THE estate she grew up in was being devoured by towering and smouldering red and yellow flames that lit the sky around them with a horrid orange glow. Black smoke bled out through the many large broken windows of her childhood home, and the smell of burning wood filled the air around them. The heat of the fire toasted her soot-smeared face, and as her tears began to fall, they left streaks on her cheeks. Her heart hammered in her chest, and her body trembled at the sight and sounds around her. As the ashes of her life floated down from the sky like snowflakes on the first day of winter, she looked around for the rest of her family, noticing they weren't anywhere to be seen. Instead, surrounding her were the gardens which had been lush and brimming with life only that afternoon and were now catching fire from the falling embers. Rocío knew she wouldn't have managed to escape the inferno if not for her maid who had rushed her out of bed and led her through the intense smoke and the billowing flames that filled the halls.

"W-where's Santiago?" She coughed. They were the first words she spoke as she tried to organize her thoughts. Her bare feet were aching and burning from the embers and the cuts she'd sustained from broken glass, but they weren't enough to ground her.

"My lady, we don't have much time, he knows," her maid, Leticia, panted, urging her to move faster, pulling on her arm.

Rocío shook her head, stopping in the middle of the flaming gardens. "No, where is he? Where is Elena, and mother... a-and father?"

Leticia looked at her with sorrow, tears shining over her dark brown eyes that looked black in the shadows of the night, as she solemnly shook her head.

Rocío's eyes grew at the realization of her maid's silence. "No, no, no!" She screamed as she stood in shock. "They're coming, right?" Her voice shook as she turned back to the burning estate.

Leticia looked away but tightened her grip on Rocío's hand, pulling her towards the wall at the end of the gardens. "There has to be a way out..." She mumbled, mostly to herself, as she analyzed the creeping vines.

Rocío shook free from Leticia's grip in a swift and harsh pull, "I'm not leaving without them!" She turned back to the burning mansion. "Santiago! Elena!" She cried out, her voice cracking, but drowned under the crackling of the intense fire.

Leticia turned to Rocío. "My lady!" She yelled, "They're gone! He got to them! We must run!" She didn't stop pulling Rocío for even a second.

Rocío's vision blurred, and she collapsed. "I-I can't," her voice came out as a hoarse cry. Her knees had given out, and she'd toppled to the stone floor, scraping her legs as her thin nightgown was no match for the stones under her. She didn't dare imagine what had happened to her family. "I...I can't leave," she gasped for fresh air but all she breathed was smoke, "not without them."

Leticia's cheeks were stained with tear streaks and soot. "Rocío, please, my lady," she begged. "You have to live." She took Rocío's hands again and pulled her with all her might, trying her best to move the young woman towards the wall. Her efforts meant nothing, Rocío's dead weight was beyond what she could pull.

Among the crackling of the fire, a set of calm footsteps was heard thumping against the stone path.

"My lady, I beg of you, we have to go!" Leticia kept pulling, more urgently this time, the fear caused her voice to crack. "I promised your brother that I'd keep you safe."

Rocío's gaze was distant, almost lifeless. "My siblings...my parents..." The tears fell from her eyes, flooding her vision and stinging her nose. The dread and fear fell upon her like a heavy blanket, pushing her further into despair and the floor.

"My lady!"

The footsteps drew closer.

"Santiago?" Rocío's whispering voice questioned as she looked towards the sound, her amber eyes dripping with endless tears. She so desperately wanted to see her brother's warm amber eyes. Even if it's just him, please, spare at least one of them.

Leticia's own tears didn't stop flowing, but she stepped in front of Rocío, shielding her as a tall looming figure approached them. Rocío could barely see anything beyond her maid.

"Please, sir, spare us!" Leticia pleaded. "What crime ha-have we committed to deserve this?" Her voice cracked.

Rocío heard the particularly sharp sound of a blade being drawn and with a swift swing, Leticia toppled to the floor. Rocío's skin crawled and she gasped, pushing herself back with the little strength she could master.

