Page 55 of A Touch of Madness

Me.

Us.

I try to reach for her, try to step forward, but the moment my fingers stretch toward her shoulder, the world shatters.

A deafening crack splits the silence, a burst of wind slamming into me with the force of a tidal wave. The reflection in the water distorts, twisting and writhing, as though something beneath the surface is trying to claw its way free.

I hear my name—a voice not my own, fractured and distant?—

And then I fall.

Everything collapses in on me and I shatter into nothing more than shards of light as even the earth vanishes beneath my feet.

And I am falling, falling, falling?—

The blood-curdling screams jolts me,and for mere seconds I am terrified, until I realize that the scream is rippling from my own throat. I breathe in a strangled inhale, my body lurching upright before my mind catches up, before my soul returns to where it belongs. For a moment, my world is still half-formed, stitched together by the lingering remnants of the vision—or was it a dream?—but the sensation of it remains, sinking deep into my bones like a frost I can’t shake.

I reach blindly for the sheets, my fingers curling into the fabric, desperate for something solid, something real, something to tether me to the present. But my body betrays me, trembling, sweat-slicked, as if I had run for miles, as if I had stood at the precipice of something too vast, too dark, too consuming.

And maybe I did.

The room around me is unfamiliar in my half-dazed state. Not the apothecary. Not the estate. Not the courtyard where I had just been standing. But I was never standing there, was I?

I give myself a few moments to acclimate to my surroundings, and thankfully, I realize I’m at the Guild. I’ve been here for nearly five days, resting as much as possible and listening to the elders as instructed.

Reality settles in slowly, reluctant in the way the mind clings to something just out of reach. Candlelight flickers dimly on the small nightstand, its golden glow barely cutting through the dense shadows along the walls. The scent of herbs lingers—lavender, rosemary, hints of dried sage, a smell I’ve come to find comfort in—and beneath it, the sterile bite of salves and poultices. There is a heartbeat in the air, magic woven into the very walls, its rhythm steady and slow, unlike the erratic thrum of my own pulse.

I draw in a breath—shallow, uneven, barely enough.

The vision is still with me, the images sharp, burned into the backs of my eyelids even as I blink them away. Lara, standing in front of her reflection. The way she reached for her own image, the way her lips parted around a question that should have never passed them.

"Who are you?"

The words coil in my chest, tightening, pressing against my ribs like an iron cage. My stomach knots, nausea twisting deep, but I force myself to focus, to sift through the mess of it. My heart is breaking all over again, and I can’t help but wonder…how many times can a heart truly break?

This wasn’t just a nightmare.

It was more than that. I know it, feel it deep in the essence of my bones.

I wasn’t just seeing her—I was with her.

Somehow, through the tangled, fraying thread of whatever bond we still share, I had felt her confusion, her unraveling sense of self. There had been no recognition in her gaze, no certainty in her movements, only a ghost of something she had once been.

She doesn’t know who she is anymore.

If that was a vision and not a nightmare…my sister doesn’t know herself.

I grip the blankets tighter, my breath shuddering in my throat. I have to do something. I can’t just sit here while she?—

I shove the blankets back and swing my legs over the edge of the bed, but the moment I try to stand, the world tilts violently. A sharp, searing pain lances through my muscles, locking them up, and my vision sways dangerously. My knees buckle, and I barely catch myself against the nightstand before my body gives out completely.

A small, strangled sound escapes me, frustration and exhaustion bleeding into one as my nails dig into the wooden surface and the candle nearly tips over.

Too weak.

I am stilltooweak.

A sharp knock at the door splinters through my thoughts, startling me, the sound jarring against my already raw nerves. I exhale sharply, trying to steady the shaking in my hands as I brace against the edge of the bed.

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