Clara's eyes snapped open as she gasped for air. Her heart pounded like a drum in her chest. The same dream again. Those silver eyes watching her from the darkness. They didn't feel scary exactly, but they seemed to know her somehow, which was even more frightening.
She sat up in bed, pushing her knotted chestnut hair from her sweaty face. The morning light peeked through her blinds, making dust dance in the air. Ever since Aunt Meredith died three weeks ago, the dreams had gotten stronger. More real. Like someone was calling to her.
"Just a dream," Clara mumbled to herself, but even she didn't believe it anymore.
Her small bedroom felt emptier than ever. The house creaked and settled as if it too missed Aunt Meredith. Clara was completely alone now. No parents. No aunt. Just a strange old locket and a notebook filled with weird writings she couldn't understand.
Clara swung her feet to the cold wooden floor and walked to her dresser. The metal locket sat there, looking ordinary in the morning light. She picked it up, feeling its familiar weight. It was shaped like a teardrop with swirling images around the edges. Aunt Meredith had given it to her just before she died.
"Keep it with you always," her aunt had whispered, her voice weak. "It will protect you when the time comes."
Clara had asked what she meant, but Aunt Meredith had just smiled that secret smile of hers before closing her eyes for the last time.
"Protect me from what?" Clara asked the empty room, running her thumb over the locket's surface.
She tried opening it again, like she did every morning, but it stayed stubbornly shut. No matter how hard she tried, the locket never opened. Another of its secrets.
Clara got dressed quickly in her favorite pants and blue sweater. She had to go to the market for food, and Mrs. Holloway at the bakery might have more cleaning work for her. At twenty-four, Clara should have been at college or working in the city, but Aunt Meredith's long illness had kept her here in the sleepy town of Blackwood.
As she walked downstairs, Clara stopped at Aunt Meredith's door. She hadn't been able to go inside since the funeral. But today, something pulled at her. Maybe it was the dream still hanging to her mind, or maybe it was just time.
Taking a deep breath, Clara pushed open the door.
The room smelled of flowers and old books. Aunt Meredith's bed was still nicely made, waiting for an owner who would never return. Her collection of strange bottles and dried plants lined the shelves. Aunt Meredith had been the village's unofficial healer, making remedies for everything from coughs to broken hearts.
Clara walked slowly to the bedside table. The leather-bound notebook still sat there, its pages filled with Aunt Meredith's cramped handwriting. Clara had tried reading it before, but much of it seemed like nonsense—strange symbols and words in a language she didn't recognize.
She picked it up and flipped through the pages again. This time, something caught her eye. A page she hadn't noticed before had her name written at the top.
Clara must never know until she's ready. The genes must be protected. When the dreams begin, it will be time for her to find him. The locket will guide her. May she succeed where I failed.
Clara's hands shook. Bloodline? Find who? What had Aunt Meredith failed at?
She flipped the page, hoping for more, but the rest was in that strange language again. Frustrated, she closed the book and tucked it into her pocket. Maybe there were more hints hidden in its pages.
Outside, the town of Blackwood was already busy. People rushed about their morning routines, nodding politely to Clara as she passed. Ever since Aunt Meredith died, they looked at her differently. Was it pity? Or something else—like they were waiting for something?
"Morning, Clara!" Mrs. Holloway called from the kitchen door. "Come in, dear. I saved some cinnamon bread for you."
The plump baker's wife had a kind smile, but Clara noticed how her eyes jumped to the locket hanging around Clara's neck.
"Thank you," Clara said, stepping inside the warm kitchen. The smell of fresh bread made her stomach growl, telling her she hadn't eaten since yesterday.
Mrs. Holloway wrapped up the bread and gave it to Clara. "How are you managing all alone in that big house?"
"I'm okay," Clara lied. The truth was, she was barely getting by. The little money Aunt Meredith had left wouldn't last much longer.
