Free Web NovelChapter 107: Chapter 107
Circe stood in the center of her mother’s once-beloved garden, a strange unease prickling at her skin. Something wasn’t quite right. The place did not look as she remembered.
The last time she had walked these paths, the garden had been dull and withering, the flowers drooping under her father’s indifference after her mother’s death.
Yet now, as her gaze swept across the familiar grounds, it seemed inexplicably transformed. The air was richer, almost shimmering with life. Blossoms bloomed in vibrant hues, their colors so vivid they almost hurt her eyes.
The branches bent under the weight of blossoms she didn’t recall ever seeing before, and the sweet fragrance of azaleas lingered thickly in the air.
It was too beautiful, too alive.
Her eyes caught on a patch of grass near the azalea bushes, where something stark and jarring broke the illusion of beauty. A rabbit lay motionless, its snow-white fur stained crimson, blood still seeping from an open wound on its neck.
Before she could make sense of what she was seeing, an invisible force pressed against her back, shoving her forward with unseen hands. It wasn’t a gentle nudge but a compulsion that left her powerless to resist.
Something was awfully strange about the entire, uncanny in the type of way that shot fear through her vein. But there was no way to stop or turn back.
She was no longer in control of her body.
As she reached the rabbit, she paused and crouched down to examine it closer.
There was a heady mix of child-like curiosity and trepidation warring inside her. But It felt like she was experiencing someone else’s emotions from a distance and it unsettled her greatly.
The emotions didn’t feel like hers but somehow they felt familiar, like reading a letter in her own handwriting but with no memory of ever having written it.
How could they feel so familiar when she had never once lived through this moment? Surely, she would remember. Wouldn’t she?
Hesitantly, Circe raised a trembling hand and waved it over the rabbit’s prone form, refusing to touch. To her horror, thin, glowing strands began to seep from the torn flesh. They glowed faintly at first, like threads of moonlight, before twining themselves around her fingers and curling up her forearm.
Her breath caught in her throat. She blinked, half-expecting the sight to be an illusion. But when her eyes reopened, the threads were still there, vivid, pulsating, and bright as a beacon in the night.
She barely had a heartbeat to process what she was seeing before something stranger still occurred.
The rabbit’s eyes snapped open, gleaming with unnatural clarity. Its nose twitched wildly, and then, without hesitation, it lurched upright onto its feet.
Circe stumbled back with a startled yelp, her eyes going wide as disbelief and fear churned violently inside her. Questions flew through her mind faster than she could catch them.
That rabbit had been dead mere seconds ago. She had seen its lifeless body. Yet here it was, hopping unsteadily, blood still streaming from the gash in its neck.
Her stomach twisted. Circe squeezed her eyes shut, desperately hoping it was all some trick her mind had conjured. But when she opened her eyes again, she was no longer in the garden.
She now stood in the far corner of her childhood bedchamber. The air was thick with the scent of lavender and beeswax polish, so real she could almost taste it on her tongue.
Across the room, a younger version of herself sat perched before a vanity table. Her hair, long and gleaming under the soft light as her mother carefully brushed it out, stroke by gentle stroke. Little Circe couldn’t have been older than four, perhaps five at most.
How was this possible? How was she here, watching her past unfold as though it were a scene on a stage?
Her younger self’s lips moved, speaking words Circe couldn’t hear. The sound was muffled, distorted, as if she were submerged deep underwater. Her mother bent down, placing a tender kiss on the crown of the child’s head. The sight pierced Circe’s chest with a bittersweet ache.
And then, without warning, a voice hissed through her mind. It was sharp and venomous, each syllable curling like smoke around her thoughts.
"You see now what she took from you," the voice whispered, insidious and cruel. "A part of you, gone. Just like that."
The scene shattered.
***
Circe jerked awake in her bed, fingers clutching tightly at the sheets tangled around her body. Her breaths came fast and shallow, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. Sweat clung to her skin, dampening her clothes until they stuck uncomfortably.
