Veiled Revolutions; Nastasia's Awakening

2. Over the Moor

"in my restless dreams, I see the corpse of my descent, hanging by the moon."

December 15th, 1929.

Nastasia sings a lullaby by the night, drenched in water. The rain that flattens her hair getting stronger.

"Oh mother, father.. I know you're dead, I had a vision."

"Visions.. precognitive dreams.. it's not normal, is it? Oh, what a monster you have birthed."

"If I were to find out what happened to you, would it put an end to those intruding dreams?"

Nastasia looks ahead at the tract of open uncultivated upland. A small, thin smile forms on her lips.

As her feet sink into the muddy earth, the raindrops play a melancholic melody against the knife she clutches tightly. The landscape seems to absorb the very essence of her sorrow, the open upland an untouched canvas for the impending revelation.

She looks ahead to see an old, dilapidated mansion, shrouded in ivy and shadows.

The path to the mansion winds through a thick, overgrown forest. The trees, ancient sentinels with gnarled branches, seem to whisper ancient secrets as the rain weaves through their leaves. Shadows dance in the dimming light, and Nastasia's lantern flickers as if in protest against the encroaching darkness.

The mansion looms in the distance, barely visible through the thick veil of rain and mist. Each step towards it feels like a descent into an abyss of uncertainty, the rhythmic patter of raindrops on her umbrella intensifying the sense of foreboding. The air is thick with a mixture of petrichor and a lingering, unspoken sorrow.

Upon crossing the threshold, the creaking door echoes like a mournful sigh. Nastasia's lantern reveals forgotten portraits staring down from the walls, their eyes following her every move. Dust particles dance in the feeble light, as if disturbed spirits reluctantly revealing themselves.

"Hah.. haha.." she chuckles at the disturbing portraits. One would find themselves uneasy, but her? Oh, not her.

The sound of dripping water echoes through the empty halls, and the flickering candle flames cast dancing shadows on the decaying wallpaper. Nastasia's sauntered as she approaches the study, where the air feels heavy with the weight of untold stories. She comes across a few journals, dusty, and old.

Journal Entry - November 16th, 1900
"The night is heavy with secrets, and I feel the weight of our clandestine meetings. Our words, like shadows, dance on the edge of rebellion. She sleeps in her cradle, oblivious to the world we are trying to shape for her. Will she inherit our struggle, as a Voyazlor, or will she be shielded from the storm brewing in our hearts?

"...what?" Nastasia's eyes widened as she notices her surname in the journal.

The discovery of the journals becomes a slow unraveling, each page turned with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation. The ink on the pages seems to absorb the rain outside, the very essence of her family's hidden struggles bleeding into her consciousness.

Journal Entry - March 15th, 1905
"The whispers of change grow louder, yet danger lurks in the corners. The Voyazlor children, now curious minds, exhibit signs of the gift that has plagued our family for generations. The visions are both a blessing and a curse, a link to a destiny we can scarcely comprehend. We tread on thin ice, torn between shielding them and preparing them for the inevitable."

"curse.. yes, I could call it a curse." Nastasia whispers beneath her own breath.

Final Entry - November 2nd, 1913.
"The storm has consumed us. The night I feared has arrived. Betrayal, once veiled, now stands bare. The Voyazlor legacy is now theirs to carry. The visions are the echoes of our struggles, a burden intertwined with the threads of fate. May the truth guide the Voyazlors through the tempest that awaits."

"November 2nd.. 1913? That, is the date of my birth." The realization sinks in.

In this oppressive silence broken only by the rain's symphony, Nastasia's realization becomes a gradual crescendo. The visions, the dreams, the whispers of the past converge into a storm of revelation, overwhelming her senses like a torrential downpour. And as the rain outside reaches its peak, so does the storm within her, pushing her further into the heart of the enigma that is her legacy.

--- END.