~

Gore.

The smell of iron and earth mixed together in the air.

Dawn's vision had darkened and blurred around the edges.

Silence. Pressuring silence.

A woman was sprawled on the wooden floor, its surface soaked and shiny with blood. The woman's head was lolled to the side, and her glassy eyes stared into the void. She resembled a ghost with her marble-white skin that contrasted the blackness of her eyes.

To Dawn's horror, the body's throat was glistening red, sliced open as if it had been cruelly torn by an animal's claws. A dirty, ragged dress covered her body, and her long hair stuck to her head, slick with blood.

Dawn retched at the stench mixed with the horror she had witnessed. She could hear her heart thump like a heavy hammer in her ears.

Suddenly, a child's cry echoed throughout her body. Dawn's breath hitched as she moved her head painfully slow to find the child crawling towards the limp body.

Dawn wanted to shout, to rush for the child and get her out of the room and away from this body, but her feet were chained to the ground. She strained hard to lift her foot but in vain.

The room was quiet when another echo sounded through her ears. A voice. A male's voice.

Dawn couldn't see the face or the person, only manly arms that wrapped around the child and carried her away.

~

Dawn arose from her shallow sleep with a suffocated gasp. Hair damp with sweat and plastered to her head, neck and spine, Dawn inhaled ragged breaths to try normalising her breathing.

Her hands trembled like leaves in the violent autumn wind. She could taste bile rising in her throat, so the girl scrambled to open the window, legs tangled in bedsheets.

As soon as chilling air touched her flushed skin, kissed her cheeks and ruffled her hair, her eyes fluttered shut, chin up towards the sky. The sun was still low in the horizon, and early birds were chirping happily, their songs carried through the wind from the forest to the village.

The girl brushed her hair with fingertips, whilst relishing the scenery that unfolded before her: the tips of the trees were dully lightened by the rising sun, the hues of purple and pink that played around the sky, bands of colour weaving in and out of each other, the neighbours that exited their houses and emerged onto the wynd to start their workday.

Dawn felt guiltily relieved that she didn't have to join some of them today. But the day after she was going to see a few housekeepers to find gardener work.

With the utter horror from the nightmare still lingering in her memory and the scene of a dead woman still visible at the back of her eyelids, Dawn stood still, staring down to the front of their garden. She had tried to clear her mind, however, that same nightmare kept harrowing her every night. The girl was afraid to succumb to the sleep each time she lay in her bed. Even the bedside candles that kept her room illuminated at night failed to fight off her nightmares.

Her Aunt had known of her sleepless nights and purposefully prepared the tea with the Perennial Crimson-Root Bittercress, but what troubled Dawn was why Eyllene didn't tell her of the real purpose of the tea; why she hadn't acknowledged that fact? Was Eyllene also aware of the nightmares' nature?

Why had she found out about this plant yesterday, out of all the time in her life? Had Aedan suspected something, too? Otherwise, she couldn't find any reasonable explanation to him showing this rare plant to her.

Dawn sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. Her head started to pulse from the way her morning had started so unfortunately.

Perhaps, Aedan had been right - Dawn should gather her courage and finally have the talk with Eyllene. After all, Dawn was eighteen winters, she would soon leave Springville for Wolfbourgh to live there, and the least thing she wanted to know was who her parents were and what caused their death.

She didn't need to know what they were like because she felt their presence within her. Her love for plants - was it something that had passed on to Dawn from her mother or father? Her courage to speak up to offenders - was it from her mother or father? She hoped it was from her mother. There were many more qualities to the girl than she had thought of, however acknowledging them would point to conceit.

Her love for dawn had probably transferred from her father - Dawn was convinced her father named her so. She remembered Eyllene telling her, how easy it was to name her, how perfectly the name fit the baby that had been born on one of the coldest day eighteen winters ago. To Dawn herself, her name meant a new day, a new beginning, a new chance to live through the day better than the day before.

Had her mother's eyes been the same colour as Dawn's were? Had her father's nose been the same shape as hers was? Or his face? Frankly, the girl didn't mind these at all or whether she was beautiful like they had, as long as she lived her life with dignity and kindness.

Beauty faded with time, but the essence within lived for eternity.

