Dreams

Chapter 1

In the silence of her cell, Dior could discern the faint sound of footsteps approaching. Panic clenched at her chest, causing her to instinctively retreat against the wall, her burnt hands throbbing with pain. Normally, she kept her pain receptors muted, but she had exhausted that ability during the recent experiments—cruel tests conducted by the scientists who held her captive.

Dior, who spoke little English, could scarcely recall a time before she found herself in this alien environment. Her blue eyes remained fixed on the door, divided by a glass partition, as the footsteps quickened.

The scientists had deemed her dangerous ever since her powers manifested at the tender age of three. Since then, she had been confined, isolated, and alone.

The doorknob on her side rattled, but the door remained locked. "Damn it's locked!" someone grunted from the other side. Dior furrowed her brow, trying to decipher the unfamiliar language.

"I got this," another voice, deeper, asserted. There was a shuffle, and then the door swung open more smoothly.

A group of men, armed with guns, rushed in. Dior let out a startled yelp, pressing herself harder against the wall, inadvertently causing pain to her wings. The men's gaze fell upon her, taking in her angelic appearance—her sparkling antlers adorned with flowers, her small stature, her curious yet fearful blue eyes, her white hair with stark black highlights, and the bandages wrapped around her injured wrists, legs, and thighs.

Among them was a man with defined muscles, darker skin, tied blond hair, and a joyful demeanor. Another had a tanned complexion, dark hair, brown eyes, thick brows, and a rugged charm, wearing a circular gold earring.

Terrified of the impending danger, Dior contemplated her fate. She had always yearned for freedom—to draw like the children the scientists occasionally brought, to glimpse the sun she had never seen through her windowless cell.

As panic consumed her, she closed her eyes, bracing for the worst. But instead of a gunshot, she heard the cautious approach of the blond man.

"North, put down the gun. You're scaring her," a soothing voice intervened, belonging to a tall man with black-rimmed glasses, light brown hair, and emerald green eyes—Owen, he was called.

Encouraged by this unexpected kindness, Dior cautiously reached out and took the hand offered by the blond man, Luke. Though she trembled with fear and lacked human contact experience, she found solace in his touch.

However, her relief was short-lived as a sudden jolt of pain shot through her back. "Sean, do something!" North growled, urging the man with sandy blond hair and gentle features to help.

Sean approached with a first aid kit, but Dior, overwhelmed by pain and fear, recoiled into the corner. Her emotions surged, and her powers began to manifest—a blue aura surrounded her as her wings expanded.

The men, alarmed, hurriedly exited the room, leaving Dior alone with Luke. But before darkness claimed her, she felt a prick in her neck, and Luke's voice reassured her, "It's okay, you'll be okay."

And with those words echoing in her fading consciousness, Dior slipped into unconsciousness, her fate now uncertain yet tinged with a glimmer of hope.