The morning sun filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the floor of Seren Blooms. Seraphine stood behind the counter, hands gently working through the petals of pale lilies. The familiar scent of jasmine, roses and earth clung to the air - a comfort she never questioned.
Her fingers moved with instincts, but her mind wandered.
Last night's dream still haunted her. A man's voice - low, aching. His gentle touch like worship.
"Earth to Phine! "
Seraphine startled as her best friend, Elara, breezed in, holding up two iced coffees with a grin. "You're zoning out again. Probably dreaming about your faceless vampire king, huh? "
Seraphine rolled her eyes , but her cheeks flushed, "I told you, it's not like that. "
"Mhm, " Elara handed her the drink. "Come on, close up for the morning. There's an exhibit at the museum. Old royal portraits. Weird, creepy stuff. You'll love it. "
"I have work-"
"Nope, "Elara snatched the watering can from her hand. "You've been dreaming of ghosts. Might as well visit them. "
At the museum.
A hush wrapped around the building. Inside, the tall ceilings and grand chandeliers gave the air a reverent weight. Paintings lined the walls in solemn rows - faces of queens, monarchs and warriors.
Elara was already fawning over a painting of a woman in an emerald gown, but Seraphine's feet carried her elsewhere - toward the back, where the lighting dimmed and the air grew colder.
Her eyes landed on a portrait tucked into an arched alcove. It was massive - oil on canvas - showing a man with raven-dark hair, and haunting red eyes. He wore a crown of twisted silver and a long cloak edged in shadows.
He looked like power wrapped in tragedy.
The plaque beneath it read :
Valen Noctarion, King of the Dusk Throne. Known in history as the Blood Monarch. Thought to be a myth. Allegedly ruled the forgotten kingdom of Elarith.
Seraphine's breath caught. Her heart stuttered.
His face, she knew it. Not from paintings or books. From the ache in her bones. From her dreams. From memories that weren't hers.
The room spun slightly.
"Elara... " She whispered.
Her best friend appeared by her side. "Oh, creepy hot. Definitely your type. "
Seraphine barely heard her. Her eyes locked on the painting. The air around her pulsed.
She could feel him watching her.
And then - so faintly she questioned if it happened at all - she heard a whisper through the silence.
Serenyth.
She staggered back a step.
"Hey, you okay? " Elara's voice worried now.
Seraphine blinked hard, trying to clear the fog from her head. "Yeah. I... I think I knew him. "
Elara frowned, "Knew him? Phine, he's centuries old. Some say he never even existed. "
Seraphine couldn't answer. Her gaze returned to the portrait.
She lifted her fingers, hovering near the glass. It was cool beneath her skin. But her palm burned. A heat that radiated inward, down to the place where her dreams lived.
And when she looked closely - really looked - the painted man's eyes weren't just staring ahead. They were staring into her.
Later that night,
As she lay in bed, moonlight spilled across her quilt, the weight of the day pressed in. She clutched her pillow, her heart aching with a longing she couldn't name.
And before sleep claimed her, she whispered into the dark,
"Who are you to me? "