The clouds drifted lazily across the sky, staining the horizon with streaks of orange and purple. Beneath the tranquil beauty lay a blood-soaked shore. Lifeless, armoured bodies bobbed in the tide, dragged back and forth by the sea's restless pull. The water — once a clear, familiar blue — had turned a murky, unnatural red. Fragments of armour floated aimlessly, carried further out as the current claimed them.

A thick, metallic stench of blood poisoned the air, mingling with the dying screams of men. Hooves thundered against the wet sand as horses charged past, bearing armoured riders clutching knives and swords. Steel met steel in brutal clashes, the sounds echoing until they slowly dissolved into the distance.

Beyond the cries of battle stood a forest — silent. Its towering trees loomed, their shadows heavy, as though guarding whispered secrets.

THUD. THUD.

Hurried footsteps shattered the stillness. Ragged breaths followed. A woman's piercing blue eyes darted wildly through the trees, her grip tightening around the sleeping infant bundled against her chest. Sweat traced a path down her face as her body trembled with panic.

Her gaze flicked away from the child and swept the forest once more. Relief flashed through her eyes when she spotted an abandoned hut ahead.

She ran.

As she drew closer, her pace slowed. She peered through the damaged windows, straining to see inside. Nothing — only darkness.

"Hello?" she whispered, her voice barely stirring the air.

No answer.

She pushed open the giant oak door and slipped inside. Darkness swallowed her whole.

She did not panic. Murmuring softly beneath her breath, she summoned a faint glow. A luminous orange light bloomed in her palm, forcing the shadows back. The room emerged — bare walls, no furniture — then the woman herself.

The light caught her ebony skin, giving it a warm, otherworldly sheen. Her red hair hung in tatters around her face, her dress torn and stained with blood. Exhaustion weighed heavily on her features, yet her unsettling blue eyes remained alert as they searched the room.

They froze.

At the far end stood a crib.

Step by careful step, she approached, the wooden floor creaking softly beneath her feet. The glow did not quite reach the crib, leaving it half-drowned in silence.

She swallowed and moved closer.

Holding the infant close with one arm, she stretched the other above it, eyes closed, moving slowly, as though she could sense danger rather than see it. After a moment, she drew her hand back and opened her eyes, a weary breath slipping from her lips as she gently laid the sleeping baby down. Her vision blurred as she lingered, fingertips brushing softly over the infant's cheek.

Her lips parted, dry and trembling, yet no sound came. Unease flickered in her gaze, as if speaking aloud might summon the very thing she feared. She exhaled again, long and steady, before forcing hereslf to whisper.

"My dead, dear Dydra. Mama will send you somewhere safe.... a place where no one will hurt you."

Tears pooled in her eyes as she paused, her voice faltering. "A safe.... safe place. Though it's safe, Mama cannot be there with you." Her fingers slid from the infant's cheek to the back of her own neck as she unhooked the heart-shaped locket resting against her skin and pressed it gently into the baby's tiny fists, curling the small fingers around it.

"Take this, my dear," she murmured softly. "It would protect you from any kind of danger." Pulling her hand away, she wiped the tears from her face with the heel of her palm before leaning down to press a tender kiss to the baby's cheek. The infant cooed faintly, drawing a small, fragile smile from her lips.

The moment shattered as the hut's door burst open under a violent kick. Her body jolted, fear etching itself across her face as her gaze locked onto the massive figure filing the doorway, deep red eyes burning in the dark towering horns rising from it's shoulders as it stared at her without blinking. Her entire body vibrated as she tore her gaze away from the creature and turned back to her sleeping infant, tears flooding her eyes as she took one last look, her lips moving in a breathless murmur.

The air twisted violently, wrapping as a black wood bloomed open, swallowing the crib — and the baby within it — into absolute darkness before snapping shut. Relief flickered across her face at the sight, fragile and fleeting, barely lasting a heartbeat before something vicious tore into her back. Her blue eyes flew wide as blood spilled slowly from her lips, her body going rigid as the pain dug deeper, merciless, stealing the strength from her limbs. Tears welled as she closed her eyes, as unspoken acceptance settling over her.

With a break yank, her heart was ripped from her chest, and she collapsed to the floor, blood spreading rapidly across the wooden boards as silence reclaimed the room. A massive claw held her heart aloft, blood dripping steadily from it as the familiar orange glow that once pushed back the darkness in the hut finally vanished, leaving the space submerged once more in complete gloom. Yet within that darkness, the figure's red eyes burned vividly. A low snarl slipped from its lips as it whispered.

