Guggle! Guggle!
Splash! Splash!
The sound of frantic struggling echoed through the darkness, water thrashing against unseen stone.
Guggle! Guggle!
Splash! Splash!
A faint light flickered, revealing a small figure fighting desperately in a deep cave pool. She had fallen in, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't escape.
Her arms flailed, her body trembling as she fought to stay afloat. At last, her head broke the surface.
"Help!!" the little figure cried, her voice cracking as the current dragged her under again.
"Help!" she screamed once more, struggling to lift her head above the water.
She kept crying, calling out, until exhaustion overtook her. Her small body grew cold, her strength drained. Consciousness slipped away—she was drowning.
"He… he… l… p," she croaked weakly, before surrendering to the water and letting herself sink beneath the surface.
Her blurry vision drifted upward, catching the faint outline of a silhouette standing at the surface, watching her sink.
She thought it was an angel, come to escort her to the afterlife. A faint smile touched her lips as she closed her eyes, ready to embrace the comfort of death.
But then—Splash!
A loud echo filled the cave as strong arms wrapped around her fragile body, pulling her upward.
"Huugh!!" The little girl gasped for breath as she was dragged to the surface and laid on the ground near the pool's edge. She coughed violently, water spilling from her lungs, her body trembling with weakness.
Her head spun, her chest burned as though hot coals had been pressed against it. She lay on her back, her wet wavy black hair spread across the cold stone. Her small black eyes fluttered like butterfly wings, her nose and cheeks flushed red from the cold, her rosy lips pale and bruised. Her soaked brown dress clung tightly to her delicate frame.
She felt hazy, so weak she wondered if she had already died—if this was the afterlife.
As if to confirm her little imagination. Through her blurred vision, a face appeared above her. A boy's face—handsome, golden‑brown hair slick and wet against his skin, his nose red from the cold, his lips pale and cracked. His ancient dark brown shirt and trousers clung to him like a second skin.
But what truly made her believe she was in heaven were his eyes—bright, beautiful sapphire blue. Ethereal, otherworldly. Eyes so luminous she thought he must be an angel.
"Milady…" The boy's voice reached her, though it sounded warped, as if echoing through water.
"Milady… are you alright? Are you alright?"
The little girl forced herself to nod faintly. The boy smiled brightly at her—
a smile that radiated warmth, a feeling she had never known before. It was so comforting, so fuzzy, she wanted to snuggle into it and never let go.
"Good. Thank the heavens you are safe. But hell, little lady… what were thou doing alone here in the marsh? Have thou forgotten it is the rainy season? Underground caves open during this time, and thou could fall in and drown in their deep pools. Good grief that I was passing by and heard thy cries—otherwise it would have been a disaster. A tragedy," the boy said, wiping water from his face with his hand.
The girl didn't reply. She only smiled softly at him.
Just then, voices echoed in the distance.
"Rosella! Rosella!"
"Rosella, my daughter! Where art thou?"
The boy turned back to her. "Looks like thy family is searching for thee. I'd best get thee to them before they grow worried."
He tried to stand, preparing to lift her, but she weakly grabbed his arm and turned her face toward him.
"What is it, Milady?" he asked gently.
She smiled faintly and whispered, "Thank you…"
The boy's smile deepened, his voice still warped. "It's alright, little Sweeches. I'll get thee out of here in no time. Just hold on."
Her eyes widened slightly at the intimate name.
'Sweeches?"
'Sweeches!'
The name echoed inside her mind like a familiar rhythm.
Just then—the scene shifted.
The same boy stood before her, smiling, but his clothes had changed. He now wore a white shirt smeared with mud and dirt, with khaki trousers. They were no longer in the cave but outside, beneath a heavy downpour.
The boy leaned closer, his words the same but slightly different and warped. "It's okay, little Sweeches. I'll get you out of here in no time. Just hold on."
