Rhea simply shook her head. "It was just a nightmare." Her voice cracked, tears in her eyes.
It was a half-truth. It wasn’t just a nightmare; it was a mory that wasn’t hers, a pain that now felt like a part of her.
Zeenare’s face was washed with a frown, a piercing pain aching in his heart. The anger in him was a storm, but seeing her so broken, it was all he could do to contain it.
He reached for her, his touch surprisingly gentle as he cupped her cheeks, wiping the tears with his thumb. Then he pulled her into a hug, his grip tight around her, shielding her from the outside world.
And for the first ti, Rhea genuinely received his hug, pressing herself in, fresh sobs trailing down her face. She felt the warmth of his body, the steady beat of his heart. It wasn’t the tender Zeenare of her dream, but it was him, here and now. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
*
Othimise." Zeenare called as he stepped out of the room later that evening. "Rhea is sleeping, while I’m gone, don’t allow the smallest creature to make any noise."
"While you are gone?" He repeated, then asked. "You going sowhere, Sir?"
"I’m leaving for Ockonayia." He stepped away from the door.
Othimise, brow knitted, his gaze lifted from the floor towards Zeenare’s back, "But where sir?"
"To see my mother." He said, then stopped before he descended from the stairs. "If she wakes before I’m back, send an imdiate notice."
"Understood Sir." He remained bowed, as Zeenare went down the stairs. Then Othimise turned towards Rhea’s room.
The mansion was as quiet as a grave, and the entire mansion was like an abyss. The rustling leaves were still, the birds silent. Not even the clashing sound of the ocean could be heard.
Othimise had engulfed the island in a do.
Rhea’s eyes fluttered open, the cloud shapes had changed, its colours dimd to gold and two round balls bid the other goodbye as they almost shared the sky. She looked out the window and saw that it was near night ti.
Where could he have gone? I thought I’d et him when I woke up.
She trailed out of the bed, gracefully stalking down the hallway, taking in the beauty of the glowing mansion at night.
She made her way from the hallway down to the balcony.
"Ms., you were here!" Othimise muttered exhaling sharply.
Rhea glanced at him, then turned her attention back to the open yard.
Why does it have to be so real? I can still feel the pain of the rope. I can still sll the scent of my skin burn. And my heart aches a lot when I saw him making those faces.
"Where is Zeenare?" She asked softly.
"He went out."
My body wanted to hug him. I wanted to hold him close, to tell him it’s okay for so reason. But why, why does it pains like this?
For a while both of them stood there, the night wind adoring their skin.
Her eyes, not leaving the far distance as she spoke, "I’d like my solemn back please."
"Yes." Othimise retreated.
After what seed like eternity, Rhea drifted from the balcony headed for Zeenare’s office.
Her steps took her deep into the office, her eyes trailing through the hung photos, going deeper into his room.
Why did I have that dream? Is it just a dream? Or did he toy with my mind? No he didn’t! It was different. I know what I felt was real. I know what I saw was real too. And the pain while dying was also real.
Rhea’s mind was shattered, she couldn’t make sense of anything, and she didn’t know who to tell or ask.
As her feet took her deep into the end of the room, she stood before a tal door, her hand reached for it as though it was beckoning for her.
She gently twisted the handle, pushed it open, her eyes welcod by the pitched darkness, with stairs scattered downwards.
Where is this place? She asked herself.
Though it was dark, Rhea stepped forward, her heart beating softly.
The more she moved forward, the deeper the place got and the more light was emitted from the end of the room.
The dim blue light shone brightly in the space, the walls laced with lots of painting fras covered with black cloth.
"This place looks old." She muttered under her breath.
There were handwritten letters, an old pocket watch, a unique handcrafted mask, a sculptured cat, swords, and so other old, unique trinkets which were all nearly arranged, like a keepsake. Nor even a speck of dust on them.
What is this place? Is it so kind of sanctuary?
Rhea turned her gaze to the fras on the wall, reached for a cloth and pulled it.
Her breath sized, the temperature in the room dropped, her eyes wide open, her lips halfly parted.
She moved to another, then pulled, then another and another, soft gasping slipping from her lips, her heart pounding.
Rhea backed away from the paintings, her chest tight, her eyes were darting unnaturally from one fra to another.
Each face in the paintings looks right back at her.
All were the sa but also different.
"What are these?" She stumbled back, her hands over her mouth.
A hand grabbed her from behind, and she jolted, looking back to who it was. And Zeenare was standing with each of his hands on her shoulders.
"They are you, Rhea." He pointed out.
Rhea looked back at the paintings.
"What do you an, they are ?"
A familiar sense and dread washed through her making her stomach twist in knots.
The faces were her’s yes, but also different.
So had black hair, blue, red, brown, or blonde. So were waved, curled, and straight.
Rhea shared a glanced with him her brows furrowed.
"I know this might sound strange to you. But these are you from past lives, Rhea." Zeenare gently inford.
She turned back to the paintings. She doesn’t know what to believe anymore.
They all ca from different ethnicities — so dressed in old English, Hijab adorned with jewellery, qipao, cheongsam, hanfu, smokkr, and a lot more.
She doesn’t know what is really and what is in her head. But what she knows is that none was a lie. She walked towards, the biggest one is in the middle.
She was dressed in a plain light dress, with red hair, her eyes were so soft you could see the goodness by just looking. She holds a beauty so divine you’d want her to touch you to cleanse your bad deeds away. She held nothing but a simple basket of fruits and vegetables. Her fingertips were red.
Rhea swam towards it as if she had no feet. Her heart craves to touch it. To know her.
The mont finger tip touched it, her head swung backwards, her eyes rolling in her head as her. Her body reaching to hit the floor when Zeenare caught her.
****
Seagull sounds echoed in the distance across the ocean, harsh cold wind cutting the air, sipping into people, their skins laced frostbite.
The voices of fishern echoed from the shore, and a bell rang across the fence from the castle in the distance.
Children running while playing by the shore.
Where am I? Rhea turned searching for the room she was in seconds ago.
Is this another dream? No. I wasn’t sleeping this ti? Then where is this?
As she was pondering, the girl in the picture walked through her like an open space.
"Hey, watch where you are going!" Rhea muttered, not noticing it was the girl, but no response followed, not a single acknowledgent of Rhea’s presence.
That is the girl from the painting!
Rhea tried talking to her again but still no response.
Can she not see !
Rhea thought, feeling her skin, waving her hands across the girl’s face.
Rhea scoffed, if this is madness, then I’ve already lost my mind. Then picked up her steps, following the girl. She watched her as she picked, crabs, lobster and prawns from the shore.
The girl’s steps were graceful, her lips were cracked, her skin was pale, and she looked tender but her eyes were empty.
Rhea followed as they made way into the city walls, down the slums towards a shard.
"You dirty sickly slut!" A chubby mid-aged woman cursed at her, "When were you going to bring your bills? If not that you are so sickly, I’d have sold you for money. " She yanked the basket from her. " At least your weird beauty would have fetched more money, Tsk!" Then stord off.
The girl said nothing, just proceeded towards the shard and entered.
Why isn’t she saying anything? Rhea wondered and followed her inside.
Inside was small but warm. There was a bed against the wall, a fire at the other corner, a stool with a table in the middle, a small shelf close to the door, and a single window.
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