"Dydra."

Miles away from the hut, deep within an entirely different forest, a baby's crib suddenly emerged into view. A cool breeze swept through the clearing, and the infant inside began to cry, it's small body trembling as it struggled against the cloth wrapped tightly around it. The sound shattered the stillness sending birds in the nearby trees fluttering away in alarm.

Not far from the crib stood a bit, it's structure carefully concealed among the thick green trees, blending so seamlessly with the forest that it seemed part of it. Moments later, an old woman's voice rang out from within.

"Agatha, dear. Come back." The hut's door burst open as a strikingly beautiful woman stepped outside, draped in expensive clothing that looked painfully out of place in the forest. Her brows were drawn together, lips twitching with clear annoyance as her gaze swept the clearing.

"Mother, I am truly tired of your insistence on living in this... this place," she said, her tone sharp with frustration. "When there is a mansion, waiting for you, filled with spacious rooms and countless servants ready to attend to your every need."

An elderly woman emerged after her, both hands resting firmly on the cane that supported her weight as she followed her daughter outside. "Honey, I like it here," she said softly, her voice calm and unyielding.

The response earned a scoff. Agatha was already turning away, when she paused mid-step and turned back, disbelief etched across her face. "My word! How can you say that?" she demanded, gesturing toward the hut with open distain. "You truly prefer this — to a proper place where you would be treated like a queen? Mother!" Agatha snapped, planting her hands firmly on her hips.

The old woman smiled faintly and opened her mouth to respond but the words never came. Her expression shifted as her ears caught the distant Sunday of a baby's cry. A frown creased her face as she slowly turned, scanning the surroundings. Agatha heard it too, her irritation faltering as she followed the sound, her gaze sharpening with curiosity.

Together, they traced the cry through the trees until a lone crib came into view.

"Bizzare," Agatha muttered as she moved toward it. With every step closer, the infant's cries grew louder, more desperate, and when she finally saw the babay inside, a soft gasp slipped from her lips.

"Bizzare," she repeated, this time under her breath. Without hesitation, she lifted the child into her arms, worry replacing her earlier annoyance as she cradled the small body against her chest. Her eyes swept the forest, searching for any sign of another presence — any clue that might explain why an infant had been left alone in the depths of the woods.

Her gaze caught on the locket clenched in the infant's tiny fists. Curious, she gently pried it loose.

"Wow... " The word slipped out before she could stop herself.

The metal was cool beneath her fingers as she traced it's surface, a faint sense of unease creeping in. Her brows knit together when she noticed an inscription etched into it.

"D..... Dydra," she read aloud, the name foreign on her tongue. She frowned, searching her memory, but the word meant nothing to her. She had never heard it before.

Before she could ponder further, her mother stepped in sharply and snatched the locker from her hand.

The suddenness of the action made her flinch.

"What is it, Mother?" she asked, confusion lacing her voice.

The old woman stared at the locket as though it had burned her. Shock drained the colour from her face, her fingers trembling slightly as disbelief flickered in her eyes.

"Where did you get this?" she demanded.

"From the bizzare baby, Mother," Agatha replied honestly.

Slowly, the old woman lifted her gaze from the locket to the child. Her eyes narrowed, icy blue and piercing, as if trying to see through flesh and bone — into something far deeper.

Something that should not exist.

As she studied the baby more closely, an inexplicable unease coiled in her chest, tightening with every heartbeat. Her fingers curled around the locket as recognition settled over her like a silent weight, and when she finally spoke, her voice trembled despite her attempt to keep it steady.

"Dydra... "

Eighteen years later, in the dim servants' quarters of the Thelmond household, Agatha's boots clicked softly against the wooden floor, the hem of her navy-blue dress sweeping across the filth beneath her feet.

The golden glow of the lantern in her hand illminated her path, casting long shadows along the narrow corridor. Maids passing by paused with startled expressions, whispering behind cupped hands while bowing politely, clearly puzzled as to why the lady of the house has ventured into such a place. Agatha paid them no mind, her gaze fixed firmly ahead.

She stopped before a particular door — nothing more than rough planks nailed together without care for polish or summery. Her brows knit as she raised her free hand and knocked. From inside came hurried rustle of parchments and the clatter of objects hitting the floor, prompting a small smile to tug at her lips. The door cracked open, revealing a red-haired girl with a disheveled appearance. Panic and awe flickered through the girl's blue eyes when she realized the woman standing before her.

