Chapter 8: Time after Time

Near the southern half of the castle, a quiet chamber basked in the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, their flickering light casting gentle patterns along the stone walls. The room had been carefully refurbished for Eliza, a sanctuary amidst the remnants of decay. Rich fabrics adorned the bed and seating, and a warm fireplace crackled softly in the corner, its embers glowing like forgotten memories. Despite the vastness of the castle, this space was different—intimate, delicate, a stark contrast to the cold ruins beyond its walls.

At the center of the room, a small Undine girl lay nestled within a cocoon of soft, flowing white robes. The fabric draped delicately over her tiny frame, shimmering like spun silver in the dim light. Her scales, a brilliant tapestry of blues and silvers, gleamed as they were carefully cleaned with a wet towel. Droplets of water ran down her skin, and where they touched, she seemed to brighten—her very body responding with the subtlest hints of joy, though her expression remained heavy with exhaustion.

The child stirred, her breath hitching as she awoke. For a moment, her large, glassy eyes darted across the room in terror, her small fingers clutching at the robe around her shoulders as though it were armor against the unknown. She flinched at the sight of the lifeless doll propped against the chamber’s far wall, its stitched-on smile a quiet observer to the world. Then, her gaze shifted, falling upon the massive figure of the tin butler, Zanac, his heavy frame motionless save for the faint flicker of his artificial eyes.

Eliza was beside her, having held the girl close before the child had awoken in fright. She had been careful, cradling her as if afraid she might break, but now, she withdrew slightly, giving the girl space.

“You’re safe,” Eliza reassured her softly, her voice gentle but uncertain. “You’re in the Kingdom of Goodnight… We brought you here after…”

The words lodged in her throat.

The girl blinked up at her, confused and wary. The air felt fragile as if one wrong move might shatter it entirely.

Eliza knelt before the small Undine girl, keeping her voice soft, careful not to startle her. The child had barely moved since waking, her delicate blue scales catching the dim light as she curled in on herself, silent and shivering beneath the flowing white robes. Her wide, watery eyes darted around the room, flicking to Eliza, then to Zanac, to the lifeless doll resting against the far wall, and finally to Lady Aura, whose presence seemed to unnerve her the least.

Eliza hesitated. The weight of what she had to say—what she had to explain—felt suffocating. But instead of diving into it, she took a different approach.

“What do you remember?” she asked gently.

The girl blinked up at her, confused.

Eliza gave her a reassuring nod. “It’s okay… Just tell me what you last remember.”

The child’s lips parted slightly, then pressed together in hesitation. Her tiny fingers twisted into the fabric of her robe as she took a shaky breath. When she finally spoke, her voice was like the softest ripple of water across stone—melodic yet foreign, fluid yet incomprehensible.

Eliza’s breath hitched.

She couldn’t understand her.

Eliza stared at her, trying to piece together anything, searching for familiarity in the sounds. But there was none.

And then, realization struck her like a hammer.

She had understood everyone in this realm since she arrived—human, undead, and everything in between. Never once had she needed a translator, and never once had she struggled with language. But now, here she was, face to face with this child, and she understood nothing.

The girl’s expression shifted from confusion to concern, her head tilting slightly as if she could sense Eliza’s distress.

Eliza forced a smile, shaking her head. “I’m sorry… I don’t understand you.”

The words felt strange on her tongue.

She wasn’t used to saying them.

The girl blinked rapidly, her small fingers tightening in her lap. She tried again, speaking slower this time, her voice quieter, more deliberate. But it didn’t help.

Eliza shook her head once more. “I still… I still can’t—”

Before she could finish, a shadow passed across the room.

Zanac had stepped forward. The tin butler loomed over them, his artificial glow flickering as he observed the interaction in silence. Then, with a slow, deliberate tone, he spoke.

“Your enchantments allow you to comprehend the languages of this realm, but the Undine… do not communicate as we do.”

Eliza frowned, tearing her gaze from the girl to look up at him. “What do you mean?”

