The Chronicles of the Obsidian Mirrors spoke of Aethelgard, a city swallowed by shadow, its fate intertwined with the obsidian mirrors themselves. Elara reread the passage, the flickering candlelight casting dancing shadows on the ancient text. The description of the city's destruction—a crimson sky, buildings consumed by fire, the screams of the dying—evoked a visceral response, a deep ache in her chest that resonated with the fractured reflection in the mirror.
The mirror pulsed, its fractured surface shimmering with an eerie light. This time, the visions were clearer, more intense. She saw the sun-drenched courtyard again, the laughter of children echoing in the warm breeze. A woman with hair like spun gold—her mother—held a baby in her arms. Elara. The joy was fleeting, replaced by a scene of chaos and fire. The courtyard was ablaze, the sky a horrifying crimson. Her mother, her face etched with terror, shielded Elara from the inferno.
Then, a shadowy figure appeared, its face obscured by darkness, but its presence radiating malice and power. It snatched Elara from her mother's arms, its touch leaving a searing brand of pain. Elara screamed, a silent scream trapped within the confines of the vision. The image dissolved into a swirling vortex of darkness, leaving her breathless and trembling.
The weight of the memory, the raw, visceral pain of loss and abandonment, crashed over her. It wasn't just a vision; it was a wound ripped open, bleeding memories and emotions she had suppressed for years. Tears streamed down her face, hot and relentless, as the full horror of her past crashed down upon her. She had been stolen, ripped from her mother's arms, thrust into a world of shadows and secrets.
The obsidian mirror reflected not just a fractured past, but a fractured soul. The cracks in the reflection mirrored the cracks in her own heart, the gaping wounds of a childhood stolen, a mother lost. The crimson sky of her visions wasn't just a symbol; it was the stain of a traumatic past, a constant reminder of the day her life was irrevocably changed.
Elara sank to her knees, the weight of the revelation crushing her. The Chronicles offered no solace, only more questions. Who was the shadowy figure? Where had she been taken? And what was her destiny, now that the past had finally caught up to her?