Dawn wondered of Aedan: had he acquired his exquisite pale-blue eyes from his mother or father? What about his silky raven-black curls? Or his nobility? Maybe, his nobility and the air of regality that emanated from him was something that he had gained himself through personal achievements? Perhaps, the experience of some sorts?

Dawn propped her chin in the palm of her right hand, leaning into the opened window and gazing into the abundance before her dreamily. She could watch the flutter of his long black lashes or the way his eyes regarded her warmly endlessly. The day before, when his curls had fallen over his forehead, she wanted to pull them back behind his ear and trace her fingertips gently over his arched brows. The curve of his lips when he had smiled at her drew fluttering butterflies inside her stomach.

His exquisite handsomeness had indeed captivated her, but she felt a deeper connection to him within her. This peculiar attraction that tipped the scales towards his character, integrity instead of his appearance. It intrigued her, leaving her pondering whether he was an actual person or a result of her imagination.

A scent of lavender swirled around her room with the wind, causing Dawn to remember of the dried lavender bouquet that stood inside a tall vase by her wardrobe. Reluctantly, she pushed off the windowsill and walked to pick a straw of lavender, but halted to a stop when the basket from the day before caught her attention. It stood by the door of her room, where she had left it.

There were a few plants she had picked up from the meadow, but there was something else. too. A dark-coloured leather object. The girl stooped and gripped it by its biding. It looked like a journal of some sorts, with many scratches that marred the polished surface of the material.

Anxiety settled in her stomach, her palms leaving clammy spots where she was holding it as she scrutinised the object further.

It was definitely Aedan's. He had probably put it into her basket by accident. There was another option that he had slipped it into her basket on purpose.

Either way, curiosity overtaking the common sense that Aedan might have wished for some privacy, she opened the journal.

The first page had some inked writing in the centre, which Dawn was unable to read. The binding groaned as she flicked to the next page with a labelled drawing on the first page and writing on the next. The drawing was actually a painting of a plant, and as Dawn squinted at it, giggling once she recognised it as Sneezeweed Plantain with its poisonous bright-yellow flowers. Dawn proudly knew the majority of the plants that Aedan had painted with watercolours in his journal - the Bank Rose, the Cut-leaf Pepper Leek, the Garden Inkberry, the Prickly Pigeon Morel and the Love Creek Strawberry and many more.

Although his handwriting was smooth and neat, as if he had conducted all of his soul into tracing each letter with diligence, she was unable to read it. Dishearteningly, Dawn flicked through the rest of the journal's paintings, cockled pages creating a pleasant sound to the girl's ears. She relished the scent of knowledge and effort he had put into creating it.

The last page of the journal had a painting of the Perennial Crimson-Root Bittercress, the crimson roots depicted with a pale red watercolour, green twists representing its leaves. The girl traced the outlines of the drawing over its rough surface, moving her gaze to the empty page next to it. There only were four writings she had identified as words, which was likely the name of the plant. It seemed unfinished as if it was meant to be completed soon.

She smiled to herself and whispered, "So that was what he was going to do yesterday." He was going to describe the plant and write about it.

"Dawn! Will you come down if you are up?" Eyllene called from the kitchen.

Hastily, she moved around, snapping her head from the bed to the wardrobe, and decided to hide the journal under a pile of clothes in her wardrobe. She then changed her nightgown for a long-sleeved white chemise and zipped up a dark-red pinafore dress on her left side. After braiding her long hair, she took a deep breath and emerged out of her room.

☽☽ ☆ ☾☾

Walking through the corridor that linked the sitting room and kitchen never felt so excruciatingly slow.

Her aunt was ruffling through the cupboards and looked up when Dawn entered the kitchen silently. Eyllene's sandy-blonde hair was fastened at her nape and she was wearing her usual light-green dress, which buttoned up along its bodice. When their gazes locked together, Dawn noticed the blue of her aunt's eyes appeared duller than usual, and lines marked the skin under her eyes.

"You've been quiet today, dear, I haven't heard from you since the morning."

"I've slept in today. The idle days tire me more than the working days do, surprisingly."

Eyllene chuckled, "It happens. I am lucky the market is shut today. I believe something horrible happened in Madhorn yesterday night," she said.

Dawn's eyes widened as she sat down in front of the dining table. "What happened there, have you any idea?"

