savoring each one before letting it leave her lips.
I swallowed, my throat dry. "Harmona," I tried again, my voice lower this time, steadier. "Tell me what’s going on."
But she only took a step back, clasping her hands together, as if the matter had already been settled. "Breakfast is waiting," she said simply. "A feast has been prepared."
A feast? The word felt wrong in my mouth. The last time we had a feast… No, I didn’t want to think about it. My pulse quickened as a sick feeling curled in my gut. Something was happening. Something they didn’t want me to know until it was too late.
Harmona turned, already moving toward the door, her pace slow, unhurried, as if she had all the time in the world. "Get dressed," she called over her shoulder. "It’s almost time."
And then, she was gone, leaving only the ghost of her smile lingering in the air, thick and suffocating.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the space Harmona had just vacated, the silence she left behind stretching thin around me. My old dress clung to my skin, heavy with the weight of the day, and I knew I had no choice but to change.
I headed to the small bathroom first, cleaning myself up and taking a quick shower before I changed. I hadn’t changed or showered for two days now, and I was starting to feel the ickiness cling to my skin.
With slow, deliberate movements, I slipped into the flowy white dress that reached just above my knees. The fabric was soft, airy—too comfortable, too light against my skin, like it didn't belong to me. I didn't say anything. What was there to say? The dress fit, and that was enough.
A sudden knock at the door made me flinch. My fingers curled instinctively at my sides before I forced them to relax. I opened it hesitantly, my eyes widening as I took in the sight of my half-siblings standing outside. All four of them, waiting. Their expressions mirrored each other—puzzled, cautious, as if they, too, were caught in a game none of us knew the rules to.
But what unsettled me most was their attire. The girls wore dresses identical to mine, white and flowing, as if we had all been plucked from the same page of some eerie fairy tale. And Ashton—Ashton was dressed in a crisp white shirt and matching pants, looking just as unnerved as I felt.
"Did someone tell you to wear that?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
Maggie exchanged a glance with Avery before shaking her head. "No. It was just… there. In my room. Laid out like it was waiting for me."
My stomach twisted. "Same here."
Ashton exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, this is weird. But standing here isn’t going to give us any answers."
I wanted to protest, to demand that we question why we had all been dressed the same like dolls in some twisted play, but I swallowed my words and stepped out of the room. The others fell into step beside me, and together, we walked through the dimly lit halls to the dining hall, the air thick with something unspoken. None of us spoke. We didn’t need to.
When we reached the dining hall, the sight that greeted us made my breath hitch. The long table was adorned with an elaborate feast, the rich aroma of food curling through the air, tempting yet… off.
The plates were filled, goblets brimming with juices and hot tea, candles casting flickering shadows against the pristine white tablecloth. It was extravagant. It was deliberate. And it made my skin crawl.
"This…" young Violet hesitated, her fingers twitching at her sides. "This is for us?"
"Who else?" Ashton muttered, his eyes scanning the room warily. "But why?"
None of us had an answer. None of us dared to sit.
Something was wrong. We all felt it. The way the grand feast was spread out right in front of our eyes, the way the whole room seemed to be decorated in a way that screamed celebration, but the dread curling in our stomachs told us otherwise.
And yet, we were already too far in to turn back.
“Welcome, children.” Lucas appears out of the kitchen, placing a large roasted chicken at the center of the table. “Please, have a seat. Breakfast is served.”
This spread looked too extravagant to be breakfast, and yet, I could feel my stomach rumble, the delicious aroma of the roast and the soup mingling in the air, inviting us forward, even though everything about it felt wrong.
We all looked at each other, hesitant, but when Harmona appeared in the doorway, that same eerie smile on her face, we had no choice but to do as told, as we took our seats around the table.
And then, as I watch, Harmona steps forward, a soft smile gracing her lips as she carefully places flower headbands on each of our heads. Poppy flowers and orchids—an odd yet strangely beautiful combination. I feel the gentle brush of her fingers against my hair as she secures mine, humming under her breath. She steps back, tilting her head slightly, assessing her work. "Perfect," she murmurs, more to herself than anyone else.
I exchange a glance with the others, their expressions mirroring my own confusion. Perfect for what? The question lingers on the tip of my tongue, but before I can voice it, Lucas appears, moving with effortless ease, carrying a tray of steaming herbal tea. The fragrant aroma drifts toward me, unfamiliar yet oddly inviting. He hands me a cup, his fingers barely brushing mine. "Drink," he instructs, his voice firm yet gentle. “Let’s start the feast with a tea, shall we?”
“But…why the tea?” Violet asks, her tone nervous as she glances at us. “Why not juice?”
Violet’s question was valid, something I wanted to ask myself. There was so much on the table, and yet…Lucas and Harmona were forcing the tea in front of us all with a kind of determination that screamed trouble.
"You'll find out soon enough." Lucas’s tone left no room for argument.
Something in his tone makes my stomach twist with unease. My fingers tighten around the warm ceramic, my eyes flicking to the others as they hesitate just like me. Harmona watched, expectant, her hands clasped in front of her as if waiting for us to take the leap. I swallow hard, my pulse quickening. The liquid swirls inside the cup, dark and rich. My throat feels dry, my mind racing with possibilities.
I stared at the murky liquid swirling in the goblet, my fingers tightening around the stem as I hesitated. Something about it felt off, the way it shimmered unnaturally under the dim light, the scent sharp and metallic like blood disguised beneath a layer of bitter herbs. Ashton, sitting beside me, mirrored my hesitation, his brows furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Neither of us moved to drink.
“This doesn’t feel right,” I murmured, my voice barely above a whisper. “What if—”
“Drink it.” Harmona’s voice sliced through my doubt like a blade, sharp and unyielding. I turned to her, ready to argue, to demand answers, but the look in her eyes stopped me cold. It wasn’t just authority—it was finality. A command laced with something deeper, something darker. “Now.”
Ashton shot me a look, his jaw tightening. I could see it in his eyes—he didn’t trust this any more than I did. But what choice did we have? We had already come this far, stepped into something we barely understood, and now there was no turning back. He exhaled sharply through his nose before lifting the goblet to his lips. My pulse hammered against my ribs as I followed his lead.
The moment the liquid touched my tongue, an icy shiver crawled down my spine. It was thick, heavier than it should have been, and tasted like ashes and rot, like something that had been buried for too long.
The world tilted. My fingers slackened, the goblet slipping from my grasp and clattering to the floor. The sound barely registered as my limbs turned sluggish, my vision swimming. I reached out blindly, catching only air before my knees buckled. A weight pressed against my chest, pulling me under. Panic flared, but it was weak, fleeting.
Somewhere in the haze, I heard Ashton’s breath hitch before he collapsed beside me. My own body followed suit, sinking into the darkness.
Then, just before oblivion took me, Harmona’s voice echoed in the distance, steady and chilling.
“They’re ready for the ritual.”
And then—nothing.