Page 8 of Traithorn

Something in the corner of my eyes flickers, and a frown mars my brows as I stare at the flickering candle on my kitchen counter, sure I blew them all out when I left earlier.

With tentative steps, I instantly approach the candle to blow it out. It has burned for a while, evident in the way stearine has gathered on the wooden surface. The clock on the wall reveals itis way past midnight, and I initially groan right the moment my eyes catch something else.

I almost missed it at first—a small black box right inside my door, as if it had slipped through the letterbox unnoticed. A ribbon of silk wraps around it, feeling like a bad omen, making me not want to open it. The number ‘6’is painted on the box.

Curiosity gets the better of me as I approach it, lifting it up with trembling hands, nearly dropping it in the process. Carefully, I unwrap the silk, letting the top fall to the floor.

The inside has me dropping the entire box onto the floor. An item slips out onto the floor.

A dark-blue hair bow.

In the color of blue, with dried spots of blood.

No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

I cry out, stumbling backwards as I hit my tailbone on the kitchen counter, wincing.

I recognize that hair bow, I remember how that blood got there. Swallowing harshly, I’m suddenly plunged back into my past.

A calm lullaby fills my eardrum as she sings to me gently, huskily, her voice a soothing balm caressing my skin. Her hands are brushing through the tangles in my hair, right the moment the door opens, and he comes barging in.

“My god! You startled me,” she giggles, turning around to face he who entered.

I take a moment to meet his gaze in the mirror’s reflection, only realizing too late that there are specks of blood across his face.

“What did you do?” she asks, and I stare at them both, unable to comprehend anything.

He ignores her, enters the room, and walks up to me, his hands grabbing my hair bow and tying it to my hair. He doesn’t utter a word, but his eyes speak the words of athousand anguished souls.

“Klaus! Call an ambulance,” the voice of my mother filters through to my room, causing my eyebrows to raise. Her voice sounds panicked.

I glance down at his knuckles, bruised and bloodied. “What did you do?” I whisper this time, and he sears my gaze in the reflection, specks of blood now dusting my blue hair bow.

“He got what he deserved,” was his only reply before leaving the room.

Later, I learned he had hurt one of my father’s friends for speaking about me inappropriately. The memory shudders through me now, my heart pounding so violently it feels like it might break free from my ribcage.

Terror mounts inside me as I stare at the hair bow again, forcing myself to pick it up. Its texture, soft and smooth like silk on one side, cold and metallic on the other, is all too familiar. The same smudged blood stares back at me, and the past crashes into the present with a force I can’t withstand.

This isn’t possible.

My breath comes in shallow gulps. The room tilts with it as my knees buckle, and I grab onto the counter for support. The memory of that night is too vivid, clinging to me like a ghost haunting its long-forgotten house.

How did this find its way back to me?

More importantly,why?

Chapter 4

SEASON OF DECAY

Isolde

The past is daunting,triggering memories in humans that they’d rather forget. It’s evident in how most of them want to leave their pasts behind.

Me?

I can never allow myself to stoop that low. Not with how it ended—a chapter in my life I desperately need to keep under lock and key, buried deep underground where no one will ever be able to dig up that box.

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