The shimmer deepened.
The ruined palace chamber faded from Elara's mind as the pull of memory dragged her back, back to the moment it began.
It had been just another restless night in the Duskbane manor.
She remembered sitting on the edge of her bed, hands shaking faintly from the weight of all she had learned of this world. Her hair had lain long across the floor, whispering against the stone like restless serpents. She had stared at her gloves, at her pale hands, willing herself to calm.
On the nightstand beside her lay the small gun she had brought from her old world. Cold, black, and sharp-edged, it felt like a relic from a life she had already lost. She had lifted it, weighed it in her palm, then — with a sudden burst of frustration — tossed it carelessly behind her.
But it never landed.
There was no clatter against the floorboards, no dull thud against a rug. Only silence.
Frowning, she twisted to look. The gun was gone.
She dropped to her knees, hair spilling around her, searching. Under the bed. Behind the chest. Under the dresser. Nothing.
Her heart thudded. It couldn't vanish. Not here, not in this world where every object was precious.
She crawled further, muttering under her breath. "Where— where did you go?"
In her flurry, she lifted her head too fast.
Crack.
Pain lanced across her skull as she slammed into the edge of the table. She yelped, clutching her forehead, and toppled backward onto the floor. Tears pricked her eyes.
"Perfect," she hissed through her teeth. "Truly perfect."
For a moment, she lay there, glaring up at the ceiling.
And then she saw it.
Not the ceiling, not the walls. Something else.
A shimmer hung faintly above her head, just out of reach. Not quite light, not quite shadow. Like a ripple in the air itself, as though the world had stretched too thin in that one place.
Her breath caught. Slowly, she reached upward.
Her fingertips brushed the ripple. The air felt sharp, almost metallic, like touching the edge of a blade. It gave way — not breaking, not resisting — just opening.
And behind it…
A space. Endless, silent, dark. Her eyes widened. "Oh."
She scrambled up onto the bed, reaching further, pushing her hand through the shimmer. Instead of air, she felt something cold and smooth. Her heart hammered.
When she pulled her hand back, the gun was in her palm.
Her laugh was half-disbelieving, half-hysterical. "So that's where you went."
For the next hour, she tested it.
She shoved the gun back in. It vanished. She reached again. It returned.
Her hands trembled with each attempt, blood beginning to tickle from her nose, but excitement kept her moving.
She tried it with books, with shoes, with a comb. Every time, the items slipped into the shimmer and vanished — only to return when she reached again.
She stumbled once, nearly collapsing onto the floor as her vision swam. Her nose was bleeding heavily now, dripping red onto the pale wood of the bedframe.
But she didn't stop.
"Mine," she whispered hoarsely. "It's mine."
The discovery was too great, too strange.
She had found not just a hiding place, but a world. A space that belonged only to her.
In a frenzy, she began stuffing things inside.
Her clothes. Her jewelry. Spare boots. Papers. The small stash of coins she had hidden under her dresser.
Every time her head throbbed harder, her vision blurred more, but she couldn't stop. What if it closed? What if it was only temporary?
She dragged more linens, cloaks, and even one of the chairs from the corner of the room. She shoved them all into the shimmer, ignoring the way blood dripped faster from her nose.
By the end, she was gasping for breath, her skin clammy with sweat. She pressed her hand to her face, wiping blood from her lips, smearing it red across her cheek.
Still, she laughed weakly. "Everything… everything is mine now."
She glanced around, dizzy, realizing her room was nearly bare.
Her gaze landed on the mirror.
And for the first time, she looked at herself.
Blood streaked across her face, hair tangled, eyes wide and fever-bright. She laughed again — a shaky, broken sound — then sank to the floor, clutching her chest.
"Manager…" she whispered faintly, thinking of her old life, of the body she had left behind. "If you find me… at least send me to the hospital."
Her laugh cracked into a cough.
She pressed her head back against the empty wall and let the darkness take her.
The memory ended like a door slamming shut.
Elara gasped in the ruined palace chamber, knees trembling. The shimmer blazed above her, and she forced her bleeding hand upward, tearing the veil open once more.
The maids cried out softly, but obeyed her command to stay back.
From the space, she dragged something vast and heavy — the first of the clean beds she had stored away. Its smooth wood gleamed even in the dim moonlight, the linen crisp, untouched by dust.
Her nose bled freely, streaking down her lips, staining her pale chin. She swayed dangerously, but kept her grip firm.
"Take it," she ordered hoarsely.
The maids rushed forward then, Brenna and Liora lifting one side, Aveline the other. Together they bore the bed across the chamber, laying it where the broken frame had stood.
Elara sagged back against the wall, blood still running, her breath ragged.
But her eyes gleamed with triumph.
"This," she whispered, her voice low but steady, "is how we will live."
Her maids knelt quickly, one pressing napkins to her nose, another dabbing at the blood on her chin, the third steadying her shoulder without overstepping.
And Elara laughed faintly — not madness this time, but something close to relief.
The space was hers.
And it would be the foundation of everything to come.