The bright inferno lit the person's face in an eerie glow. A man drenched in blood and smeared in soot stood before her. His piercing soulless green eyes stared her down as if she were no more than a bug, his long black hair hung messily around his face, tangled, and matted with blood and sweat. He lifted his sword in the air, ready to strike her down. His movements were steady and unsettlingly mechanical.

Rocío's eyes grew, she couldn't speak, she couldn't beg for her life. Why? The only thought that ran through her head. Why us?

The man swung his sword down on her.

Rocío gasped for air as she shot up from the bed. Her breathing was erratic, and she gripped her comforter so tightly that her knuckles paled. She was covered in cold sweat, her brown wavy hair stuck to her face and neck as sweat dripped from her dark brow. A wave of nauseousness crashed over her as her heartbeat resonated through every fibre of her being. Just as her breathing steadied, a tear rolled down her cheek.

It was the fifth time that week. The fifth time that bloody nightmare haunted her dreams. The fifth time she'd felt the agonizing pain of that blade on her neck so vividly. The first two times, she'd woken up and clutched her neck, as if checking if the blood was seeping through. The third time she'd run out to check on Elena and her parents. After confirming they were just fine, she'd refused to sleep for an entire day. The fourth time she wept in the darkness of her room as it had become all too familiar.

Rocío rubbed her face and took fistfuls of her hair. She detested that nightmare. It was causing her to go insane. She could barely sleep, eat, or talk. It had only been a week, but her sister was growing concerned. She stretched over the bed and poured herself a glass of water from the beautifully intricate carafe that sat on her bedside table.

After the third time she'd had the nightmare, she started to wonder why she was having such a dream in the first place. The more she thought about it, the more she was sure she'd never met the man in her dreams nor could she think of a reason as to why her family would be annihilated by him.

Rocío rubbed her eyes in desperation. This had only ever happened to her once before.

The first time was when she was no more than sixteen years old, she'd had a waking nightmare for over a week that her older brother, who must've been nineteen at the time, would die in battle. At the time there hadn't been any war and so she had assumed it was just a stubborn nightmare. However, a year later, a war broke out on the southern front of the Veridis Empire, dragging the duke and his heir into its hellish battlefield.

Rocío begged Santiago not to go after remembering her dream, but upon his refusal of her constant her pleading, she told him that if he must leave, he needed to promise her never to lift his visor when on the frontlines. It barely satisfied her when he promised. Midway into the war, Santiago had been nearly killed as a knight plunged a lance to his face, his visor saving him from a brutal death, but not leaving him unscathed. The attack left a scar on his cheek, nothing compared to what could've been.

A thought slithered into her mind the more she thought about those times; could she see the future? Who was she kidding, there was no such thing as clairvoyance. She prayed this wouldn't be their future.

"It's not real, Rocío," she mumbled to herself, hugging her legs and nestling her face in her knees. "It's not real."

The night felt endless as she stared at the window, hoping the sun would shine through the crack of her curtains. The darkness of her room was starting to eat her alive, the emptiness and silence of the night was making her paranoid at any tiny sound.

She fell back on her bed, restless and fully awake. This time, she didn't cry, but she still felt the dreadful pit in her stomach that churned at the thought of the burning mansion and her dead family. She stared at the canopy above her, gripping a blanket in a tight hug. She debated if she should tell her siblings about her nightmare, but she finally decided against it, it would go away on its own.

An eternity passed until finally the crack of dawn lit a sliver of her room a pink light. She slipped out of her bed and walked on the cold granite floor until she reached the curtains. Pushing aside the heavy fabric, she sighed in relief upon seeing the warm orange glow of the sun from beyond the eastern mountains.

The warm morning light was enough to calm her down. She leaned against the chaise at the foot of her bed, taking in the serene sight in front of her. She was already feeling tired again, so she crawled back into bed, hoping that the light of the sun would dispel her nightmare. She snuggled back into the blankets which were now cold. Rubbing her feet against the cold covers, she was able to warm them up even if just by a little. She shivered and she shut her eyes.