"Madam... what brings you here?" she asked softly.

Agatha's smile vanished at once, annoyance washing over her features. Noticing that the girl made no attempt to invite her in, Agatha pushed the door open herself, causing the girl to stumble back. She stepped inside, taking in the pitiful state of the room. The furniture was damaged and sparse, the cold floor bare of any carpet or rug. A thin sheet lay atop a pressed-foam bed, while a three-legged table was shoved against the wall, half — swallowed by shadow. A single unlit candle sat near a window that had been firmly shut.

Agatha turned her sharp gaze on the girl and tugged gently at her ear.

"How many times must I repeat myself?" she said her voice firm yet unmistakably affectionate. "It's Mother , not Madam."

The girl whispered at the slight pain, lips puckering into a pout. Agatha's sternness melted instantly, and she released her ear.

"Did it hurt?" she asked, worry creasing her brow.

The red-haired girl shook her head, offering a small smile that eased Agatha's concern.

"Madam, you—"

Agatha's irritation flared again. Cutting her off, she raised the lantern closer to the girl's face. "Dydra Marianne Thelmond, why don't you ever listen?"

Dydra frowned at the heat of the lantern, then her blue eyes softened, mischief flashing briefly within them. "Mother," she said gently.

The glare vanished from Agatha's gave, replaced by warmth. "You shouldn't be here," Dydra added, worry clouding her eyes.

Agatha cupped her cheek, stroking it softly. "I know, my dear. But I wanted to see you." Tears shimmered in her eyes as she pulled Dydra into a tight embrace, caring little for the girl's shabby clothes.

Dydra hugged her back, pressing her face against Agatha's shoulder. "You cannot be here, Mother," she whispered.

Agatha's shuddered slightly at the word, tightening her hold before pulling away. "I know," she murmured. Then, steadying herself, she said, "Jerry will be leaving on a trip tomorrow. I want you in my room — three minutes after nine. Cover your head with a scarf." Her fingers brushed through Dydra's red hair. "It is rough. I shall tend to it."

Dydra nodded. She watched Agatha leave, blowing her a small kiss before the door closed. The smile in her lips faded as darkness reclaimed the room.

The next morning, Agatha woke to a feather-light kiss on her forehead. A warm smile curved her husband standing over her, dressed neatly in a grey suit, with his dark hair combed back.

"Leaving so soon?" she asked softly as she rose from the bed. Her pink silk nightgown glided over her pale skin, her blonde hair falling loosely down her back. She wrapped her arms around his neck, standing on her toes to reach him.

Jerry smiled, his large hands settling comfortably at her waist. Sunlight streamed through the window, catching in her blue eyes and making her look like something out of a fairytale. His heart softened and he kissed her lips. Heat rushed to Agatha's cheeks as she giggled.

He leaned close, brushing her ear with his lips before biting it gently, earning a soft whine from her. Inhaling her scent, he murmured, "I don't want to leave."

"I don't want you to leave," she replied.

"But this trip is important," he said, more to himself than her.

Agatha smiled. "Then you have to go."

He chuckled softly, pulling away with visible reluctance. "If I keep looking at you, I would not," he admitted, shutting his eyes tight.

Laughing, Agatha grabbed a pillow and tossed it at him. It struck lightly, making him open his eyes. Their gazes locked, and Jerry winked at his wife, drawing a blush from her before blowing her a kiss.

"Escort me out?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

She slipped on her robe and walked him to the front of the mansion. Jerry entered the waiting carriage, and a servant shut the door. Hooves struck the ground as the carriage rolled away.

Jerry waved from the window. Agatha waved back.

When the carriage disappeared from sight, Agatha remained outside for almost a minute, her gaze fixed on the space the carriage occupied few seconds ago. Her eyes showing the words her mouth refused to utter. With a small smile on her lips, she turned and returned to their room.

She would miss him.

Jerry's eyes were fixed on the baby as he stalked tossed her, heavy steps echoing through the room. He reached out, yanked the baby from her arms, and without a word, turned and marched out, heading towards the door.

The sound of commotion outside drew Agatha's mother from her quarters. She rushed to the scene, heard her daughter fall out, "Jerry, what are you doing?" she stopped in her tracks, when she saw Agatha running after her husband, who was clutching the baby. A grim look passed over her face, and she followed them.

