Seraphine Waterwood
The night was thick, almost suffocating.
A distant thud echoed through the walls, then another—closer this time.
Seraphine jolted upright in bed, chest hammering, eyes wide in the darkness. Her hair clung to her sweat-damp forehead as she pressed a trembling hand to her throat. The nightmare had come again—just like it always did. Memories she had tried to bury since childhood clawed at her mind: shadows moving, whispers calling, the helpless panic she had felt so many years ago.
The red digits on her clock glared back at her: 2:00 A.M.
Her legs swung to the floor, wooden planks cold against her bare feet. She reached for the half-empty glass of water on the nightstand, swallowing shakily. The house was silent, too silent. Moonlight spilled across the room, highlighting the neat, quiet corners she normally found so comforting.
She wandered through the cottage, checking the front door twice, her lamp casting long, trembling shadows on the walls. For a while, she tried to convince herself it was just a dream, nothing more—but the memories lingered. Her chest still heaved as she climbed back into bed, curling beneath the covers.
---
Morning arrived lazy and golden. Sunday. The kind of day made for quiet coffee and soft sunlight spilling across the cottage.
Seraphine brewed her coffee, savoring the rich aroma as it filled the kitchen. She prepared a small breakfast, the simple routine grounding her after the night’s unease. Once everything was ready, she went to the TV, letting the low hum of the morning news fill the room. The quiet was comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos of the city she so despised.
After a few moments, the thought of her unfinished assignment crept in. Setting aside the remote, she spread her notes across the living room table and began writing.
Almost immediately, the nightmare crept back into her mind—the shadows, the whispers, the childhood fear she could never quite shake. Her hands trembled slightly as sweat prickled her temples.
Then it happened.
A thud, sharp and sudden, followed by frantic rumpaging outside her door. Her heart nearly stopped. Every muscle tensed; she gripped her pen so hard it left impressions in the paper. Her breath hitched, sweat dripping down her back. Her childhood fears, long-dormant, surged forward with terrifying clarity.
Summoning every ounce of courage, she grabbed the lamp beside her and crept toward the door. Fingers trembling, she swung it open—
Three dogs tumbled across the porch, barking and tumbling over one another, chasing a deflated ball.
Seraphine let out a shaky laugh.
“Aww, it’s just you guys…”
The biggest of the three dogs wagged so hard its whole body swayed. She crouched to scratch behind its ears, the night’s fear slipping away with every happy bark.
“Come on, troublemakers,” she murmured, guiding them across the quiet lane toward Mrs. Alder, the silver-haired woman who lived two cottages down. Mrs. Alder’s little garden opened into the community’s tiny park—more benches than grass, but it smelled of lilac and old wood.
The grandmother looked up from her knitting, smiling as Seraphine returned her strays. They chatted briefly about breakfast and the restless weather, while the dogs tumbled and chased each other under the morning sunlight.
Then Seraphine noticed him.
Across the park, on a splintered bench beneath the oak, a man sat perfectly still—hood drawn low, cap shadowing most of his face. Something about the curve of his jaw, the tilt of his head, flickered in her memory. She had seen him before. Somewhere.
Before she could place him, a girl bounded into view—blonde, radiant, laughter too loud for the quiet park. She straddled his lap, looping her arms around his neck, pressing her lips to his as if no one existed beyond them.
He didn’t move. Not a shoulder, not a hand. Only his eyes shifted—lifting, locking onto Seraphine.
He continued kissing the girl, but his gaze remained fixed on her.
Seraphine froze. For a heartbeat, she couldn’t tell if she was remembering a dream or living one. Her stomach twisted, a sudden chill crawling down her spine, as though the quiet park had turned into a stage and she had walked into the wrong scene. Nevertheless she walked away.
Seraphine’s hands lingered on the dogs’ heads a moment longer before she let herself smile. She bent down, letting her fingers run through the soft fur of the biggest dog. The smaller ones nudged her gently, tails wagging like little metronomes.
Then her eyes wandered. She gazed across the cottages and the tiny park beyond, breathing in the crisp morning air. The world outside seemed almost unreal in its tranquility—every leaf shimmering in the soft sunlight, the faint rustle of a bird, the distant swish of a wind-blown branch. It was a heaven of silence, and she adored it.
She shivered slightly, not from cold, but from the contrast her mind painted: the city. The chaos, the honking, the crowds, the smog, the endless noise, each minute screaming its own story. She hated it. She hated the endless clamor of people jostling for space, for attention, for nothing at all. Here, in this quiet pocket on the outskirts of Ebonvale, she could breathe. Here, the world belonged to her.
Guiding the dogs gently, she walked toward Mrs. Alder.
“Good morning, Mrs. Alder,” Seraphine murmured, cheeks still flushed.
The old woman smiled warmly. “Morning, dear. Lovely day, isn’t it?”
“Yes… very,” Seraphine replied, exchanging a few polite words about the weather and the dogs before retreating to her own cottage.
Once inside, she slammed the door almost reflexively and sank to the floor, lamp still in hand. Her cheeks burned; her heart still raced. Introverted and shy, Seraphine had never been good at sudden social interactions—or surprises like this.
After a few moments, she gathered herself and returned to her desk. She opened her books and tried to focus on the assignment, but the memory of the nightmare lingered, gnawing at her mind. Hours passed in a rhythm she found almost meditative: coffee, notes, glances outside at the slowly fading light.
By the time the clock ticked 11:00 P.M., Seraphine finally closed her books, dimmed the lights, and slipped into bed. The cottage was calm again, her breathing even, and sleep, slow and steady, carried her into the night.
