Chapter 27: Dawn
Eva's POV
The morning light felt… wrong.
Not in any dramatic, thunder-struck way—but in the subtle, tilting kind. The kind where something is misaligned by just a breath, a degree. Where the sun rises in its usual place, but the warmth takes a little too long to reach your skin.
Eva blinked against it, her eyes dry and heavy. She stirred beneath her quilt, limbs weighted, thoughts tangled like seaweed after a storm. Her head ached dully—not pain, exactly, but pressure. Like she'd been crying in her sleep or thinking too hard about things she couldn't remember.
The strange part was, she didn't feel tired.
She just felt… emptied.
She pushed the blanket down slowly, letting the cool morning air reach her skin. Her room was quiet, painted in soft shadows and thin sunlight. The stars on her ceiling still glowed faintly, though the sky outside was already blue.
What had she been dreaming about?
Something tugged at the edge of her thoughts, warm and glowing and just beyond her reach—like a memory submerged in water. She tried to focus, but it slipped further away, no matter how tightly she tried to hold it.
Her fingers twitched against the bedsheets. Her chest rose and fell in shallow breaths.
A dream.
She was sure of that much. But the details had unraveled in her sleep. She only remembered the feeling of it. Something ancient. Something important.
And something that made her throat tighten with… what? Longing? Grief? Hunger?
Eva sat up slowly, her body moving on instinct. She slipped out of bed, feet touching the wooden floor with a soft click. The light was brighter now—clearer—but it didn't chase away the strange, lingering sensation in her chest.
She padded to the bathroom, quietly, as if not to disturb the dream still echoing behind her eyes.
The mirror greeted her with its usual silence. Her reflection looked like it always did—hair tousled, skin pale, grey eyes soft and wide from sleep. No monsters. No magic.
Just a girl.
But even as she stared, the faintest shimmer danced across her vision. A flicker, like heat above pavement. A moment where she almost thought her eyes—
She blinked. It was gone.
She leaned closer. Still grey. Pale. Soft, like ash caught in sunlight. She touched her cheek, searching for something familiar and not knowing what it was.
"Just a dream," she whispered.
But the words felt like a lie.
She splashed water on her face, hoping it would clear her thoughts. It didn't. The moment her skin touched the water, a flash sparked through her—something electric and old, a sense of weightlessness and warmth. Like hands on her face. Like lips pressed to her forehead.
Eva froze.
She gripped the edge of the sink.
That wasn't hers. That feeling—it didn't belong to her morning. It belonged to someone else. To something else. Something that had touched her in the dark, beneath a sky full of stars she didn't recognize.
A kiss. A promise. A warning.
But when she looked in the mirror again, there was nothing. No glow. No divine figure. Just a girl with pale grey eyes, blinking back at herself.
She exhaled slowly and dried her face. Her hands were trembling.
Downstairs, the house was alive in the way mornings always were—quiet footsteps, the distant hum of the kettle, a door closing softly in the hallway. The smell of toast and citrus drifted into her senses.
Normal. Comforting.
Fake?
She wandered toward the kitchen, pulled by habit. Vivienne was already seated at the counter, flipping through the newspaper. Her long hair was braided loosely down one shoulder, a mug of tea warming her hands. She looked up as Eva entered and smiled.
"Morning, starshine."
Eva managed a nod. "Morning."
"You look like you barely slept," Vivienne said gently, setting the paper aside. "Nightmares?"
"I… don't remember." Eva sat on the stool across from her, tucking her knees up. "Just felt weird when I woke up."
Vivienne's gaze sharpened a little, though her smile didn't falter. "Weird how?"
"Like I dreamed something important, but… it's gone. I only remember a feeling. Like being seen. Or… kissed. Maybe."
Vivienne didn't speak for a moment.
Then: "Do you want to talk about it?"
"I don't know what to say."
"That's okay," Vivienne said, reaching across the counter to brush a strand of hair from Eva's face. "Sometimes dreams just want to be dreams."
"But it felt real." Eva paused, staring at the table. "Like something was trying to tell me something."
Vivienne's hand stilled. "And what do you think it was?"
"I don't know." Her fingers curled around the edge of the counter. "Something old. Something… watching."
Vivienne was quiet again. Then she stood, moving to the stove, and returned with a fresh cup of tea. She set it in front of Eva with a gentle smile. "Drink. You'll feel better."
Eva wrapped her hands around the mug and let the steam warm her face. Her aunt always made the perfect cup—honey and a hint of orange, soothing without being too sweet.
But the taste didn't anchor her the way it usually did.
Her mind kept circling that empty space where the dream had been.
"I'm not normal," she said suddenly.
Vivienne didn't answer right away. She just watched her, quiet and calm.
"I keep pretending I'm like the others, but I'm not. Something's wrong with me. And I think I felt it last night. I think it's waking up."
"Nothing is wrong with you," Vivienne said, her voice firm but not sharp. "You are different. But different doesn't mean broken."
"Then what does it mean?" Eva asked, eyes wide and aching. "Why do I feel like I don't belong in my own skin sometimes?"
Vivienne exhaled and walked around the counter, crouching so she could be eye level. "Because you were born to carry more than most. You don't have to carry it alone."
"Is that why Papa says strange things? About gods and bloodlines?"
Vivienne didn't look surprised. "Your father loves stories. Sometimes, truth is hidden in them."
"So it is true?"
"You'll know when you're ready."
"I want to know now."
Vivienne smiled gently, touching Eva's cheek. "Then you'll have to be patient with yourself. Let what's sleeping stay asleep until it's needed. You're still a child."
"I don't feel like one."
"No," Vivienne agreed softly. "You never have."
Eva lowered her gaze to the tea in her hands. Her reflection stared back at her in its surface, blurry and doubled. For a second, the eyes staring back didn't look like hers.
Seafoam green. Then deep grey. Then something darker.
Then gone.
She blinked.
"Do you believe in fate?" she asked quietly.
Vivienne paused. "I believe in choices."
"Even if I'm… not
Vivienne reached for her hand and held it gently. "You're Eva. That's all that matters to me."
Eva's throat tightened. Her eyes burned.
But she said nothing else.
She drank her tea in silence while the sun rose higher, casting long beams of light across the counter. The scent of toast lingered. A sparrow chirped just beyond the open window.
Everything seemed normal.
But inside, Eva knew something had shifted.
The dream may have faded, but whatever had visited her… hadn't left.
And though she couldn't remember what was said, she remembered this:
The feeling of a kiss on her brow.
The warmth of a touch not human.
And a voice saying, "Live like a mortal. Let them believe."
Eva curled her fingers tighter around the mug and stared into the sunlight.
She would pretend, for now.
But one day—maybe soon—the world would remember what she was.