☽◯☾
I dream of her.
The woman in the black shroud is standing in the alley. She is where I saw her last, the fabric around her body shifting as if breathing. She steps toward me, her bare feet make no sound. Her head tilts the same way as before, curious, almost gentle. When she speaks, it is not one voice this time but many.
"Find him before it is too late for us all."
Her shape blurs, her edges unraveling into shadow. I try to reach for her, but the world shifts inward, and I wake up gasping.
My heart is still hammering, and sweat clings to the back of my neck. I lie there for a long time, staring at the ceiling, trying to breathe normally.
I hate dreaming these days. Being in my head, the one place I cannot escape, is hell on Teleria. Two days have passed since that night, but my mind isn't the same.
The morning after everything, Marie came by. She brought me coffee from my favorite place and checked in on me. I didn't tell her the full story. I don't think I could have explained what happened without sounding absolutely insane.
But I do think I am going insane. I know I am going insane. Every logical part of me wants to find an explanation for all of the mind-bending events around me.
Stress-induced hallucinations, subconscious guilt, or even schizophrenia are answers I'll gladly accept, even if it's only for the certainty it brings.
I pull myself out of bed slowly and start getting ready for school. My body feels heavy, like it is moving through water. I only have one month till the end of my PhD program.
Despite unravelling for the last few months, I've managed to complete my PhD. I've worked too hard to lose it all over some nightmares.
On the bus, the city feels distant. Then again, I've never felt close to the place since my parents died here. I put in my headphones and cycle through multiple radio channels before letting a news summary play.
I stare out the window, the blurred figures of pedestrians lulling me before the most devastating news is announced. The anchor's voice is smooth, too calm for what it says.
Breaking news.
"Authorities are continuing their investigation into the recent string of murders believed to be connected to a previously unidentified cult group. Two more victims were found late last night, a man and a woman in their mid-twenties."
A man and a woman in their mid-twenties? I perk up at the announcement, my heart hammering as the announcer calmly recites the details.
"The victims are suspected to be Damon Lockwood and Marianna Smith..." A deafening ringing replaces the rest of the words the news anchor says.
Damon? Marie?
I numbly open my phone and transfer to the live feed. The on-scene reporter is standing in front of the crime scene. Yellow tape cordons the building behind him, a building that has my hands shaking as I hold my phone.
It was a brown wooden door with a rich, shiny coating. Above the door, a sign hangs saying, 'Blue'd Speakeasy'.
The same place from my dreams.
Before I know it, the screen cuts back to the news anchor in the studio, where she and her partner discuss all the previous victims.
As their photos flash, I recognize their faces. The gravity of the situation dawns on me. These are all the men and women whom I have been dreaming about for the past nine months.
Time feels slowed, and as the last two faces appear side by side as the news anchor says it's the first double killing so far, my vision blurs.
I hear a cutting scream and vaguely see people looking around, but it doesn't take me long to know that they are looking at me.
I scream, an unrelenting cry as the creeping doubt I've felt since the dream solidifies as truth. My voice is hoarse and cracking, yet I do not stop. I cannot breathe, yet I still scream.
The painful cracks of my voice did little to drown the ache in my heart. I do not know how I got off the bus. Before I know it, I am kneeling on the floor before a massive crowd, with the familiar signage peeking out over the heads of the crowd.
I yank at the bodies before me, trying to get closer to the front. I ignore the 'heys' and 'seriouslys' and push through with a strength I have never felt before.
They eventually start parting seamlessly. I don't know if it is the look in my eye, the tears on my face, or my pure, devastating desperation as I fight through the crowd, but they no longer protest.
The momentum propels me forward, and I collapse on my knees as I reach the front. The first thing that greets me is the brush of a broom cleaning blood splatters.
I shakily reach out to touch the ground, but hesitate. I go to touch it again, and this time I do. The moment my hand flattens on the rough terrain, I wimper then wail.
It's cold.
I feel an arm wrap around me, then another, and another. It's them. They're really gone.
☽◯☾
"I didn't know if you liked tea or coffee, so I made both." The surly looking officer carefully places the cups before me, a kind gesture that betrays his grumpy visage.
"Miss Selene, I'm Officer Nolan. I know this is not the most ideal situation, but I'd like to ask you some questions regarding the two victims." I nod stiffly, a knot forming in my throat.
