Chapter 2: Bud of Doubts
Leone woke up with an intense headache. She could feel her neck stiffen as she straighten her back. The room was dark and chilling as the rain beat down on the roof, and the trees' shadows danced wildly outside the window at the intense caress of the storm.
She pulled the drawer at the bottom of the desk and felt for a small rectangular box. The sound of something scratching against a rough surface followed by the spark of fire broke the stillness.
The smell of fire and smoke rising from a matchstick engulfed the room. A set of delicate fingers held the matchstick as it burns smaller. It was brought closer to a candle before it finally burnt out.
The smell of candle wax soon covered the room as it lightens the study. A pile of books aligned the walls from floor to ceiling. Scattered books littered the floor.
Just then, the faint sound of a grandfather's clock managed to creep through the small crevices of the room. It was awfully loud to Leone's hearing within the silence of midnight.
She pushed her chair back and stood, wrapping around her shoulder a thin cloth before reaching out for the candlestick. Her dirty white sleeping gown brushed through the books as she crossed the room until she stood before the furnished door, twisting the doorknob open.
The hallway was dark and cold. The eerie echoes of the grandfather's clock made the corridors seem hostile and dangerous, coupled with the louder noise of the raging storm.
She walked down the dark and quiet corridors, the halls becoming a familiar place to her as she repeated this routine from when she was a child.
Leone's bare feet create no noise as she crossed the corridors. The candlelight sways at her movement and at the changes in the air, her shadows creating weird dancing images around her.
She reached the staircase and carefully ascended, the carpet softly brushing at her soles.
At the still silence, Leone stopped as she heard the sound of glasses crashing.
The abrupt gust of the wind from the end of the hallway blew the candle's small fire out, plunging the place to complete darkness. For a brief moment, there were only the whistles of the wind. The hallways grew colder and she thought she could taste the bland raindrops carried with them.
She slowly walked until she reached her room. Cold air crept at the slightly ajar door. She held her breath. Her heartbeat started to pound louder and louder. Her palms hit against the cold doorknob as she pushed the door open.
Splinters of glasses from the broken vase glitter at the flashes of lightning from the raging storm outside.
The wind freely entered through the now opened window, flipping the page of an old book placed at the bedside table.
The sound of shuffling pages was audible to her alone as she found herself watching as the pages flip on their own, finally stopping to reveal an image of a golden sword piercing the ground, alone and abandoned beside an old tree at the hill surrounded by wildflowers.
She traced the page, familiar with the scenery.
The scenery and the pain are too vivid to endure. She could see it, feel it, even thought of smelling those fragrant wildflowers. For some reason, it hurts her, as if she could feel the hollowness the general felt inside.
She shook her head, pretending that doing so would also shake away her melancholy. She turned around about to close the window when she noticed a silhouette from the terrace, a pair of demonic red eyes watching her, its stare felt like passing through her soul.
She stepped back in fright as she saw a similar golden sword from the book, its blade shining against the flashes of lighting.
She abruptly turned around. However, not even one step could be taken as she saw her shadow with a blade piercing her body from the back.
She vomited blood, her sleeping gown turning darker. Her body helplessly fell to the bed as the blade was pulled out.
She coughed out another handful of blood, smearing her face as the assailant turned her around.
She wanted to plead mercy but she could not find her voice. The assailant had slit her throat without even her knowing.
She saw the assailant raise the sword. She extends her arm to stop them but to no avail. The blade pierced her body the second time, the third, the fourth...
She cried out and thrashed as her vision was getting hazy. The piercing heat and pain bombarded her being, she wanted to just lose her mind and die.
At the nth time when the blade was about to pierce her body again, the blare of a ringing clock awoke Leone. She abruptly sat up, her head was killing her as the world before she spun. The heat, the pain, and the sensation of the blade in her stomach felt surreal.
She vomited as tears trickle down her cheeks. These dreams recur over and over again every time she sleeps. It haunts her that she's afraid of even closing her eyes for even a mere passing second.
When did these nightmares appear? Leone sobbed and thought to herself, 'it was from the moment I doubted my identity.'
"Am I really Leone Nightingale?"
She moved out of the bed, taking the shawl from the chair next to it and wrapping it around her shoulders.
The room was cold. The usual dim moonlight that shines through the windows was replaced by the dancing shadows of the trees as the storm rages.
She dragged herself across the room and stood before the fireplace. Only a few embers mixed with the dark ashes could be seen.
She tossed some firewood and poured in some oil before lighting a matchstick she threw in it. The fire blazed momentarily before it dimmed again. But it was enough to light the firewood and bring the warmth inside the room.
A long couch was placed not so far from the fireplace as if it was the right place to be. She sat and brought her knees close to her chest, burying her face in it.
How long since it had been that she was able to sleep comfortably? Was it half a year ago? She had forgotten after struggling with what was real from not. But she was certain, that everything started to fall apart from that fateful night.
***
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone