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Dreamer – Part 01

For nearly ten months since her imprisonment, every time Victorique lost consciousness, she would find herself on a surreal journey to a place resembling the sea. This place felt like the bottom of the ocean, or the boundary between the waters and the sky, where the air and water hung heavy and humid. From the distance came an enigmatic melody, a sort of mournful music, a haunting symphony of humans screaming.

Faint, jellyfish-like shapes floated amidst the undulating waves.

For the first time since her arrival here, Victorique slowly opened her eyes. Her long, thick, golden eyelashes quivered.

Where am I? she wondered.

Perhaps this was the boundary between the realms of the living and the dead.

In the distance, she could make out dark shapes resembling islands, and nearby, the ashen remnants of medieval shipwrecks, blocks of wood, and overturned boats. Charred remains of luxurious furniture and human bodies indicated a fire. There were no signs of life.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and rain began to fall with a mournful sigh.

A bomb dropped somewhere. There were flashes and explosions, and fiery balls of red descended from the skies.

It seems they have increased the dosage. I have never seen the threshold this clear over the last ten months. Father… He must be planning to utilize me as the ace up his sleeve to win the king’s favor.

She looked up at the gray sky, her translucent clothing revealing intricate characters etched into her small body with a needle. Her glossy, cherry lips trembled with sorrow.

Will I ever see him again?

She thought of the boy who held a special place in her heart.

As the sun set, the evening star appeared in the sky. Somewhere in the world, bombs continued to fall, ships wrecked, and houses burned. Thunder roared in the distance, each clap widening Victorique’s eyes.

The jellyfish that had been floating around her started to gather, shimmering as if conferring with each other. When they began to speak in human voices, they slowly transformed into human faces and forms.

Among them were young men, elderly couples, and even a girl smaller than Victorique. They all bore injuries—missing arms, bleeding chests, severed legs. Their expressions were vacant, their eyes empty as they gazed down at Victorique.

These are… the deceased. The casualties of this storm, Victorique realized.

A whistle pealed high in the distance. A grand cruise ship, unlike anything Victorique had ever seen, approached, parting the floating bodies, wooden debris, the wrecked ships. At its bow stood a statue of Christ, glittering gold.

The whistle sounded again, and the people surrounding Victorique turned to face the ship. They helped each other, offering support, and made their way toward it. The crew on the ship could be heard reassuring them.

“The time for departure has come. There is no need to fear.”

“You have been brave.”

“It’s time to journey to the eternal land.”

A shadowy figure reached out to help Victorique to her feet. No one spoke.

The dead moved in a solemn procession toward the ship on the sea. The deck was already crowded with numerous shadowy figures. The mournful whistle continued. Thunder reverberated through the night sky. Another bright-red explosion rocked the air, and with each rumble, the number of deceased increased.

“Wait!” someone screamed, pointing at Victorique.

It was a young man, no more than two or three years older, blood seeping from a wound in his chest. The shadows around Victorique parted, and all eyes turned to her.

Among the shimmering shadows, only Victorique possessed tangible form. Her rose-colored cheeks glistened in the moonlight, and her wet, divine golden hair clung to her, flowing down her back towards the waves. Her emaciated body, the gold coin pendant, the foreign characters etched into her skin were visible through her semi-transparent clothing.

“She’s different,” a little girl exclaimed.

“It’s true,” agreed one of the adults, their eyes widening in astonishment.

“She’s still alive.”

“But how did she end up here? Is she ill, or did she faint and wander here… Either way, she belongs with the living.”

“We can’t allow her to board that ship.”

The group of the deceased slowly approached, surrounding Victorique, attempting to push her away.

“But…” Confused, Victorique asked, “Where should I go?”

The whistle’s piercing sound filled her ears. The luxurious cruise ship drew nearer, its bow almost within reach. Victorique felt her consciousness and body being drawn in its direction.

“I don’t have a place to return to.”

“Live,” someone said. It was unclear which of the deceased had spoken.

“Look, someone’s here to pick you up,” said another.

“What?”

“They seem to be worried about you.”