“The Undine do not speak to us in the way humans or even other beings do,” Zanac explained. “They do not simply form words. They do not speak—they connect… to the soul.”

Eliza’s brows furrowed. “Connect? Like telepathy?”

Zanac tilted his head. “In a manner of speaking, yes. However, their way of communication is… more layered. It is felt as much as it is heard. But with the current state, this child is in, her connection is fragile—her mind is clouded by loss. Even if she wants to communicate, she may not be able to reach you yet.”

Eliza swallowed hard, glancing back at the girl. The child’s expression was full of lamentation, as though she could feel that she was failing to reach them, failing to make herself understood. But beyond the frustration of language, there was something deeper—an anguish so profound it ached to witness. The child’s small hands trembled against the fabric of her robes, her breath hitching in sharp, uneven gasps.

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And then, the dam broke.

The girl crumbled, sobs shaking her delicate frame as she curled into herself. Her tiny fingers clenched the white robes at her chest as if clinging to something that was already slipping away. It didn’t take long for Eliza to understand why.

Her mother.

The child’s mind was drowning in the memory of her mother’s death, in the terror of what had happened, and the loss she couldn’t yet comprehend. She wept, gasping between sobs, and Eliza could do nothing but hold her, brushing a hand gently over her silken blue hair as the girl clung to her like a lifeline.

But only Zanac knew the truth.

Only he knew that the Undine woman was still alive, resurrected in the depths of the prince’s chamber under an unholy spell. And Tenebrae had chosen to keep that secret—for now.

Eliza spent all day with the child. And all night.

The next day blurred into the next, and the next until nearly a week had passed. During that time, she had not seen Tenebrae once, and a part of her was relieved. The distance gave her time—time to heal alongside the small undine child, time to earn her trust, time to learn who she was. The first word she understood from the girl was her name.

Opal.

The name suited her. The child’s glimmering scales, speckled with hints of green and gold, caught the dim light of the Forever Moons, sparkling like jewels. Eliza often found Opal staring at them, her eyes filled with wonder.

“They’re beautiful, aren’t they?” Eliza murmured one evening as they sat together by the high-arched window of her chamber. Opal curled up beside her, and nodded silently, her small hands resting on her lap.

“You’ve never been here before, have you?” Eliza asked.

Opal shook her head, looking up at her with wide, searching eyes.

Eliza smiled softly. “Me neither. This is my first time here, too.”

There was a long silence before Opal spoke again. Her voice was quiet, uncertain.

“Do you… have family?”

Eliza hesitated. She could lie. She could tell Opal she had people waiting for her, people who loved her, people who wanted her. But that wasn’t the truth.

She shook her head slowly. “No. I don’t.”

Opal lowered her gaze, her expression unreadable.

“What about you?” Eliza asked carefully.

The young girl shook her head again, more forcefully this time, pressing her lips together as if holding back something painful.

“Me and Mommy are… unbound," she whispered, her voice cracking slightly. “We were kicked out of our waters. Shunned from our family.”

Eliza’s heart sank. “Why?” she asked gently. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

Opal was quiet for a moment, her small fingers tracing patterns on the windowsill. Then, in a voice so small it almost wasn’t there, she explained.

“Most Udine have fins and tails… but we can get legs on dry land, just for a little while. Only temporarily.” She hesitated, looking down at her feet, wiggling her small toes against the fabric of her robes. “But my legs are permanent."

Eliza felt a cold realization creep over her.

“My daddy was like you,” Opal continued, blinking up at her. “A hu-person."

Eliza’s breath caught. That’s why…

Her stomach twisted. She had known cruelty in her world—discrimination, abandonment, the way people turned their backs on things they didn’t understand. But this? A child being cast out for something she had no control over? For the mere fact that she had inherited her father’s humanity?

It was monstrous.

She clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself to remain composed as Opal continued.

