A woman stood in the doorway. Barefoot. Her long black hair flowed in damp curls down her back, dripping water onto the floor like she'd just stepped from another world.
She wore a white dress that shimmered faintly, like sunlit mist. And around her head… a faint glow. Not bright. Not obvious. But like the soft halo of dawn just before sunrise.
She didn't speak. She didn't move. Her presence wasn't loud—it was quiet in the way the sunlight burns in silence, or how ancient things hold their breath before waking.
She stepped inside without a sound, leaving no trace on the floor.
I couldn't speak.
She lifted her head and looked straight at me. Her eyes weren't normal—pale and endless, like she remembered a sky older than the one I knew.
"You've forgotten me," she said softly. "But you will remember."
Her voice didn't echo, and yet it rang in every corner of the room. It was like listening to something that had been sung before time existed.
"Who… who are you?" I whispered.
"You already know." She stepped forward, and the air shifted. The warmth in the room grew, not with heat, but with light. Like something ancient stirring in my chest.
She looked at me closely, with something like recognition.
"I remember when you were small," she said, as if speaking to a memory. "You used to dream of fire—not destruction, but becoming. You stood in the center of it, and it never burned you. Only lit your path."
Goosebumps rose across my skin.
"I never dreamt that," I whispered.
She tilted her head, not smiling—but almost.
"You forgot. All of you forget."
Then I saw it—her shadow didn't match her shape. Where she stood, her form cast light, not darkness. And her silhouette on the floor didn't show a woman—it showed something else.
A crown of radiant horns.
Flames curled from her back like wings.
A sun behind her head.
" Who.. What, are you?" I stepped back
Her face remained still. "I am what remains of what once was. Echoed through time. Waiting for you to awaken."
My legs nearly gave out.
"Why me?" I asked again.
"Because your blood remembers. And the world will forget itself if you don't."
"I—I don't understand—" I stammered, stepping back.
She reached out, one hand outstretched, palm up. And out of sadness I was downstairs.
She looked up.
" She needs your help" she whispered but I heard it in my head loudly enough.
" Cyra? How can I help her?!" I asked
" She is stuck. He feeds on Trauma and fear. And uses emotions against you. She lost her battle. But you can still help her." She said gracefully.
" What battle?" I asked
She looked at me, really looked at me. Deep into my soul.
" Open your eyes" she said before her eyes shined.
" My eyes are.." I felt light.
And the room vanished.
---
I was pulled into darkness.
But it wasn't empty.
Something stirred in the black—a shape, a light, a memory not mine.
Then—
A scream.
Cyra's.
I saw her, thrashing on the floor of a living room I didn't recognize—sweat soaking her skin, her mouth open in a raw cry. Her eyes were wild. Her hands clenched into claws.
"No—no, not again!" someone shouted.
Cyra's husband.
He held her down, shaking, terrified, begging her to come back to herself.
In the corner, two figures watched.
A man and a woman.
Her parents.
Cyra's mother was crying.
Her father had his arms crossed. Tense. Distant.
"Call someone," her husband whispered. "Please—she's not getting better."
Her father stepped forward.
"She won't," he said coldly. "Not without help."
"What kind of help? Doctors—?"
"They can't fix this."
"I don't want some fake exorcist near her," Cyra's husband snapped.
But then—
Another voice.
Familiar.
"I know someone," it said.
And my heart stopped.
My father.
He stood in the doorway of that room like a shadow I'd never seen before.
"I know someone," he repeated. "A woman. My cousin swears by her. She doesn't do this for money. She just… removes things. Things that don't belong."
"You're saying she's possessed?" Cyra's husband spat.
"I'm saying she's not alone in there," my father said.
Then he stepped closer. Lowered his voice.
"She's dangerous. She almost hurt my daughter once, didn't she?"
Cyra's husband looked down. Said nothing.
"Then do what's right."
The vision jolted—
I saw smoke, thick and blue.
An old woman's cracked hands drawing symbols on the floor.
Cyra in the center of it all, crying, pleading—
"Please, no, I'm not—I'm not—"
Then she screamed. Her body jerked. Her mouth foamed. Her eyes rolled back.
The woman chanted faster.
" Listen to me! I can't .. Nooo" Cyra started screaming.
Convulsed—and stopped.
Completely still.
The chanting died.
The smoke cleared.
I watched her lie there, cold and silent, totally purple eyes open but empty.
Cyra's mother gasped. Her husband dropped to his knees.
No one moved.
Except my father.
He turned his back and walked out of the room.
**************
I was yanked out of the vision like being pulled from deep water.
Gasping.
On the floor.
My hands were trembling. My face was wet—tears or sweat, I didn't know.
The woman was still there. Kneeling beside me now.
Her hand hovered above my heart, not touching—but I felt it.
Heat. Light. Truth.
I looked up at her. "Why did you show me this?"
She said nothing.
But her eyes—
They looked at me like she'd known me long before I was born.
"You were never meant to be blind," she whispered. "But you must wake carefully. Or you will break."
Then she leaned closer.
I felt her breath on my forehead.
And everything—
Went
black.
*************"
When I woke up, I was warm.
Covered in blankets.
In my bed again.
The scent of smoke still clung to me. The echo of Cyra's scream still rang in my ears.
My body ached. My head throbbed.
And then I heard footsteps.
Someone sat down beside me.
I turned my head—
Dreck.
His face was pale. His hands clenched.
"You were lying in the hallway," he said. "Passed out."
He searched my eyes. "What happened?"
I looked at him and I remembered Everything. But I said nothing.
Just closed my eyes And let the silence answer for me.