The shifted again, this time it was a man. A handsome hunk, wearing a black t-shirt and jeans. His golden brown hair glowing in the moonlight. His blue sapphire eyes glowing like stars. He was holding a gun in his hand with a dashing smile that glimmered in the moonlight and said, "Don't worry Sweeches...I will be fine ".
The words faded as her consciousness slipped away. Lightning flashed, thunder roared, crashing in her ears.
Before darkness consumed her.
....
"Huugh!" Patricia gasped for breath as she jolted awake from her vivid dream.
It had felt too real—like she had lived inside it. Her heart raced, her head spun.
A soft breeze brushed against her skin. She turned to see the curtains of a small window billowing in the wind. Outside, rain poured heavily, lightning flashing in jagged bursts as thunder roared across the sky.
"Aaah!" she yelped, clutching her head as a sharp pain pulsed through it. Memories from the dream flashing inside her mind.
"Don't worry Sweeches...I will be fine ".
"It's okay, little Sweeches. I'll get you out of here in no time. Just hold on."
"It's alright, little Sweeches. I'll get thee out of here in no time. Just hold on."
"I love you, Sweeches."
"Sweeches!"
"Sweeches."
"Aaah!" Patricia yelped again as the memories flooded her mind, making her headache worse.
She calmed after a while and muttered, "Isaac. Who are you, really?"
Just then a voice echoed inside her mind.
"Trust me. Isaac did a lot for you before you even knew him. I think it's only fair you do the same for him now."
Her mind drifted back to the conversation that she had with Alisha, the day that Isaac collapsed at the ranch.
"Wait..what do you mean, Isaac did a lot for me before I knew him? What are you talking about? I only met Isaac three months ago. Are you saying he knew me before that?"
"Wait—what? I said that? No… I meant, Isaac must've done a lot for you before and you met. Like… before that day at the cemetery, when he saved you from being shot. I mean, he must've been tailing you for a while, right? Like you know.. protecting you from the shadows or something. I mean...before officially introducing himself to you, of course."
Patricia pondered on the memory of their conversation and remembered how Alisha acted weird when replying to her question. Could it be that, Isaac was the one who saved her when she was a little girl. The hero that disappeared before she could properly thank him for saving her life. But what was that memory in the cave? Where did it come from?
If Isaac was the one who saved her all those years ago, then why didn't he tell her. Why was he keeping it a secret. Why?
Patricia groaned as she felt an ache pulse inside her head again. She lifted her right hand to massage her forehead only for her eyes to widen in shock when she saw the bandage wrapped around her wrist.
She lowered her hand, examining it closely. A faint smear of crimson stained the fabric.
Her other hand bore scratches, covered with band‑aids.
Turning her head, she caught sight of herself in a mirror—and gasped. Her cheeks were marred by thin bruises, her head wrapped in bandages, a faint crimson mark painting her forehead.
She scanned the room. It looked like a cabin built from cedar wood, its scent rich in the air.
The space was neat and orderly, with a small vanity set and a shoe rack tucked in the corner. She sat on a tiny bed, covered by a single brown sheet.
Looking down, she realized she was dressed in a seamless white nightgown. Pulling the sheet aside, she saw her legs covered in band‑aids. Thankfully, they weren't broken or badly bruised.
But what had happened?
How had she ended up here?
Suddenly, loud screams echoed inside her mind.
"PATRICIA, STOP!! WE'RE GOING TO CRASH!!"
"AAAH!!"
BAM!!
"Aaah!" Patricia cried out as pain exploded through her head. She clutched it tightly, her breathing strained and uneven.
After a while, she forced herself to calm down, taking labored breaths as she pressed a hand against her chest. Sweat glistened across her face, her body trembling.
Her eyes darted to the door.
"Alisha… Zach," she muttered, stumbling off the bed toward it.
"Alisha. Zach!" she called again, yanking at the handle. But the door was locked.
She banged on it furiously.
"Hey! What's going on? Let me out!" she shouted.