“You good-for-nothing Gray Wolf!” came a different voice.

Victorique grew sullen. She furrowed her beautiful face and attempted to turn around.

The ship was nearly there, towering above the sea like a pitch-black wall.

Smack!

There should have been no one in front of her, but she felt a slap to her cheek.

“Hey! Wake up, Victorique de Blois! You’re not the type to die over something like this! Return to being the terrifying little brat who used to frighten me to death every time I climbed the stone tower of the Blois Castle!”

“Goodbye, my daughter,” said another voice. “Step into the future. Live for me too!”

Victorique’s green eyes darkened in surprise and sorrow. The deceased joined forces to push her back.

Her consciousness drifted away from the undulating waters. Suddenly, she felt the coldness of water as she sank with a splash, departing from the sea she had been walking on just moments ago. Bubbles shimmered.

“No, Maman!” Victorique exclaimed childishly as she bolted upright.

She clung tightly to someone, feeling their reassuring warmth. But in the next moment, as if instinctively sensing the presence of an enemy, she pulled away. Her green eyes, glimmering like the waters of a mysterious lake, narrowed as she glared at the person.

Victorique found herself in a shabby carriage. The seats were old and wooden, the wallpaper peeling away. It reeked of spilled alcohol and years’ worth of sweat.

Her golden hair, smooth as silk turban, flowed toward the open window, glistening in the late afternoon sunlight with a sense of melancholy.

Victorique tucked in her chin and emitted a short, low growl, ferocious as a beast. In response, the person in front of her also pulled their chin back, their green eyes flickering ominously, and growled like a menacing animal.

Fiery red hair, like a burning torch in the night sky. Green eyes, upturned as a cat’s. Black coat that seemed to absorb darkness itself. The gaze directed at Victorique held no affection, concern, or empathy. It was solely focused on observing the Monstre Charmant.

“You…!”

Victorique, who had just woken from a long and harrowing dream, wobbled and slowly lolled towards the wall.

The red-haired man—Brian Roscoe—snorted with intense displeasure. His nose wrinkled, and his brows knitted.

“What a pathetic and feeble creature!”

“Brian Roscoe… Why are you here…?”

“How could we sacrifice so much for such a fragile little wolf?!”

“No, Brian. No…”

Victorique’s small face, expressionless as a doll, was suddenly marked by a clear and palpable fear.

“It can’t be!”

Hooves clopped forbiddingly, and a cold breeze swept in through the window. Were they speeding through the streets of Saubreme? From outside came the voices of people, car horns, the drone of plane engines.

Who was in the driver’s seat? A familiar voice was grumbling.

Victorique stared back hard at Brian Roscoe. “Tell me it’s not true,” she said quietly.

Despair as violent as a thunderstorm gradually filled her features. She covered her face with her pudgy hands.

“I heard Maman’s voice just now!” she shook her head frantically.

“Hmph. What did she say?”

“Goodbye, my daughter… Live for…”

Unable to finish, she glared at Brian, her face contorted in anguish and fear. The deep-seated hatred between the two beasts, the golden cub and the fiery red male wolf, seemed to ignite in the shabby carriage.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the wind brought in cold rain through the window.

Victorique realized she was now dressed in a striking blue silk dress, a stark contrast to the simple white garments she had worn for the past ten months.

“That’s right. Your beloved Cordelia Gallo remained as a double for her daughter in the Soleil Noir!”

“Why didn’t you stop her?! What were you doing?! Did you abandon Cordelia?!”

“We tried to stop her!”

Brian’s voice quivered with anger, and his tightly clenched fists shook violently. He was consumed by fury to the point that it seemed he might grab Victorique’s slender neck and snap it.

Victorique met Brian’s gaze without flinching. The animosity between them was far more intense than when they had confronted each other in the clock tower of St. Marguerite Academy the previous summer. They bared their sharp canine teeth, like fierce animals locked in a duel, their hatred running deep.

Victorique recalled the dream world she had just left and shuddered. The sea where those who had perished in this second storm had congregated, and the massive ship with the Christ statue on its bow, arriving to welcome the departed.

Maman would soon go there…