Sleep didn’t come to Sara like it usually did. Instead of slowly drifting off, her world just seemed to melt away, like when you drop ink into water and it spreads out. The comfy feeling of her bed vanished, and the cool night air disappeared. Even her body felt super light.
Then, bam, she opened her eyes and she was standing.
Everything around her was white.
Not like white walls or marble, but a brighter, softer kind of white. The floor, the ceiling, the walls – if you could even call them that – were all the same endless white. No shadows, no light source that she could see. The air was still and quiet, like no wind has ever touched it.
Sara looked down at herself and her heart skipped a beat.
Her hair was long again.
It flowed past her shoulders, all smooth and brown, just like before she chopped it off. She reached up and touched it, feeling the familiar weight against her back. And she wasn’t wearing her simple nightgown anymore. Instead, she had on this beautiful blue dress that she knew right away.
The dress sparkled a little, with silver threads woven into the fabric that caught the light. The neckline was high but pretty, and the sleeves were long with fancy embroidery. A sapphire pin sat on her collarbone, the same one her dad made her wear that night to show how loyal the Vistro family was.
She started breathing fast.
She had cut her hair. She had made a choice to change things. But here she was, back to how she was before.
Out of nowhere, a mirror popped up in front of her.
It didn’t fall from the ceiling or rise out of the floor. It was just there, like it had always been there. The frame was plain and white, so it almost disappeared into the background, but she could see herself in it clearly.
Sara took a step closer.
The girl in the mirror looked calm – too calm. Her long hair framed her face, and her blue dress flowed around her like a river. There wasn’t any sign that she had struggled or fought back. She just looked like a perfect noble girl, like someone ready to get married to a prince.
Sara lifted her hand, and the reflection did the same. No delay, no weirdness.
"This isn’t me," she whispered.
But the reflection didn’t change.
Then, a faint sound broke the quiet.
Behind her, a door showed up.
It was made of wood, plain and solid, just standing there in all the white. The handle was brass, a little worn down like people had opened it a lot.
Sara turned to face it.
She didn’t even think about moving, but her feet carried her forward. Each step made a soft echo, even though she couldn’t see the floor.
When she got to the door, she didn’t hesitate much. She put her hand on the handle and turned it.
It felt real.
The door swung open without any trouble, and warm sunlight poured in, breaking up all the white.
Sara stepped through, and the first thing she smelled was roses.
The rose garden!
She was standing in the rose garden of the Vistro manor.
Her chest tightened up.
The garden was gorgeous, just like she remembered. Rows of red, white, and pink roses bloomed in perfect lines. Stone paths curved between the bushes, and there was a little fountain in the middle, with water trickling into a pool. Birds were singing in the trees, and the sky was bright.
It was peaceful.
But she knew that this place had more than just beauty. It was where Edward had been confined by their father, separated from the main manor. While the rest of the family attended banquets and ceremonies, Edward had spent long days here alone, under the excuse of "protecting" him from ridicule because he could not use mana.
Sara’s hands squeezed at her sides.
She remembered visiting him here once when she was younger. She had brought him sweets stolen from the kitchen. He had smiled at her in that quiet way of his, as if he already understood something she did not.
Why was she here?
The dream felt so real. The sunlight felt warm, the roses smelled amazing, and the fountain sounded like real water.
She was mixed up.
She headed down the stone path, her dress was lightly touching flowers. Everything looked just like it did back then. The garden walls were in place, the benches were clean. It was not neglected.
This was the past.
Or something that had never changed.
She was about to turn toward the little building near the edge of the garden when she heard footsteps behind her.
Sara turned around, and saw a maid was headed toward her.
The maid then paused a few steps away and bowed.
"My Lady," she said in a soft, rehearsed voice. "I have brought your tea."
She was holding a silver plate that had a cup and saucer and a plate of little pastries on it.
Sara was staring at her.
The maid seemed unfamiliar, but she moved like she had worked there for years.
"Tea?" Sara said quietly.
"Yes, My Lady," the maid said. "You must keep your strength. The prince will be here this afternoon to take you."
Sara’s stomach turned.
"Take me where?" she asked, even though she had guessed it right away.
"To the capital," the maid answered calmly. "The wedding preparations are complete. His Highness is most eager. The ceremony will take place tomorrow morning."
The words fell like stones into water.
Wedding.
Tomorrow.
Sara looked down at herself again. The blue gown. The long hair. The sapphire brooch. It was not merely a memory. It was a path.
The maid stepped closer and offered the cup.
"The prince has been generous," she continued. "Your future will be secure. The Vistro house will regain favor. Everything will return to order."
Return to order.
Sara felt a strange pressure in her chest, as though invisible hands were gently pushing her toward acceptance. The garden remained beautiful. The sky remained bright. There was no visible danger. No blood. No chaos.
Just obedience.
She looked past the maid, toward the far edge of the garden where Edward had once sat alone.
In this dream, he was not there.
There was no sign of him.
"Where is my brother?" Sara asked suddenly.
The maid blinked once, but her expression did not change.
"Your brother?" she repeated softly. "The third son is unwell. It is not proper to speak of him today."
Unwell.
The word felt wrong.
Sara’s heart began to beat faster.
In this future, or this possibility, Edward had not risen. He had not killed their father. He had not taken the Marquis title. He remained confined. Forgotten. Hidden.
The price of stability.
The maid still held the tea patiently.
"My Lady," she said gently, "please drink. You must prepare yourself. The prince will be here soon."
Sara looked at the cup.
The liquid inside shimmered faintly in the sunlight. It looked harmless.
If she drank it, perhaps the scene would continue. Perhaps she would walk toward the gates of the manor, smiling politely as she entered the prince’s carriage. Perhaps she would become a princess. Safe. Decorated. Controlled.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
The dream elixir had shown her a possibility shaped by her emotions.
She had felt determination before sleeping. Yet this dream showed a version of her who chose comfort over strength.
Or perhaps it was testing her.
Sara slowly lifted her gaze to meet the maid’s eyes.
For a brief second, the maid’s face seemed to flicker, as if the image were unstable. Beneath the polite smile, there was emptiness.