Katherine's POV
The day stretches long and heavy, like it doesn't want to end. Like it's watching me. I roll up my sleeves and sink my arms into the basin, cold water from the morning stream nips at my wrists, sharp and familiar. The linen clings to my fingers, weighty with soap and old stains.
"Just get through this one… then the next, like always." I murmur. I don't even know who I'm talking to! maybe the fabric, maybe myself.
Luna perches on the windowsill, tail flicking, bright eyes tracking each movement. When a droplet splashes onto her fur, she jolts and bolts across the floor like she's been insulted. I shake my head. "Drama queen," I say under my breath.
The silence returns. Not empty, but thick. Like it's trying to fill in the places where something used to be. Or someone.
I scrub harder than I need to. The cloth doesn't care, but it makes my arms ache in that oddly satisfying way, like I'm earning the right to stay busy. Better this than sitting still again, I think. Stillness brings thoughts, memories, and make the imaginationrun wild. And I don't want those right now. Not today.
Outside, a breeze rattles the branches. The same wind slips through the cracked window, carrying the scent of earth and river stone. I watch it stir the hem of the curtain. My hands slow in the water.
"You're still waiting for something, aren't you?" I mutter. "Even now. And you don't even know what it is. Are you hungry luna?"
Luna lets out a small meow, as if she's answering me. I don't reply.
It's late afternoon before I even realize I haven't eaten. The stew I make is simple what we have, what lasts. Carrots, potatoes, dried herbs crushed between my palms until the scent sticks to my skin. I hum a little as I stir, some random melody about dragons and castles, princesses and kings.
The house glows with gold. Soft light clings to every surface like the sun doesn't want to let go. Luna stretches beside the stove, belly up, completely at ease. Must be nice, I think, and smile just a little.
And then... It happens.
That warmth.
Behind me.
It creeps in quietly, but it doesn't feel accidental. It's not from the stove. Not from the window. It's not imagined.
No, this warmth.
It wraps around the back of my shoulders like an invisible embrace, gentle, steady, like the memory of something I never got to keep. I stop stirring. My hands go still.
I don't move. I don't dare turn around. I barely breathe.
My chest tightens, not with fear, but with a kind of weird feeling I can't name. I whisper, so quietly I barely hear it:
"Is it you? The one that hauntsmy dreams?"
I don't know who I mean.
The stew bubbles softly behind the silence. The wind has stopped. Luna lifts her head, ears flicking, eyes fixed on the space behind me. I don't follow her gaze. I already know there's nothing I can see.
But someone's here.
Not a stranger, not really. It doesn't feel that way anymore. It feels like a piece of me has found its way home for a moment.
A breath catches in my throat.
"I don't even know your name, and i don't know if I'm going insane." I whisper. "But I know something's here. Aunt mary was clearly sure that... you're here."
The warmth stays for a few heartbeats longer. And then gone.
Luna blinks, as if waking from a dream, and curls up again. As if nothing just happened.
But I'm still standing there, ladle in hand, spine trembling.
My gaze drifts out the window. The horizon is on fire, blue bleeding into gold, shadows stretching thin. The light hurts in the best way.
"I should let it go," I say softly. "Whatever it is. Beforeit consume me."
But I don't move.
Minutes pass. I don't count them. Eventually, I step away from the stove. Turn off the flame. My hands move like they've done this a hundred times cleaning the dishes, drying them, stacking the bowls. But I'm somewhere else now. Not fully here. Not quite whole.
On the shelf near the window, the bundle of herbs waits.
Aunt Mary's voice echoes "When it's night burn them. Don't ask."
I don't ask.
I light them with shaking fingers. Mugwort. Rue. Something sharp and earthy. The smoke curls thick and slow, rising like a prayer or a warning. The scent clings to everything. It wraps around my neck, presses behind my eyes. The air feels different now. Thicker. Like something wants to speak.
I close my eyes.
"If you're real..."
I don't finish the thought. It's too much. Too soon.
The bowl crackles softly. Luna watches from the doorway, her tail flicking once, twice.
By the time the herbs burn down to ash, the sky has gone dark.
I clean up quietly. Blowing out the last candle. Gathering the scent into my sleeves. I step through the hall slowly, like I'm not alone. Like someone's walking just behind me.
The bed feels colder than usual. I lie down facing the wall, blanket pulled tight, my breath held longer than it should be.
"Please," I whisper into the dark,
"no dreams tonight."
But silence answers. Not peace. Just silence.
I pull the blanket tighter, tucking it under my chin like I used to when I was a child, when hiding under fabric felt like a shield. It doesn't anymore. Nothing does. The cold in the room isn't from the wind; it's from the emptiness. The kind that settles in the walls when no one speaks for hours, maybe days. It presses in around me like fog.
I shift slightly, trying to get comfortable, but my thoughts move faster than my body. They won't stop echoing.
"It wasn't real. That warmth. That moment."
I bite my lip.
"Or it was. And that's worse!!!"
Outside, Luna scratches softly at the door, then came in with a faint thud against the wood. Even she doesn't want to be alone tonight.
I stare at the cracks in the ceiling.
There's nothing there. No shadows moving. No voices. But I still feel like someone's watching.
A creak on the floorboard in the hall. Probably the wood settling. Probably.
My hand reached out to my hair. I press it to my nose. Still smells like smoke.
"What were you trying to tell me, Mary? What did you think I'd feel when I burned them?"
Maybe this. This ache. This heaviness. This sense of being almost haunted, but by something too gentle to call a ghost.
I close my eyes. Trying to picture anything else. The fields. The stream. The warmth of the sun on my back this morning. Luna's little yawn. The clumsy way she tried to catch shadows.
But the moment I let go, it's there again. The presence. Not strong this time. Just a memory of a feeling, lingering on the skin.
"If I knew your name, would you go away? Or would you come closer? Would you reveal yourself?"
I spoke softly.
I roll onto my back.
The ceiling's just a ceiling again.
A deep breath. Another. I count them like steps.
One. Two. Three...
"Don't dream tonight," I whisper again. "Please. Just this once."