Her trembling hand pressed against her chest, as though she could steady the furious pounding of her heart.
She forced herself to look around. The room was quiet, undisturbed, the only sounds were the ones coming from outside.
And then her eyes landed on Ragnar.
He was already awake, already facing her. His brows were drawn together, but whether in worry or confusion she couldn’t tell.
"Did you have a fitful sleep?" he asked at last.
The familiar gruffness of his voice was like a soothing balm on her frazzled nerves.
She nodded in response. There was no point denying it when he most likely saw her tossing and turning in bed. Even more reason why they needed separate rooms.
" Do you want to tell me about it?" He asked.
Circe shook her head and looked away like he would be able to see through her thoughts, down to the very thing she was hiding.
With how well he was getting at reading her, her worries weren’t completely unfounded.
How did she begin explaining the dream she had to someone when she didn’t even understand it herself?
She still felt the burn of his gaze along the side of her face. To her surprise, he didn’t press. He simply let the matter fall away, at least for now.
"Will you join me for breakfast?" he asked instead, shifting the topic with practiced ease.
Every other day, they shared a morning meal together. Ragnar always asked first, and Circe never seemed able to refuse.
She wasn’t entirely sure how it began, and she hated to admit how easily she had fallen into the pattern, or why she was still yet to put an end to it.
If anyone ever asked, she would claim he lured her with decadent spreads of food, using her weakness for breakfast as bait. She would insist he succeeded each time because she lacked self control in the mornings. And perhaps she would almost believe her own excuse.
Her stomach growled, deciding the matter for her. She regretted leaving most of her dinner untouched the night before.
Ragnar pulled out a chair for her and she sat without a word, watching him round the table to take the seat opposite her.
"Yesterday," Circe said as he reached for his cutlery, "I found something in the dresser. An invitation to a ball. Addressed to you."
Ragnar’s mouth quirked faintly. "Snooping through my belongings now, are you?" he drawled.
His hair, tied back neatly, revealed the sharp lines of his face. His usual dusting of dark stubble had grown into a short beard.
Ragnar hated when people pried through his things without permission. Had it been anyone else and this conversation would have headed in a completely different direction.
This time he found that he didn’t mind. They shared the same room and it was bound to happen.
It was only an invitation, he kept more noteworthy documents in his study. frёewebηovel.cѳm
Circe felt her cheeks heat.
She scowled to cover it up. " It wouldn’t have happened if you would just let me have one of the empty rooms."
Naturally, this was all his fault.
Ragnar ignored it with practiced skill. The matter of rooms had sparked more than one argument between them.
"What’s so wrong with my room?" he asked casually. "It’s the finest in the manor."
Circe blinked at him, not sure if he was being serious.
"You said it yourself, it’s your room."
"And that makes it bad?"
"Yes," she answered immediately. Her lips twisted. "I also hate how it looks."
"You could redecorate it if you want."
Circe leveled him with a flat, unimpressed stare.
"I’m atrocious at decorating," she said, her tone dry and final.
It wasn’t entirely true. In truth, she had no idea whether she had any talent for it, she had simply never tried. But admitting that would only encourage him.
"I can hire someone for you who can. You just have to let them know what you like," he offered, and Circe knew it wouldn’t stop there.
Ragnar would agree to anything that wasn’t giving her a room.
"Who is hosting the ball?" she asked finally, when she saw he was as unmovable on the matter as ever.
"An acquaintance," he answered before reaching for an apple from the fruit bowl and biting into it.
"Are you going?"
"Yes," he said simply. "Before you ask, I’m going alone."
That was exactly what she was going to ask.
"You’re not taking me along?"
"No."
Her lips parted. How else was she going to get money from him?
"Wasn’t this why you commissioned so many dresses?" she tried to reason.
When he met her eyes once more, something dark flickered across his expression.
"I will be more at ease knowing you are here. I can’t always control what happens out there."
