Violet’s POV
The incessant tick, tick, tick of the clock gnawed at my skull, cutting through the silence of the night like a blade. Every passing second felt like a thunderous drumbeat reverberating in my chest, my nerves fraying with each tick. I could barely comprehend it, this noise, this relentless march of time that never stopped, no matter how much I wanted it to.
I swatted at the air as if trying to ward off some invisible demon. Who the hell turned the alarm on? My hands moved sluggishly over the rough sheets, my fingertips grazing the cool fabric of the mattress. The sound was worse than a thousand whispers in the dark. It rattled my thoughts, made my skin itch.
“Shut up,” I muttered, my voice raw and throaty from sleep, but it was no use. The clock didn’t care. It kept ticking, like a ticking time bomb I couldn't escape.
I cursed, pushing myself up on one elbow, my body sluggish from too little rest. My legs were heavy as lead, and my head spun with the dizziness of sleep deprivation. My eyes were still half-lidded, but I squinted through the darkness, trying to locate the offending device.
But then... there was something else.
A shadow.
A figure, just outside my window, barely noticeable against the inky black sky. For a moment, I froze, the air in my lungs thickening. Who the hell was that? My breath caught in my throat as I slowly shifted, sliding off the bed and inching toward the window. The tick-tick-tick of the clock now seemed distant, as though the noise came from another world entirely, one I had no intention of being in.
“Who’s there?” I called out, my voice sharp with irritation, but it came out weaker than I wanted, like I was whispering into the void. My heart thundered in my chest. I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched, like someone, something, was just outside, waiting. I could almost hear the creak of floorboards under their feet.
There was no answer. Not even a rustle of movement, just the oppressive silence of the night. My breath hitched as I leaned closer to the window, straining to see. But all I saw was blackness, the faintest outline of the trees swaying outside, and nothing more.
The shadow had disappeared.
Maybe I was just imagining it.
But then… my gaze flicked to my door.
It was wide open.
Shit. My stomach flipped. I knew I had closed it before going to bed. The room felt too big now, like I was a stranger in it. I’d been in here alone, hadn't I? Had I?
I stood frozen for a moment, staring at the door, my pulse quickening. My head was still foggy with sleep, but my instincts were sharper than ever. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong—something was very wrong.
I didn’t want to check. I didn’t want to know.
But... I had to.
Taking one step at a time, I crossed the room, my feet barely making a sound on the cold wooden floor. My hand reached for the door, but as I touched the brass handle, a searing pain shot through my body, and I bit my lip to keep from crying out. The wound on my side—stupid, painful, and still fresh—throbbed like an open wound in my memory.
I had forgotten. In the heat of the moment, I had forgotten all about the gash, the blood, the stitches.
The door swung shut with a dull thunk, but the pain… It felt like the whole damn world was pressing against my ribs, squeezing the breath out of me.
I blinked through the fog of pain, fighting the urge to double over. I couldn’t let it win. Not now. Not like this.
Clenching my jaw, I forced myself to straighten up, trying to ignore the stabbing sensation in my side. I stood there, staring at the door for a moment, before I turned around and walked back toward my bed. My mind raced with a hundred thoughts—half of them completely irrational, but I couldn’t shake the unease that clung to the air. Something was off. Something was wrong.
And then it happened.
I never saw it coming.
Something sharp, cold, and unforgiving pricked the back of my neck.
I didn’t even have time to scream.
The sensation bloomed like an explosion in my bloodstream, rushing through my veins in icy waves. The pain—brief and intense—was followed by the sudden, overwhelming weight of exhaustion. My legs gave out beneath me, my vision blurring at the edges as I crumpled to the floor.
I hit the ground with a sickening thud, my body completely unresponsive. My limbs, heavy and useless, refused to move. It was like I was drowning in a sea of my own flesh, every movement an impossible effort. I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t think.
What... what was happening?
I tried to raise my head, but my neck refused to obey. It was like my body was being locked into a cage of its own making. I could hear my heartbeat now, muffled and distant, thudding in my ears. My thoughts were muddled, too far away, like I was trapped in a dream I couldn’t wake up from.
But then a voice—soft, malevolent, and unmistakable—echoed in my mind.
“Sleep.”
And that was the last thing I heard before everything faded into nothingness.
A few hours later.
I woke up with a start, gasping for air, disoriented. My head swam with confusion, and I could feel the pounding in my temples. The room was darker now, the light from outside almost completely gone, the only sound that of my ragged breathing.
I was back in bed.
But how?
I didn’t remember climbing back in. I didn’t remember anything after that prickling sensation at the back of my neck, the cold touch of whatever it was that knocked me out.
I sat up quickly, my body protesting with a dull ache. The wound on my side was still there, but the sharp, intense pain had subsided. I ran my fingers over it, wincing as I felt the bandages and the still-healing skin beneath.
And then... my eyes locked onto something in the room.
The door was wide open again.
I didn’t know how long I had been unconscious, but the fact that the door was open told me everything I needed to know.
Someone had been here.
Had it been the shadow? The one I’d seen outside the window?
“Okay. Okay,” I whispered to myself, my voice shaking with the realization. “What the hell is going on?”