Her body burned.
It wasn't fire—no flames, no smoke—but her insides writhed as though devoured by invisible heat. It felt like thousands of scorching needles pierced through her skin, down to the marrow. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath too heavy, too shallow. Her heartbeat thundered against her ribcage like a frantic drum.
And then, silence.
Melody opened her eyes. She was met not by the soft white walls of her bedroom, nor the sound of Kate's voice calling her to breakfast. Instead, above her stretched a high, cracking ceiling veiled in darkness. Pale moonlight filtered through tall windows, casting a silver glow across the room. She gasped faintly, the chill of the air hitting her all at once.
"Where... am I?" she whispered.
The room was old—no, ancient. The walls, once adorned in fine wallpaper, were now peeling, their faded designs curling like forgotten memories. Dust blanketed everything, dulling the edges of ornate furniture and curling curtains. Yet, the bed she lay on was untouched—clean, almost sacred. It cradled her like it had been expecting her all along.
A sharp pain lanced through her skull, making her cry out. She clutched her head, teeth gritted. The agony was unbearable—like her thoughts were unraveling from the inside. Her vision blurred, the room spinning as darkness surged again at the edges of her mind.
◇◇◇
She awoke.
No pain this time. Her body was still, her breath calm. The moon had gone. Daylight spilled through the dusty windowpanes now, soft and golden.
She rose slowly, her legs wobbling slightly beneath her. She approached the window. Behind the dusty glass, an unfamiliar world stretched out before her—an endless forest of golden leaves rustled beneath a sky far too serene. The trees danced with the breeze, but she could not feel it. The window was sealed shut, fused with the wall as though it were never meant to open.
She turned to the only door in the room. Her hand trembled as it grasped the handle. It wouldn't turn. But when she slid it gently sideways—unusual for a door of this kind—it opened with a soft wooden sigh.
Beyond was a corridor, long and empty.
Doors lined each side like sentries, tall and identical, all locked. She tried several, but they remained sealed. Between them hung portraits—eerie, old paintings of people she didn't recognize. Their eyes seemed to follow her as she walked, and though none of them moved, the sensation that something was alive inside them made her skin crawl.
The deeper she wandered, the more the corridor seemed to twist. The chandeliers above swayed slightly, though there was no wind, the candles were melting into slow death. The light dimmed the further she walked. Her feet dragged. Her chest grew heavier. Her limbs... colder.
She was being watched.
She turned slowly.
A shadow.
No, more than that. A tall figure, barely visible at first, emerged from the far end of the hall. The dim candlelight flickered as he approached, revealing pale skin, hair white as snow cascading to his waist, and eyes—eyes so red, so bloodied with intensity, that they pierced through the gloom like rubies catching firelight.
Her breath caught.
He was ethereal, inhuman in the most beautiful and terrifying way.
He stood still, gaze locked onto her.
"Who are you?" he asked.
His voice wasn't loud, but it echoed across the hall like winter wind through frozen glass. Cold. Sharp. Unapologetic.
Suddenly, orbs of fire erupted around her—glowing embers floating midair, spinning slowly. They lit the hallway in an enchanting crimson glow, casting dancing shadows along the walls. One drifted closer. She reached toward it instinctively. It didn't burn—it warmed her skin like a campfire in the dead of winter.
She stared, mesmerized.
When she looked back at the man, he had fully stepped from the shadows. His expression remained unreadable, almost sculpted in stone.
"You don't belong here," he said, voice firm and distant. "Go back to where you came from."
Her heart pounded. "I don't even—" she tried to respond, but before the words finished, he vanished. So did the fire orbs. Gone. As though none of it had ever existed.
Darkness swallowed the hall again.
And then—nothing.
◇◇◇
She opened her eyes.
The bed again. The same moonlight. The same dusty curtain fluttering slightly without wind.
She sat up with a jolt. "I fainted...?"
She didn't remember falling. Didn't remember walking back here.
She clutched the blanket tightly, her mind racing. "What is this place...?"
Her thoughts spiraled. If this wasn't a dream, then it had to be a different world. A different reality. A dimension, maybe. Her fingers curled tighter into the blanket. The man—he couldn't have been human. Not with those eyes. Not with that presence.
She remembered something from a myth—stories of demons with blood-colored eyes. She used to love that stuff as a kid. Now, she wasn't so sure she wanted it to be real.
A loud gurgle from her stomach broke her thoughts.
Hunger. It gripped her like a vine. Her body was weak, her movements sluggish. How long had it been since she last ate?
With great effort, she stood. Her knees wobbled, but she forced herself to walk again, this time choosing a different direction through the labyrinth of hallways. The chandeliers didn't flicker now. Everything was still, too still.
After what felt like miles of walking, she came upon a grand staircase.
The railing was gold inlay, intricate vines carved into its shape. The steps were worn but regal, spiraling downward like they belonged in a forgotten palace. She reached out.
Just as her foot touched the first step, a light appeared.
Bright—blindingly so. She shielded her eyes.
From the light emerged a shape, then a voice.
"...Who are you?"
Her eyes slowly adjusted.
A dragon.
Small, elegant—no larger than a housecat. Its scales shimmered like moonstone, eyes large and feline, sparkling like diamonds. It hovered gently above the stairs, wings tucked as though it didn't need to fly to float.
She stared in awe. "You're... a dragon?"
It tilted its head, uncertain.
She smiled gently, resisting the urge to rush forward and hug it. "You're adorable."
The dragon growled softly. It sounded more like a cat's warning purr than a threat.
"Don't be afraid," she said, softening her voice. "I'm not here to hurt you, what's your name?"
The dragon hesitated, then answered, "...Altha."
"Altha..?" she repeated.
"I don't really have a name," it said, voice tinged with sadness. "So... I gave myself one."
Melody blinked. Her heart ached at the melancholy in its tone. "Altha... that's a beautiful name."
The dragon blinked slowly at her, perhaps surprised, perhaps grateful. Then it descended the stairs without another word, gliding just above each step as though it were guiding her.
She followed.
And for the first time since waking, she didn't feel so alone.