“But the hu-people didn’t accept us either,” she murmured. “They didn’t like the way we looked. It’s been… hard. But me and Mommy were…” She sniffled, her voice breaking. “We were… making it…"

She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

Opal buried her face in her hands and broke. The weight of everything crashed down on her all at once—the death of her mother, the rejection of her people, the isolation of being alone in a world that didn’t want her. Her tiny shoulders shook as sobs wracked her small body.

Eliza didn’t speak. She just reached forward, pulling Opal into her arms, holding her tight as the girl wept against her chest.

“You’re not alone anymore,” Eliza whispered, resting her chin on Opal’s head.

The words felt both like a promise and a plea.

Another week had passed.

Eliza and Opal had grown closer, their days spent in quiet understanding. They shared meals, wandered the castle halls, and even sat beneath the Forever Moons, watching their silver glow ripple across the sky. The child still grieved, but she was beginning to smile again—hesitant, fleeting, but real.

Yet, despite the small comforts Eliza had found, one thing gnawed at her constantly.

Tenebrae.

Or rather, his absence.

Whenever she asked about him—whether it was Zanac, Lady Aura, or Mirabella—she was always met with the same dismissive responses.

“He is handling matters of the kingdom.”

“He is preparing for what is to come.”

“He is where he needs to be.”

Never a real answer.

Eliza tried not to let it bother her, but the more time passed, the more it did.

And worse still… she noticed Mirabella was spending more and more time near the prince.

It was irrational—stupid even—but Eliza felt a pang of something sharp whenever she saw the stitched woman vanish into the corridors near his room and study.

It shouldn’t matter, she thought to herself one evening. He’s a monster. A lich.

Yet, that argument held less weight now than it once had.

Because she remembered.

She remembered the way his glowing green eyes had looked at her that night, full of something raw and unreadable, telling her—I will never take you without your consent, because I am not a monster.

She had believed him.

But why did it feel like she was trying to convince herself that she didn’t care?

She pushed the thoughts away, swallowing back the bitter weight of memories from her old life—memories of her ex-husband, of his co-workers, of that damned office party that still made her stomach turn. Her grip on her fork tightened as the images flashed through her mind like distant thunder.

The laughter.

The way his friends had cornered her, the way Simon had allowed it.

The realization that she had married a man who thought so little of her that he would let it happen.

“Eliza?”

She blinked.

Opal was staring at her from across the dining table, her fork halfway to her mouth, eyes full of quiet concern.

Eliza exhaled sharply, forcing a small smile. “Sorry, I just…” She pushed back from the table. “I need a moment.”

Opal didn’t argue, though the concern in her eyes lingered as Eliza excused herself from the meal.

She needed to clear her head.

And she knew exactly how.

The slime bath was heaven.

Eliza had been terrified of them at first—who wouldn’t be? The thought of stepping naked into a living, gelatinous mass seemed insane. But now? It was one of the only ways she could truly relax.

The warm, translucent creatures surrounded her body, cleansing her without harsh scrubbing or oils. They devoured dirt and sweat, leaving her skin tingling and fresh, her muscles loose and relaxed.

She sighed, sinking deeper into the bath, letting the tension melt from her shoulders. The chamber was dimly lit, the moonlight from the high tower windows spilling across the polished stone like liquid silver.

Maybe I should just stop worrying about him.

She closed her eyes, trying to let go.

Then—

Dum dum… Dum dum. Dum Dum. Dum dum.

Her breath hitched.

The sound came from beyond the walls—low and steady at first, but then rising, beating faster.

Dum dum dum dum—tick dum tick dum—tick dum tick dum—

Drums.

Cymbals.

Music.

Eliza’s eyes snapped open.

The rhythm pulsed through her, thick and raw, vibrating against the walls, against her bones.

Her breath quickened.

She knew this sound.

She had heard it before.

Ten.

The slimes sensed her sudden movement and peeled away, dripping from her skin in soft, jelly-like ribbons as she stood. The water rippled as she stepped out, grabbing the nearest nightgown and pulling it over her damp skin.

She didn’t know why—

Didn’t know what—

But something about the way the music filled the air—dark, resounding, aching—made it impossible to ignore.

It was calling to her.

And she had to find its source.