Finally, she relaxed into her bed once more, sleep lulling her into dreamland.

---

"—Cío. Rocío!"

Rocío snapped out of her trance. Her mind had been on the incident with Santiago and the current nightmare. She shook her head and turned towards her younger sister, who had her dark eyebrows knitted in disappointment as she set down her teacup and saucer on the coffee table between them.

"Hm?" Rocío blinked away the image of their burning estate. "Yes, Elena?"

Elena crossed her arms over her chest. "Have you even been listening to me?" She questioned.

"Well..." Rocío sighed, "Forgive me, Elena, I've just been...exhausted."

Elena gasped and turned to the older woman next to her—their mother. The duchess had red hair, which was inherited by only their late older sister, Renata, while Elena and Rocío had dark chocolate brown hair just like their father. Santiago's hair was mahogany, not quite the intense red of his mother's but not the dark chocolate of his father's. Rocío had been born with their mother's honey eyes while her sisters had received their father's ice-blue eyes and Santiago inherited their grandmother's chestnut brown eyes.

"Mother, there's something wrong with Rocío, she's been sleep-deprived all week," Elena frowned.

The duchess turned to her third child and her eyebrows knitted together in concern. She stood from the couch and walked over to Rocío, landing the back of her hand against her daughter's forehead. "You don't seem to have a fever..."

Rocío sighed and gently pushed her mother's hand away from her head, "Mother, I'm not ill, I've just been having trouble sleeping, that's all."

"All week!" Elena emphasized. "That's far from normal."

The duchess sat down next to Rocío. "Is there something that troubles you?" She asked softly.

Rocío stared into her mother's warm and gentle eyes. She was so tempted. She shook her head. "No, Mother, I've just randomly been waking up at odd hours and can't seem to return to bed."

"We should call upon the doctor," her mother suggested, "It's most definitely not normal."

Elena nodded in agreement. "It's exactly what I've been telling her."

Rocío shook her head again. "No, there's no need," she assured, "It'll go away on its own."

The youngest lady groaned, "It probably won't, and you have to be very healthy because you have to be present at my debut ball!"

Elena's birthday and debut ball was happening in a week's time, and the house had been lively with preparations. The staff had spent nearly a month getting Estella Abbey in order and in its best and most luxurious state to welcome the hordes of guests that were expected to be trickling in the following weekend. Elena was the youngest child of the Duke of Estella, which meant she was given only the best of everything, and it was also an occasion that the duke had to show off the fruits of his involvement in the war.

"Worry not, Elena, I'll be just fine by the time of your debut," Rocío insisted.

The duchess shook her head. "No, I will call upon Doctor Tomás, your health is the top priority, alright sweetheart?" She squeezed Rocío's hand reassuringly.

Rocío sighed. "Mother, trust me—"

"No," her mother silenced, "You don't get to have a say. I am calling the doctor and that is final."

"Very well," Rocío huffed in defeat. "I will oblige just this once, Mother."

"Good," her mother smiled. Then the duchess waved her hand, signalling her maid to approach. After whispering in the ear of her maid, the older woman bowed her head and left the room.

Elena picked up the teacup again and sipped at the pomegranate tea her sister had brewed. "Now that that's settled, I asked you what you think of hanging wisterias on the balcony. Wouldn't it be simply divine?"

Rocío nodded. "I think it would be lovely. Have you already decided on what flower arrangement will be on the tables?"

Elena eagerly nodded. "Of course! I'm going with mainly violet lilies and hydrangeas, and I've even done the preparations to serve blueberry tea and blackberry desserts, what do you think?"

A smile lit Rocío's face. "I think that every young lady in the kingdom will be inspired by your preparations."

"You think so?" Her younger sister's blue eyes sparkled. "Oh, I do very much hope so!" She clapped her hands together.