Eyllene scooped eggs from the pan into a plate, "It was set on fire. They use wood there in Madhorn, all of their houses are made of wood, gods bless them. They live close to the mountains yet they choose wood!"

The only word Dawn had depicted was the fire. "But who would set it on fire and why? It was the Great Library first, now it's Madhorn."

A shudder ran down her spine as she instantly remembered the strange man from the outdoor market with silver eyes and a crescent moon symbol adorning the skin between his brows. He had told her about the fire in the Library. He also told her that it would be the Observatory next.

"I have no idea, Dawn. I do believe it's got something to do with werewolves, for sure. Madhorn's Mayor hasn't supplied enough rock in the past year, that could be the reason," she suggested as she placed a steaming cup with dark liquid filling it to the brim in front of Dawn. She cast a sidelong look at the cup.

"I don't think werewolves need rock at all. They wouldn't raid a village and try to destroy it just like that, would they?" her brows knitted together.

They are not as bad as we imagine them to be.

Aedan's words levitated inside her head. Could that be possible for werewolves not to be bloodthirsty and ferocious creatures that prowled at night, looking for prey? However, Aedan didn't say they were completely harmless and innocent, but then would it be wise to judge the whole werewolf population without knowing its single member?

"Have you forgotten about Paletooth? Werewolves levelled this town to the ground."

"But it were the wild werewolves, weren't they? The ones from the North."

Eyllene sat down, too, fork grasped between fingers. "Well, well, well. You seem to know an awful lot about them," she mocked.

"No, I am just trying to resonate. Who told you about this anyway?"

"Irma. She had come back from the market later yesterday, so she knocked on the door while you weren't here to tell me the market was going to be closed for today." She noticed the untouched cup of tea, "Why are you not drinking this?"

Dawn choked on her eggs and coughed violently to clear her air ways, blood rushing to her face.

It was time.

"I needed to ask you something, Eyllene," she said, catching her breath. Eyllene watched her in silence, so Dawn continued, "I have been seeing this nightmare, the same one all over again, every night."

Not a single flicker of emotions passed Eyllene's face. It was set and questioning. "Oh, you must have been very tired. I can prepare some medicine for you before you go to sleep tonight?"

"You don't understand," Dawn took another deep breath, pressing her palms onto her thighs. "This is not because I am tired, this has been happening since the end of summer. Every night would be filled with blood and ... death. It's dark and horrifying, Eyllene, I cannot sleep at all, I wake up in cold sweat and I am afraid. What if it's going to happen in real life? What if I am going to witness this here, in Springville? Irma has had a baby a year ago, what if Irma is going to die soon?" Dawn's eyes started to water violently, hot tears spilling down her cheeks onto her lap.

Eyllene scowled. "What is this non-sense you are uttering?" The chair scraped the wooden floor as she rose to her full height. "Irma is not going to die and so is anyone else. Since when have nightmares come true? They are nightmares for a reason, silly," she said, her face softening. "I am going to prepare the tea for you, dear. It's got everything you will need - "

"I will not drink this tea anymore!" Dawn snapped. "Enough of this! Just tell me, please, Eyllene, what's in it?"

Eyllene's face twitched.

"Did you know that I had nightmares? Did you know I stayed wide awake every night to avoid sleeping? Or that I was afraid to put the candles off, afraid that darkness would scare the living soul out of me?" Dawn rushed to her aunt's side. "Tell me, please, where are they? Enough of the secrets, I can handle the truth, I promise you. I-I," Dawn broke into tears. Tears that streamed down her face out of her desperate eyes, "I will not break, I - "

"They were murdered, Dawn. By werewolves. That's all I can say," she hissed. Eyllene opened her mouth as if to say something, then she stormed out of the kitchen, pushing past Dawn.

Dawn heard the front door shut angrily. Eyllene left.

The girl sat down, holding her head. Tears spilt down effortlessly, Dawn's face was red and her eyes swollen. Her head was pulsating angrily, kneading her brains.

Old wounds and incomplete conversations brought up the pain of loneliness she had felt deep down. It was easy to mask and push it down, but the more she denied this feeling, the more numbed her soul became.

So, maybe it was alright to feel alone and isolated in order to preserve the compassionate nature of the human soul?