The frozen heart

Chapter 23: Between Worlds

Chapter 23: Between Worlds

Anne's eyes fluttered open, the steady beeping of her alarm clock filling the quiet room. She groaned, groggy and disoriented, her body heavy as if weighed down by the remnants of a restless sleep. The familiarity of her apartment slowly came into focus—the beige walls, the cluttered desk, the faint glow of morning light filtering through half-drawn curtains.

She blinked, her mind hazy, trying to shake off the lingering fragments of the dream. It had been so vivid, so incredibly real. She could still feel the ache in her muscles, the tension in her chest, like echoes of some distant memory that refused to fade. What a dream... she thought, rubbing her temples as she sat up.

But the pain in her body... her limbs felt sore, as though she'd been fighting, running, struggling. Anne dismissed the thought with a shake of her head. It was just a dream. That's all.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, her bare feet touching the cool floor with a soft thud. She stretched, wincing at the stiffness in her shoulders. The images from the dream flashed through her mind: the cold stone of the castle, the cruel faces of the assassins, Kaiden's anguished expression. It all felt so visceral, so lifelike. But it couldn't have been real.

She padded to the bathroom, still dazed, and splashed cold water on her face. The sensation jolted her, bringing her fully into the present. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror—dark circles under her eyes, hair tousled from sleep. She looked like she hadn't rested at all.

Anne sighed, leaning against the sink. "Just a dream," she murmured, trying to convince herself. She had to get ready for work. There was no time to dwell on nightmares, no matter how realistic they felt.

As she moved through her routine—brushing her teeth, fixing her hair—her mind kept drifting back to the dream. She remembered the way her heart had pounded in her chest, the way her skin had burned with fear and adrenaline. It had been so much more than just a nightmare. It was as if she had been living in another world entirely, and now she had woken up as if nothing had changed.

But that's ridiculous, she told herself, brushing aside the thought. Dreams could be vivid, after all. It was probably just her mind running wild after reading that book. She'd fallen asleep on the couch, hadn't she? The story must have seeped into her subconscious, shaping her dreams. That was the only logical explanation.

Still, as she moved through her apartment, getting dressed, the ache in her body wouldn't go away. It was like a phantom pain, a lingering memory of something her body couldn't let go of. Anne shook her head, forcing herself to focus on the present. She had work to do, a life to live.

The soft sound of coffee brewing filled the kitchen as Anne poured herself a cup. Her hands trembled slightly as she lifted it to her lips, the warmth of the mug grounding her in the moment. As she sipped, her gaze drifted toward the small calendar on the wall.

Her eyes widened slightly when she saw the date. Only one night? It had felt like weeks, months even. The dream had stretched on, day after day of pain, fear, and sorrow. Yet here, in the real world, only a single night had passed.

Anne exhaled deeply, placing her coffee cup down. Dreams aren't bound by time, she reasoned, though the realization left her unsettled. Still, what other explanation was there? She had gone to bed, and now she was awake, back in her apartment, back in reality.

As she was about to leave for work, her mind drifted again—back to the couch where she had fallen asleep the previous night. Something tugged at her, urging her to take one last look before she left. She hesitated but gave in, walking toward the living room.