In the Shadows of Ash

Chapter Four: Bound to a Dark Force

I can still feel his presence, lingering in the shadows.

Even after he left, the room felt colder, heavier, as if he had seeped into the walls, into the air itself, leaving traces of darkness that cling to my skin.

I sit cross-legged on my bed, the room shrouded in shadows. The candlelight casts faint, flickering shapes across the walls, but the comfort I once felt in their presence has faded, replaced by a sense of watchfulness. Ever since last night, the air has felt charged, like a storm waiting to break. My heart still races at the memory of him—his blackened eyes, the smoky tendrils curling around his skin, the way his presence had filled every inch of the room, pressing down on me, making it hard to breathe.

I touch my cheek absentmindedly, my skin prickling where his cold fingers had brushed against me. The sensation lingers, faint but undeniable, like a brand marking me as his. I don't understand it—this strange, electric pull he has over me, this dark fascination that sits uneasily alongside the fear. I know he's dangerous, I know I should be terrified, and yet... I wanted him to stay.

I should never have called him.

But now, I don't know if I could bear the silence if he left.

I shake the thought away, forcing myself to focus on the day ahead. It's Thursday, which means I have my therapy session with Dr. Clarke. He's been concerned about me, his gentle eyes always watching, waiting for me to let him in, but I can't tell him everything. How could I possibly explain the darkness that follows me, the weight of my father's shadow and now... now this?

I gather my things, slipping on my coat and scarf before heading out into the chilled morning air. The city feels gray and faded, as if the color has been drained away, leaving only shadows and whispers. I keep my head down, avoiding the curious stares of strangers, my mind still lingering on the demon's face, on the mocking smile that had both thrilled and unsettled me.

Dr. Clarke's office is small and warm, filled with the faint scent of coffee and old books. The space feels like a cocoon, a barrier against the world outside, but today, it doesn't bring the comfort it usually does. Today, I feel exposed, as though his gentle gaze could peel back the layers of darkness that cling to me, revealing the fear, the anger, the desperation that simmer just beneath the surface.

He greets me with a quiet smile, his pen poised as he gestures for me to sit. "Good to see you, Sable. How have things been?"

I manage a faint smile, settling into the armchair across from him. The leather is worn, soft against my skin, and I find myself tracing the faint patterns in the fabric, my fingers restless. "It's... been okay," I say, the words hollow even to my own ears.

Dr. Clarke studies me, his eyes filled with that same patient concern I've come to expect from him. "Are you sleeping?" he asks, his voice gentle but direct.

I hesitate, glancing down. "Not really. The nightmares are back."

He nods, jotting something down in his notebook. "That's understandable, given everything you've been through. Sometimes, when trauma resurfaces, it brings all those old fears back with it."

I nod slowly, swallowing against the knot in my throat. It's so tempting to just let it all out, to tell him about the shadows that press in on me, the scars that refuse to fade, the fear that feels like it's woven into my skin. But something holds me back—a mixture of shame and distrust, a part of me that refuses to let anyone else carry this darkness.

Dr. Clarke watches me, his gaze softening. "Have you considered keeping a journal?" he asks. "It could help you process some of these nightmares, give you a way to... confront them in a controlled way."