The officer sighs, clearly uncomfortable with what he must do.
"Do you know if Marianna and Damon were involved in any extremist groups, cults, or something similar? Did they give you any indication that they might have been?"
Marianna. I haven't heard anyone call Marie by that name in almost fifteen years. Now, it's been twice in one day.
"They just got together," I mutter, feeling my sanity slipping. He just got the courage to tell her how he felt.
"I'm sorry, what did you just say?" I see the officer reach for the notepad and pen, leaning closer for more information.
"Damon has been in love with Marie for five years now. Five years. They just became a couple. I have never seen Marie smile the way she did when she came to check up on me, and I asked about Damon. For the first time since our parents died, she truly smiled. It was bright, so bright...very bright...Damon just opened his bar...he was going to marry her...they were supposed to be..."
"Ok, Selene. Why don't you come by another time to answer the questions? I'll have one of my guys bring you home, ok?" I am on autopilot when I leave the interrogation room. I keep my head down, weary of the pitiful gazes of those around me.
The weight of their deaths drags me, threatening to drown me in the abyss of grief. I startle when a mournful sob echoes through the halls.
I know the voice.
I look up to my right, and I see Gilbert and Monica, Damon's parents, crumbling to the floor as they weakly try to support each other.
Monica is shaking, and she passes out in brief increments, then rouses to her own sobbing.
"Miss Selene? Are you ok?" The officer escorting me is a few feet ahead, with a concerned expression. I ignore him while walking to the grieving parents.
"Mister Lockwood..." Gilbert looks up at me as he soothes his broken wife. His reddened eyes glisten as he sees me, and without words, we understand each other.
We silently weep while staring at each other, the sound of Monica's cries accompanying our quiet pain.
These two were like parents to me after mine passed. Whatever I need, they always give wholeheartedly and without cost.
It is one of the reasons I never visit them; depending on them felt too shameful. Depending on anyone felt shameful.
After what feels like forever, but was only a few minutes, I am gently tugged away from the couple.
"Let's get you home."
On the way home, everything feels like a dream. The trees look odd, the people feel uncanny, and even the motion of the car feels robotic. My world is off kilter, like the rhythm of my life is damaged.
Eventually, the car slows, and I am left standing before my apartment. The officer swiftly issues condolences and an ever quicker goodbye before he is gone again.
The hum of life surrounds me. Kids laughing, cafe goers nearby, and pedestrians enjoying conversations, mundane but meaningful in the moment.
Life seems to be moving forward, and yet for me, the stifling silence consumes me; a gaping hole that steals my grief, pain, happiness, and sadness.
My apartment feels empty despite the various messes. I sludge forward, ready to collapse on my couch or bed, whichever is nearer. I glance in the kitchen, and I see a takeaway box with a post-it note on it.
I go over to read it, and the handwriting has me tearing up again.
I know you won't eat unless I bring it to you.
It's your favorite lasagna from Tilly's.
Love you, Sel, Marie.
"Why them..." As I ask nothing why, the universe seems crueller than usual. Taking the two people who did not deserve to go. I kiss the note and place it on my fridge, hoping to immortalize it.
Then, with a heavy heart, I eat the last meal Marie will ever get for me.
☽◯☾
For the past week, I have been watching the news coverage about Marie and Damon. Every time they call her Marianna instead of Marie, I die a little inside. Every time they call D, Damon, a tear falls.
The University gave me a two-week reprieve to mourn and even marked my two final exams as a pass since I technically completed my PhD two months ago.
What is supposed to be one of the greatest moments of my life serves as a reminder of who I've lost.
I tune back in to what the news is saying when I see the headline reads, 'Cult serial murders: Latest Update'.
They show the photos of the previous victims in order from the latest. In the past, I never looked at the faces of the other victims, but this time I did, hoping to find something new.
As they cycle through the ten victims, recognition stirs in me. An older gentleman, his brows, I've seen it somewhere before.
Like a spark, it comes to me.
My nightmare, he was the third person tortured in my dream.
A woman with a fuller figure after him was the fifth victim. Chills scatter over my skin as a deep sickness takes root within me.