Dydra's cries pierced the cold night air. Jerry, his body trembling with rage, headed toward the stream. Without a second thought, he threw the baby into the water.

"AHHH!" Agatha screamed, her voice raw with panic as she rushed toward the stream, desperate to save the child. But before she could reach the water, a firm hand grabbed her, pulling her back. Jerry hoisted her onto his shoulders, ignoring her struggles as she kicked and hit him. His eyes were cold, void of any emotion she could recognize. She fought to free herself, but he didn't budge.

With Agatha still on his shoulders, Jerry walked back toward the house, slamming the door behind him. He locked it, then left.

Agatha mother, frantic with fear, managed to rescue baby Dydra that night. She hurried to Agatha and told her she would raise the child in the forest hut to keep her safe.

A week later, Jerry returned, apologizing to his wife but offering ni explanation. Agatha kept the secret of the baby's survival, visiting the forest hut whenever Jerry was away.

Eight years passed, ad tragedy struck. Agatha's mother died unexpectedly. She had arrived at the forest hut as usual, bearing gifts, unaware that this would be her last visit. Agatha found her mother lying on the couch, weak and tearful, with young Dydra beside her.

As her mother took her last breaths, she whispered to Agatha, "Take this dear," squeezing the locket that had been found in Dydra's hands when they first found her. "Never let her wear it in public." Her voice was faint, but she pointed toward a collection of old books on the desk. "Give her those to. My dear, child," she said to young Dydra, whose head rested in her lap, "you are full of winder. You're supernatural. Listen to my dear Agatha." And with that, the old woman's final breath escaped her.

—

Agatha was smiling as she finished the intricate hairstyle she had just done for Dydra. Her daughter's hair was tied in a rose-like bun, with strands framing her face.

Dydra gazed at her reflection, her palms pressed against her lips. She had never imagined herself to be this beautiful. Her dark skin seemed to give her blue eyes an ethereal glow, making her feel like a princess straight out of a fairytale. Slowly, she removed her hands, reaching to touch her hair. Agatha's shark eyes caught this movement, and she gently slapped her hand away. "No touching," she warned softly, then smiled. "Now, get up. Choose your style, Your Highness."

Dydra stood up eagerly, her eyes falling in a purple gown with diamonds sewn into the hem and neckline. Agatha helped her put it on.

"Ouch," Dydra winced as Agatha tightened the corset. "Beauty is pain, my love," Agatha teased.

"I can't breath," Dydra's face contorted.

"Done," Agatha declared, and Dydra stiffly made her way to the mirror. She gasped when she saw her reflection. Agatha, standing behind her, wore a proud smile, softly patting herself on her back.

The dress was a knee-length off-shoulder lace number. Dydra spun around, earning a delighted giggle from her adopted mother.

"We could try others," Agatha said with a smile. They changed through several dresses — blue, yellow, baby pink — before settling on a dark, sleeveless, full-length gown with dark diamonds on the corset. Dydra swirled, noticing the side slit.

"My goodness, black on black. You look like the devil's bride," Agatha joked affectionately, her eyes filled with love. The dress fit Dydra perfectly, highlighting her hair and eyes even more.

"I have just the thing to make it perfect,"Agatha said, grinning with excitement. She rushed to her wardrobe and emerged holding a small jelwery box. "Here, try this," she said, handing it to Dydra.

Dydra opened the box, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the locket. She took it out, and Agatha helped her put it on.

A soft gasp escaped Dydra's lips as the golden heart-shaped locket completed her look, as delicate and stunning as a veil on a wedding dress.

"Oh my goodness!" Agatha exclaimed, gazing at her adopted daughter in awe. "You look like a queen."

Dydra's fingers gently caressed the locket, and suddenly, she pulled Agatha into a tight hug. Agatha, a bit started, wrapped her arms around her.

"My dear," she whispered, rubbing Dydra's back.

Unbeknownst to them, a carriage pulled up in front of the mansion, and Jerry stepped out. His pleasant smile faded as he heard voices from the room. His brow furrowed in confusion as he wondered why his wife had company in their private space. He reached the door and softly turned the knob, pushing it open.

The sight of Agatha's smile faltered as she whispered, "Jerry?" Her heart raced. Why was he home so early? Did he forget something?

Dydra's body tensed as she turned to meet his gaze. Her blue eyes locked with his brown ones, and she felt a lump rise in her throat. She parted her lips to speak, but no words came.