Elara's POV
There's a knock at the door.
I hear it faintly, but it gradually picks up volume to a point I can't deny not having heard it. I'm supposed to check the door, but my body isn't letting me off the bed. I'm too weak, and my eyes? They are sealed as though a special glue has been used on them.
But it doesn't stop. My not responding to it should have made the person knocking to back off. That person seems too relentless to sleep.
The next moment, It's as if it's infused in my dream, and maybe I haven't been real after all. My eyes remain shut, and I smile—though I don't know why.
My late parents are taking over again.
I see vague pictures of them. I feel them lying in bed with me and that other girl—I still haven't figured who she is. Our faces are dressed with a beautiful smile as we shake our heads to the tune of music playing outside our home.
But this memory is too fragile—it fades the next time I try to grab it. Their pool of blood resurfaces.