Their memorial photo overlaps with their battered bodies from my dreams, and it clicks into place. These seemingly unknown people, I thought, I conjured in my mind were all real people.
People who died in horrific ways, and all I could do was witness it.
"No fucking way."
"Ten victims in and we know nothing about the murderer. All we have are remnants of what seems to be a ritual at every crime scene, and a name, Shadows of Arcana, etched into the victims' skin. We have no fingerprints, no DNA, nothing, not even a sign of struggle!"
Shadows of Arcana?
I search for the name on my phone, but all that comes up are the news articles repeating the information on TV.
There must be some fringe Freddit thread or Poorchan forum referencing this group. After searching for a long time, I found nothing but spam sites and tired information.
I turn my phone off, more irritated than before. There has to be a connection to my dreams and the serial murders. I have to know if I somehow made this happen, or if I foretold their end.
I go for my laptop in the next room, ready to search until I find how this group started. Recruitment, notices, anything to get me in the know.
As the same results come up, I skip past tens of pages. I skim the headings, waiting for one to stick out.
"Come on, come on, come- Arcagnia 1488?" I click on the page, excited to see something promising. The page loads to a completely black screen with a single white link in the center.
'Sight is Truth'
I click the link as trepidation fills me. The screen loads to a five-minute video with a single sentence description beneath it.
'Melvare came in a moment of desperate need, offering a way to enlighten the lost ones that their mother failed.'
I play the video, and a screeching sound echoes in the room. A circle of dark, cloaked figures appears, reminiscent of the three heralds in my dreams.
"What the hell did I find?" I focus on the video as the group lifts a hand, chanting. It confuses me until the video starts glitching as a dark red mist shrouds the figures in black.
This is exactly like the heralds in my dream. The longer they chant, the more intense the mist becomes. A red so vivid it feels like it is escaping the screen.
Without realizing it, I am leaning forward, enraptured but the odd ritual. As the mist coagulates, the chanting abruptly stops, taking me for a loop.
The group then sharply turns to the camera, as if they are staring at me.
"We've been expecting you, Selene." I jerk back, my hands rising in defense. With no time to process, all the lights blow, and an eerie wind blows.
Then I hear it. Whispers from the dark, cutting and invasive. They slither across my skin, cold and demanding. My body stills as the unnerving calls in the dark continue.
"...listen... listen..open your eyes."
A part of me wanted to lash out and say my eyes are fucking open, but I didn't want to try my luck.
I am being haunted by a supernatural force. I was not about to say 'hello? Is anyone there?" to the fucking paranormal.
My lights flicker on and off, a steady drumming accompanying it. This time, instead of fear, I feel angry. Some sick fuck kills my sister and friend, and now they decide to mess with me too.
Against my better judgment, I decide to call out. Now I understand why they do it in the movies. If I die, I won't complain about it. Dying has more pros than cons these days.
"You creepy fuckers, quit playing with me and get to the point! Kill me if you want to, just get it over with!" The darkness responds almost immediately.
The whispers cease and the lights turn on, revealing the woman from the alley standing before me.
She is no longer wearing the skin-tight black shroud. Instead, she is wearing a cloak similar to the group in the video.
Her face is striking, beautiful beyond words. Her deep brown skin is flecked with golden specks, and a red line is drawn in the middle of her face, from the tip of her forehead to the end of her chin.
Her eyes are hollow black, reflecting not even the faintest of light. As I stare mesmerized by what can only be an otherworldly being imitating humanity, she raises her hand from her cloak.
Her fingers that are dipped in gold, contort as if feeling for something in the air. Without warning, A dark grey bubble-like barrier surrounds us, muting everything else but the sound of my heartbeat.
"Selene, be not afraid, I, Lanaith, am a friend. Order is broken, and only you can fix it. Melvare is coming for you. He has completed the ritual, and it won't be long before he finds you. You must restore your power before we all cease to exist."
As she speaks, her dark eyes weep tears of blood that sizzle against her skin like hot oil. Lanaith tries speaking again, but blood comes up instead of words. She staggers but readjusts herself.
"Go to the Library of Behuth, and find book 335. You'll know it when you see it." Lanaith stumbles back and disappears into nothingness as if she fell behind a curtain.
I am left there to process what just happened and what I am tasked to do.