Aurora's Realm
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The house felt emptier after he left. His goodnight still hung in the air, clipped and cool, as though it hadn't been meant for me at all.
I sat by the window, watching the rain as it traced uneven paths down the glass. The steady patter should have soothed me, but instead it stirred the thoughts I couldn't seem to quiet.
Dominic's presence lingered like a shadow in the corners of my mind—the weight of his gaze, the sound of his voice, the way every word carried distance.
He had been polite, careful, cold. And yet… there had been something beneath it. A flicker. A hesitation.
I drew my knees closer, letting the rhythm of the rain fill the silence he left behind. I wasn't sure if I wanted to understand him—or if it was safer not to.
The house was still, save for the soft percussion of rain. I lingered near the window longer than I should have, watching the droplets race each other down the glass, replaying the day in the quiet corners of my mind.
Grandpa's footsteps were steady when he entered. He didn't need to ask what weighed on me—his eyes had always seen more than I ever spoke.
"You did well today," he said gently, settling into the armchair by the fire. "It isn't easy, but you managed with grace."
I lowered my gaze, fingers tracing the edge of my sleeve. His words carried warmth, enough to ease the heaviness in my chest.
"You know," he continued, his voice softened by memory, "life has a way of surprising us. Sometimes the people who feel most distant… are the ones we end up needing the most."
I met his gaze then, his expression tender, patient. I gave a small nod—my only reply—but he seemed to understand. He always did.
"Go on, child," he murmured after a moment. "Rest. Tomorrow will bring what it must."
I rose, leaning down to press a light kiss to his cheek before heading for my room.
Behind me, the rain kept falling, steady and unbroken, as though carrying the weight of all the things left unsaid.
The room was dim when I slipped inside, the only light spilling from the rain-streaked window.
I moved through the familiar motions—changing, setting aside my brushes, pulling the blanket over myself—each step slower than usual, as though my body wanted to linger in the day instead of letting it end.
Lying on my back, I stared up at the ceiling, tracing invisible shapes in the dark. Images from earlier drifted in and out of my thoughts: Dominic's unreadable gaze, Alex's attempts to lighten the silence, Grandpa's steady voice filling the space between us all.
For a moment, I almost wished I could sketch the day onto a canvas, capture the weight of it in colors. But no brush could quite paint what I felt—that strange mixture of unease and something else I couldn't name.
I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket closer. The sound of the rain softened, like a lullaby meant only for me. Slowly, my breathing evened out, my body surrendering to the quiet.
And as sleep began to gather at the edges of my mind, one truth lingered: today had changed something. I just didn't know what.
The soft glow of dawn slipped through the curtains, pulling me out of sleep.
For a moment, I lay still, listening to the quiet hum of the house. The rain had stopped sometime in the night, leaving the air cool and fresh, carrying that damp scent of earth that always made mornings feel calmer.
I stretched beneath the blanket, my body reluctant to move but my mind already beginning to stir.
Yesterday's events flickered across my thoughts like fragments of an unfinished dream. I pushed them aside, letting the peace of morning settle over me instead.
When I finally sat up, the house was beginning to wake. The distant clatter of dishes told me Edna was already in the kitchen, and a faint shuffle of footsteps meant Grandpa had been up long before me, as always.
I made my way to the sitting room, where he sat by the window with his paper. He glanced up, his eyes warm, a small smile pulling at his lips.
"Morning, my dear," he said, his voice steady, familiar.
I smiled back, the kind of smile that didn't need words. He patted the chair beside him, and I went to sit, the silence between us easy. He didn't ask how I had slept—he didn't need to. Somehow, Grandpa always seemed to know.
The day felt like it was waiting for me, slow and unhurried, yet holding a weight I couldn't quite name. I decided not to chase it, not yet.
For now, I let the stillness of the morning wrap around me, breathing it in as though it could keep me steady for whatever was to come.
Grandpa and I sat together in silence for a while, the rhythm of the house moving gently around us.
Alex was still asleep upstairs, which meant the morning was unusually quiet. I traced my finger along the edge of the table, letting the calm linger as long as I could.
But calm never lasts forever.
Grandpa folded his paper and cleared his throat. I looked at him, and the steady way he regarded me made my stomach tighten just slightly.
"Your guest from yesterday," he said slowly, "is coming back today. And this time, he won't be alone."