"I have some cleaning work for you tomorrow, if you'd like," Mrs. Holloway offered. "And—" She paused, glancing at the locket again. "Has anything... unusual happened lately?"
Clara tensed. "What do you mean?"
Mrs. Holloway looked around as if looking for listeners, then leaned closer. "Dreams, perhaps? About silver eyes?"
Clara stepped back, nearly knocking over a case of cookies. "How did you know about that?"
The baker's wife sighed. "Your aunt told me to watch for the signs. Clara, there are things about your family, about your life, that you don't know."
"What things?" Clara demanded, suddenly aware that her hands were shaking again.
But Mrs. Holloway just shook her head. "It's not my place to tell you. Just... be careful near the forest. Especially at night." She pressed the bread into Clara's hands. "No charge today. Take care, dear."
Clara left the shop with more questions than answers. The entire village seemed to know something she didn't. Something about her thoughts, her family, and the forest that bordered the eastern edge of Blackwood.
The dark forest had always been banned. Parents warned children to stay away from its ancient trees and mist-filled shadows. No one ever went inside, and those who did by chance came back changed—if they came back at all.
Clara spent the rest of the day doing odd jobs around the village, but her mind kept returning to Mrs. Holloway's words and the strange entry in Aunt Meredith's diary. By the time she came home, the sun was setting, painting the sky in deep oranges and purples.
After a simple dinner of bread and cheese, Clara sat by the fireplace, the locket in one hand and the diary in the other. She'd been staring at the strange symbols for hours, willing them to make sense, when something extraordinary happened.
The locket grew warm in her palm. Then, as the grandfather clock struck midnight, it began to glow with a soft blue light.
Clara nearly dropped it in surprise. The light pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. When she held it up, the light seemed to stretch out in a thin beam, pointing toward her window—toward the forest.
"The locket will guide her," Clara whispered, remembering the diary's words.
Without thinking about the risks, Clara slipped the locket around her neck and grabbed her coat. Something was calling to her, and tonight, she would answer.
The night air was cold as Clara walked through the sleeping town. Not a single light shone from any window. Even the street lamps seemed dimmer than normal, as if the whole world was holding its breath.
The locket grew warmer against her skin the closer she got to the forest edge. Its blue light shone brighter now, illuminating her way. The logical part of her brain screamed to turn back, but some deeper instinct pushed her forward.
At the edge of the forest, Clara paused. All her life, she'd been warned never to enter these woods. What if she never came back? What if the silver eyes from her dreams were waiting for her?
But the locket pulled harder, almost pulling her forward by its chain. Clara took a big breath and stepped between the first trees.
Immediately, the air changed. It felt thicker, older somehow. Mist swirled around her legs as she followed the locket's light deeper into the woods. Strange sounds echoed between the trees—not quite animal, not quite human.
"Hello?" Clara called, her voice sounding small in the distance. "Is anyone there?"
Only the wind replied, whispering through leaves that seemed to watch her pass.
After walking for what felt like hours, Clara reached a small opening. The trees made a perfect circle around a patch of moonlight. In the middle stood a single stone, about waist-high, carved with the same strange symbols from Aunt Meredith's diary.
The locket's pull was stronger here. It tugged Clara toward the stone, its light now almost blindingly bright.
When she touched the stone, a shock ran up her arm. The symbols began to glow with the same blue light as her locket. The ground trembled beneath her feet.
"What's happening?" Clara cried as the mist in the clearing began to spin around her, faster and faster.
The locket snapped open at last, showing not a picture or a lock of hair, but a tiny mirror. In its image, Clara saw not her own face, but a pair of silver eyes staring back at her.
A voice whispered from the mirror, deep and melodic: "Clara Thorne. After all these years, you've finally come back to me."
The mist closed in, drowning out the moon and stars. Clara felt the ground disappear beneath her feet as she fell forward into darkness.
The last thing she saw before awareness slipped away was a tall figure stepping out of the shadows, silver eyes gleaming in the locket's fading light.