Iknewshe hadn’t drowned—that’s not what happened. We should’ve been looking for the strangers, but no one believed me.
All I could do was hope that whoever had taken her wouldn’t hurt her, that they would have a change of heart and let her go. Still, one question gnawed at me. Why would anyone take a child in the first place?
“You should try to get some rest,” my mother said, gently lifting me into her arms. My father trailed behind us, a troubled expression shadowing his features. He always tried to appear tough, but I knew that the sight of another family suffering affected him. He quickened his pace to catch up, leaning in to kiss me on the forehead. Perhaps it was his way of showing affection, or maybe it was quiet gratitude that his own daughter wasn’t the one missing. As I drifted toward sleep in my mother’s comforting embrace, the warmth of my father’s kiss lingering on my skin, my thoughts inevitably returned to Kera.
I knew she wasn't safe and warm like I was. She wasn’t wrapped in her mother’s arms, or receiving a comforting goodnight kiss.
And it was allmyfault.
CHAPTER THREE
LICIA
My eyes flew open at the sound of a blood-curdling scream. It was so loud I was sure the whole village must have heard it. My heart raced as I sat up in bed, searching for the source of the noise. But there was no one in my room, nothing that could have produced such a piercing shriek.
It had been a month since Kera disappeared. And ever since, I’d dreamed of her, every single night. Sometimes I saw her face or heard her voice. Most times I woke up sobbing, convinced I’d found her, only for the morning to remind me I hadn’t.
I wasn’t sure if the scream had come from my dream or dragged me out of it. But the silence that followed didn’t feel real. It pressed in like a fog, thick and strange, swallowing every sound until my thoughts faded into nothing, and something else took their place.
A voice that wasn’t mine.
I’m cold.
I flinched at the sound, and a sharp cold swept through me. Goosebumps prickled my arms as the chill sank deeper, slicing through muscle and blood, seeping all the way into my bones. It reminded me of plunging into icy water, the way it stole your breath and sent your body into shock. My father used to bring me to the lake every winter as part of an old family tradition. It was meant to prepare you for spring, to keep you strong. I just remember the painful, numbing cold. It was torture disguised as tradition.
This wasn’t that. The cold wasn’tmine. I can’t explain it, but it felt like it belonged to someone else.
Help me.
I tried to ignore the voice huddled under my blankets, shivering and willing myself back to sleep. It had to be a dream. What else could explain it? But if it was a dream… could I fall asleep in it?
Please stop.
The voice continued to beg, becoming louder and more insistent. I covered my ears with my pillow, but the sound came from inside my own head — I couldn't escape it.
The Ships’ Barrow,it said, and then it said it again.
The voice was persistent, like a haunting lullaby that refused to fade. And, instead of sleep, curiosity began to creep in. I wanted to know why it was calling me there. Why the Ships’ Barrow? The burial site stood on the outskirts of the village, it was older than any living soul, and draped in mystery. In a clearing deep in the woods, giant stones had been raised in the shape of a ship, their surfaces etched with carvings.
No one knew why the stones were there or how they had been set in place. But beneath them, they said, lay the bones of those who built Vestance. That’s what they taught us in school. That’s all I knew. Still, I slipped out of bed and drifted down the stairs. It was just a dream, I told myself. What harm could come from it?
The wooden stairs creaked under my weight as I descended from my room. I slipped on my sandals and, still feeling cold, reached for my coat, pulling it tight around myself. It didn’t help. Nothing did. Was I dreaming? Sleepwalking? I couldn’t tell. But I moved, guided by something I couldn’t name or see. The crunch of my steps seemed to echo and fade into the thick silence of nature surrounding me. The sky above was a pale purple, slivers of moonlight peeking through the treetops. I moved through a rough part of the woods, gliding effortlessly over roots and fallen branches, which would usually have tripped me up. As I ventured deeper into the forest, it was as if I could close my eyes and it would make no difference. The shadows and trees all looked the same, but I didn’t need to see with my eyes.
Disoriented and unsure of my direction, I started hearing a discordance of voices filling my head. Mumbling, arguing, and fighting blended together into an indecipherable buzz. I couldn't distinguish the voices or make sense of what they were saying. Except for one, stuck on a continuous loop, repeating the same words — the Ships’ Barrow.
My head throbbed as if it might burst. I couldn’t see my surroundings clearly, but I didn't need to.Somethingwas guiding me. My eyes widened as I saw a girl in the clearing ahead of me. She floated above the ground, weightless, a soft glow emanating from her skin. In the moonlight, she glistened as if she was made of snow.
The girl was surrounded by shadows. Not the kind cast by the trees. These had shape. Presence. They stood in a circle around her, silent, tall and still. A branch snapped beneath my foot as I stepped closer, and the shadows turned toward me. They had no discernible features. No bodies. No faces. But I couldfeelthem watching. Before I could take another step, they unraveled into dust and vanished, carried off by the wind. The girl fell to the ground with a hard thud, and the glowsurrounding her faded into her skin. I waited for a scream or cry of pain, a fall like that should have hurt her. But only silence followed, even the voices in my head hushed, replaced only by the gentle rustle of leaves.
Towering stones surrounded me, etched with carvings in a language long forgotten. I was at the Ships’ Barrow, but it looked different at night. At its center lay a massive slab of smooth stone, and on it, the girl, still and pale as death. My heart pounded as I forced myself to step closer, unsure what I would find. A shiver ran through me, sharp and sudden, as if it came from the girl herself. It was strange. Like I could feel what she was feeling, lying there on cold stone in nothing but a thin dress. It was the kind of cold that settles deep and doesn’t leave. Maybe that’s what dying feels like.
I didn’t know much about death. But I remembered my grandmother’s burial, and how I’d touched her hand, just for a second. Her skin had felt like ice.Thatkind of cold that didn’t belong to the living.
As I moved closer, I saw the girl more clearly. The floral sundress. The blonde hair. I knew her.
It was Kera. It had been Kera all along.Hervoice echoing through my mind,heremotions consuming my thoughts. And there she was, her arms splayed outward as if reaching for help, a jagged tear in her dress exposing the pale skin beneath. Crimson liquid pooled around her, trickling down the edges of the gray stone.
Ever since she vanished, the whole village had been holding its breath. Search parties had scoured the forests and even dragged the lake where her shoe was found. But there were no leads. No answers. Most people believed she’d drowned, and her father searched the bottom of that lake until his feet bled, but they never found her.