I tilted my head, urging him silently to go on.
"Dominic's mother will be with him. She wishes to speak with us about… arrangements." His eyes softened, as if he could see the flicker of unease that passed over me. "She believes it may be best for you two to spend more time together. To bond, before the wedding."
The words pressed down on me like an invisible weight. Bond. Time together. My fingers curled against my lap.
Grandpa reached for my hand, giving it a small squeeze. "Don't let it trouble you too much, my dear. It's just talk for now. Nothing happens without your knowing."
I nodded, though inside my chest felt tight. Just talk. But talk always had a way of turning into something more.
The morning light shifted across the room, golden and sharp. For the first time since waking, I felt restless, aware of every tick of the clock counting down to their arrival.
By the time it was fully into the afternoon, the mansion felt strangely tense, as though it already sensed the storm about to enter.
The sound of tires crunching against the gravel reached us first, and then silence. My chest tightened.
When the front door opened, Dominic stepped in beside his mother. He was immaculate, as always—navy suit, shirt pressed, his presence cutting clean through the air.
But his expression was darker today, the sharpness in his eyes like steel. His jaw was tight, the set of his mouth betraying irritation. He hadn't chosen to be here. He had been brought.
Beside him, his mother softened the edges of the room with her warmth. Her smile was gracious, her tone bright as she greeted my grandfather.
Dominic didn't bother. His gaze swept the hall once, clipped and cold, before landing on me.
The look held for a fraction too long—hard, unreadable, faintly accusing—before he shifted his attention elsewhere.
Alex arrived a moment later, shuffling out of the corridor with hair sticking in all directions, eyes still heavy with sleep. His shirt was rumpled, and a pillow crease ran down the side of his cheek.
"Seriously?" he muttered under his breath, scratching the back of his head. "I wake up to this?"
The sharp sound of Dominic's exhale—half sigh, half hiss—cut through the air. His hand flexed once at his side before he stilled it, forcing his composure back into place.
His mother, sensing it, gave him a quiet look, her smile never faltering as she stepped forward toward me.
"Aurora, my dear," she said warmly, her voice smooth against the tension. "It's so good to see you again."
I inclined my head in response, my lips pressing together in silence.
Behind her, Alex yawned deliberately, trying to break the heaviness. "Well, at least I look like I'm ready for this 'grand reunion,' right?" he quipped, his grin crooked and teasing.
Dominic didn't even glance at him. His silence was louder than words.
Dominic's mother slipped into conversation easily with my grandfather, her voice polished and gracious. It was almost as if she was shielding the entire room from the weight Dominic dragged in with him.
Dominic remained a shadow behind her, standing tall but rigid, the faint twitch of his jaw betraying every ounce of resistance.
He answered no greetings, no attempts at warmth. He only inclined his head once to my grandfather, curt and sharp, before straightening again like stone.
Alex stretched, still fighting his sleep. "Well, this feels fun," he muttered with a smirk, nudging me slightly. "Could've at least given me warning before the royal court arrived."
His attempt at humor fell flat. The only sound in return was the faint tick of the grandfather clock at the end of the hall.
Dominic's cold stare flicked briefly toward Alex, dismissing him just as quickly, before his eyes drifted elsewhere—anywhere but me.
Grandpa cleared his throat, as though trying to cut through the silence. "Well… it's been a while since we've all sat under one roof," he said, his tone carrying deliberate calm. "No need for formality. We're family, after all."
Dominic didn't move. Didn't speak. His posture was precise, exact, almost military—every line of his body radiating the fact that he had been dragged into this moment.
I folded my hands together, trying to ignore the way the tension hummed between us, trying not to let my eyes linger on the man who looked as though he would rather be anywhere else.
Alex muttered under his breath again, just low enough for me to hear: "If looks could kill, I'd be gone, and Grandpa would be next." He offered a crooked smile when I glanced at him, but his eyes betrayed unease.
Dominic's mother, sensing all of it, laid a gentle hand on her son's arm. "Dominic," she murmured softly, as if reminding him to breathe, to at least try.
His nostrils flared once, but he stayed silent, his gaze flickering toward me for the briefest moment—sharp, unreadable—before turning away again.
The room felt tight, too small for all of us. The unspoken words weighed heavier with each passing second.