"Alisha! Zachariah!" she cried, pounding harder.
"Open the door!"
Her fists thudded against the wood, but no answer came. Frustrated, she turned away and began fumbling around the room, searching for a key.
Nothing.
"Uurgh! What's going on?" she whispered in frustration, her voice trembling with fear.
Just then, she heard the sound of a lock clicking at the door.
Her heart raced. Maybe she was kidnapped and was being held prisoner and the kidnapper came to torment her. That was her first thought. She darted toward the lampstand, gripping it tightly, pressed herself against the wall near the door, ready to strike.
The door creaked open, and as the figure stepped inside—
"RAAAH!"
Patricia roared, swinging the lamp with all her strength. It cracked against the back of the intruder's head.
The person groaned, collapsing to the floor, clutching their skull.
"Bastard!" she spat, kicking them hard in the stomach before rushing toward the door.
"Patricia, stop!" the person cried out.
Patricia froze. 'That voice… no, it can't be…'
She turned slowly, her eyes widening in disbelief as lightning flashed through the window, illuminating the face of her supposed kidnapper.
"Bernard… you… what…" she stammered, her voice trembling.
Bernard straightened his posture slightly. "Yes, who else could it be? Damn, Patricia—you almost killed me! Is this how you thank your savior? Unbelievable!"
Patricia stared at him, still confused. "What… what?"
Bernard looked at her bewildered expression, exhaled, and muttered, "Unbelievable," as he rubbed the back of his head, averting his gaze—
Wack!
"Ow!"
He winced as Patricia's hand slapped across his face.
He turned back to her, stunned, meeting her fiery glare. "What did you do that for? How could you hit me again?" he demanded, rubbing his cheek.
"That's for locking me up in here like a prisoner, you jerk! What kind of savior locks up his victim? Are you crazy?" she shouted.
Bernard groaned, still clutching his head. "Well, if I'd known you were this crazy, I wouldn't have unlocked the door! Maybe I should've kept you locked in here—my God, you're insane!"
Patricia scoffed, huffing in frustration, opening her mouth to retort when—
"You're awake."
A new voice echoed from behind her.
She turned to see an elderly woman dressed in an elegant white and green suit. Her small round eyes gleamed behind spectacles, her delicate nose and rosy lips framed by curly grey hair. A domineering aura radiated from her presence.
The woman glanced at Bernard, who was still groaning in pain and clutching his stomach, then back at Patricia, who eyed her with suspicion.
"Mmm… now I see where Miss Alisha gets her feistiness from. The two of you are truly cut from the same cloth. Sisters indeed."
Patricia narrowed her eyes. "Who are you? And what do you know about Alisha? Where is she? Where are my siblings?"
"Shh… relax, child. There is no need to rush," the woman replied calmly as she stepped closer.
Patricia's glare didn't waver.
The woman shook her head. "I believe it is improper for a lady to stand in the presence of a man whilst in her undergarments. No?"
At her remark, Patricia glanced down at herself—the thin, seamless white nightgown clinging to her frame. Her cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment.
"Tsk… why don't you dress first? There are fresh clothes in the drawer. You can join us downstairs for a morsel when you're ready," the woman said.
She turned to Bernard. "Bernard darling, let's put those bruises on ice while Miss Milton prepares herself."
Bernard looked at Patricia intently, then nodded at the woman and limped out of the room, wincing from the pain.
The woman faced Patricia once more. "Well then, Miss Milton. I will leave you to it."
She walked out, closing the door behind her.
Patricia stood frozen, staring at the closed door. "What is going on?" she muttered, moving toward the vanity drawer. Inside lay a neatly folded blue long‑sleeved dress with golden embroidered seams. It looked ancient, yet smelled brand new.
She sighed, lifting it from the drawer, examining it closely. "What the hell did I get myself into?" she whispered.
Rumble! Rumble!
Lightning flashed, thunder roared, illuminating the room—and for a moment, the dress seemed to glow.