( 𝗖𝗨𝗥𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗟𝗬 𝗨𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗥 𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧𝗜𝗡𝗚 )
𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐂𝐇
⸻ Cordelia Winterbourne's ordinary life with her mother was shattered by the onset of war, prompting Cordelia's mother to make a gut-wrenching decision by sending her daughter away for...
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I lay wrapped in my thin blanket, suspended between the world of dreams and wakefulness. The flickering campfire cast eerie shapes across my mind, shadows twisting and swirling with elusive meaning.
Through the haze of slumber, a haunting voice called to me, its ethereal melody threading through the deepest corners of my consciousness.
“
Seraphina,” it whispered, its spectral cadence both unsettling and strangely captivating.
Drawn by an inexplicable pull, I moved through this ethereal plane, following the eerie yet compelling resonance of the voice. The whispers grew stronger, carrying an unsettling familiarity that tugged at my very senses.
Amid the shifting shades of the dream, a figure emerged woman draped in an iridescent gown that shimmered like moonlit waters. Her presence held an air of grace and unspoken authority that stirred something deep within me.
"Come back to me, my child," her voice resonated, a symphony of emotions and memories intertwined.
I hesitated, uncertainty clouding my thoughts. Her face was familiar, a fleeting memory from the depths of my past, awakening emotions I could not fully comprehend.
Conflict raged within me, torn between the yearning to heed her call and an instinctive aversion, a sense that this encounter was somehow not right.
"Who are you?" My voice trembled, torn between curiosity and apprehension.
Her gaze bore into mine, an intense mix of longing and an unsettling intensity. "You belong with me, Seraphina. Return to where you truly belong."
A sense of recognition mingled with a chilling apprehension. I struggled against the dream’s hold, wrestling with the unrest within me.
The dream began to dissolve, slipping away as wisps of mist reclaimed my consciousness. The pull of the enigmatic figure weakened, her voice fading into the distant recesses of my mind.
I awoke abruptly, chest heaving, struggling to make sense of the cryptic echoes of the dream. Confusion lingered, leaving me uneasy as I wrestled with the haunting familiarity of the figure that had both called to and unsettled me.
There it is again, calling me Seraphina.
I glanced around, and as if on cue, the Pevensies were just waking up.
"Morning," Peter yawned, rubbing his tired eyes.
"We must keep going," the beaver urged, and despite feeling a bit sleepy, we all agreed to continue.
