The moment the stem left the branch, the withered petals stirred. Color bled back into them—first a blush, then a deep, velvety red. The bloom opened fully in my palm, beautiful and impossibly alive.
His breath caught. “How…?”
But before either of us could speak further, the garden suddenly pulsed. A tremor rippled through the thorned vines, the wind rising in a sudden, unnatural gust.
A deep pull tugged, and the world around me began to blur. Petals tore free from their stems and spiraled upward in a soft, frantic whirlwind, lifting around us. The man’s voice cut through the dream-thick air, but it was already fading, the shadows swallowing the sound.
My hand closed around the flower’s velvety petals as the garden dissolved under my feet, brambles and roses all collapsing into pale mist as my consciousness gradually faded.
CHAPTER 7
The light around me shifted, dimming softly. I woke with a start, breath catching as though I’d broken the surface of water. The dream had slipped away, but its weight lingered, heavy in my chest. A trace of rose still clung faintly to my skin, too real to be imagined.
When I opened my eyes, the surreal garden was gone. I lay beneath the canopy of my bed, the first pale rays of approaching dawn peeking through the drapes—a far gentler light than the strange, uncanny sunlight I had just wandered beneath in the dream realm.
I remained still, trying to recall the dream before it vanished. Normally, they faded in uneven fragments, disjointed details dissolving like waves retreating into the sea. This time was different—I remembered everything with startling clarity, as if the entire sequence had been etched into my mind like a painting.
Yet unlike a painting displayed behind glass, this one felt touchable. I could reach into it at will and relive it: the perfume of roses thick in the air, the warmth of sunlight caressing my cheek, the velvet petals beneath my fingers, the sharp sting of a thorn. I could still sense every detail of the ivy-strangledhedges, the dreamscape painted in a palette just slightly off from reality—and most of all, the nameless stranger who hadn’t quite believed we were dreaming.
I allowed myself to bask a moment longer in the vivid sea of memory until the pressing circumstances that had consumed me before tugged my wayward attention back to the present. I had guards and royals to evade, a palace to escape…and if I was fortunate, perhaps a few intriguing trinkets to pocket along the way.
I sat up and stretched, frowning at the ache in my limbs. I pushed the covers aside, wondering why they felt so heavy. It was almost as though I were in another dream and my body was weak and slow to respond. I glanced down at my hand gliding absently over the duvet and wondered if it were merely a trick of the light or if my skin had grown paler since I fell asleep. My fingers picked uncertainly at the quilted fabric…before stilling as my mind finally registered the fabric beneath my fingers.Satin?
The haze of sleep began to lift, the lingering cobwebs clearing just enough for recollection to take hold. Hadn’t I fallen asleep in the velvet upholstered chair by the hearth, not in the bed? I blinked, clearing away the last of the drowsiness clouding my senses enough to look around.
Though the dream garden had vanished, these chambers weren’t the ones I remembered. At first glance, everything appeared as it had been: the ornate furnishings, the worn stone walls, the stained glass window opening to the faint, pre-morning light.
Yet something felt…off. The room I’d slept in had been decorated in sterile elegance, its cool tones exuding a subtle sense of confinement. This room, by contrast, shimmered with quiet opulence, its hues warmer, softer, almost comforting. Not at all like the refined prison cell I’d drifted off in.
Or at least I didn’tthinkit was the same. My memories felt dim, like inked words splashed with water until they began to blur. I had the strong impression that I was trapped here, but couldn’t at first remember why, or who my enemies were.
I swung my feet over the edge of the bed and closed my eyes, concentrating. After a few moments, bits of memory began to filter into my mind. The guards seizing me. The dungeon and the unexpected meeting with the royal family. And most of all, my visits to the dream world and the man I’d met in that strange garden…the man I felt I should know somehow.
Still, I felt like I was missing pieces, possibly something very important, though I wasn’t sure what that could be.
I slipped from the bed, swaying slightly under my own weight, the chill of the stone floor biting even through the satin slippers I didn’t recall putting on. My steps slowed as I looked down, a frown pulling at my brow. Gone was my usual thief’s garb of dark tones and worn leather, replaced by an opulent gown spun of moonlight and silk, delicate embroidery trailing down the sleeves like threads of starlight. I had never owned anything so fine or luxurious, let alone stolen something so breathtaking.
The fire crackled softly in the hearth, its flames already lit as though expecting me. Its warmth wrapped around the room in a gentle embrace, a stark contrast to the disquiet curling in my chest.
My hands fisted in an effort to ground myself, and something crumpled in my left fist—a delicate resistance I hadn’t noticed until now. Slowly, I uncurled my fingers to reveal a blood-red rose, its petals full and lush. I stared at it in disbelief. I knew this rose—the exact bloom I’d stolen from the garden hedge just before waking.
That couldn’t be. How could a flower from a dream be here, tangible and unblemished in the waking world? My skill as a thief didn’t extend to obtaining the impossible.
Yet I cradled the impossible in my hand, its soft, velvety petals warm with life, its scent rich and unmistakable, far too vivid to be imagined. I traced the petals with a trembling fingertip, much too real to have followed me from a dream.
Unless it had been real all along.
Desperate for answers, I tried to summon my magic, reaching with my powers to read the secrets nestled in its bloom. But the familiar rush of vision never came, only a flickering wall of red…and silence.
I faltered, stunned. My powers had never failed before, not even once. It felt as if a part of me had vanished—like I’d reached for my reflection and found only fog. What was this rose, and what had it done to me?
My mind scrambled for an explanation. Being from a dream shouldn’t have acted as an obstacle—I’d read objects from dreams before, though never while awake. Since they came from my mind, they simply echoed what I already knew. Nor did I have a limit for how many times I could use my powers on objects I’d already explored, each repeated reading peeling back new layers to reveal additional secrets.
It was as if the rose had no memory at all.
A sudden, irrational panic rose in my throat. I dropped the rose with a gasp, watching as it tumbled in slow motion to the floor, landing with the softness of a whisper. It lay there innocently, yet something about it felt sinister—almost as if it were mocking me, taunting me with mysteries, daring me to believe in its impossible existence.
I drew a steadying breath.Focus, Mirelle. Panic clouded judgement, made hands clumsy and minds reckless…andrecklessness led to capture. Such a dangerous emotion was for amateurs; as an expert thief, I was above that.
