---
Rosaline stirred, her tiny frame aching as if she'd been dragged through fire and ice. Her breaths came in ragged pulls, and as she blinked open her heavy lids, distant sounds echoed from beyond her room—soft sobs, hushed murmurs, and the haunting wail of grief.
She frowned. Was she still trapped in that nightmare?
Slipping off the creaky bed, she tiptoed toward the door and peeked into the hall. Faces twisted with sorrow, neighbors dressed in black, and a chilling silence that clung to the walls like smoke.
"Granny?" she croaked, confused. "What's going on here?"
The entire room went still. Every eye turned to her. Gasps filled the silence.
Her grandmother—Madam Elira—rushed forward, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks as she fell to her knees and wrapped her arms around Rosaline like she was afraid to let go.
"Rosaline, my sweet child," Elira sobbed, her voice trembling. "The doctor… he said you were gone. Everyone came to mourn you…"
Rosaline blinked. "Gone? But why would I die? I'm only eight. That's way too young."
More tears flowed from Elira's eyes as she rocked the girl gently. "I tried, baby. I tried to reach you. But I couldn't enter your dream—no matter how hard I called your name."
Rosaline's small hands pulled away slightly, revealing two eerie bruises on her neck—dark, almost shadow-like, shaped as if invisible hands had strangled her. The hall fell into stunned silence.
"These marks… they happened in my dream," Rosaline whispered, her voice hollow. "But… they're real."
Gasps erupted. Whispers flooded the hall like a rising tide.
"She came back from the dead…"
"That family… cursed, just like her parents."
"Caroline and her husband died mysteriously too, leaving her with Elira."
"They said she's not dead… just in a coma for five years…"
Rosaline sat on the cold floor, numb, as her neighbors filed out one by one, avoiding her gaze like she was something unnatural. Something to fear. Something... other.
Even the doctor, who arrived minutes later, couldn't explain how she was breathing, walking, alive—when she'd been declared clinically dead just hours ago.
At exactly 12:00 midnight, Elira packed up their belongings in silence. Rosaline watched as her grandmother moved with urgency, stuffing bags, grabbing talismans, and whispering prayers under her breath.
"Where are we going?" Rosaline asked quietly.
"To survive," Elira answered, voice steely. "To run far away from Ravernthorn. Far from the shadows chasing us."
Rosaline clutched her favorite raggedy bear, eyes wide. The air felt heavy with secrets.
As they disappeared into the cold night, only one thought burned in Rosaline's mind:
If I died in my dream... who brought me back? And why?