Dark Whisperer

Ada awoke with a start, her breath catching in her throat. The room was still, shrouded in a dim, pale light that seeped through the cracks in the shutters. She sat up slowly, the sheets slipping off her as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her feet met the cool wooden floor, the chill seeping up through her skin, but there was no comforting warmth to drive it away.

She sniffed the air—no scent of burning wood. The usual crackle of the hearth, the familiar hum of a fire’s gentle flicker... absent.

Rising to her feet, Ada moved carefully, her movements slow and deliberate, almost afraid to disturb the stillness. She crossed the room to the water bucket beside the door, the ladle already in her hand before she realized she’d picked it up. She lifted it, expecting the familiar sound of water sloshing against wood, but there was only a dull scrape as the ladle dragged across the bottom.

Frowning, she peered inside - empty. Not even a drop. She swirled the ladle around once more, as if the water might appear if she tried again, but the bucket remained dry.

She let the ladle fall back with a dull thud, her eyes drifting to the door. She hesitated, then stepped out of her room, the floorboards creaking softly beneath her feet. The hallway was dim, the faint light filtering through the shutters barely reaching the walls. She moved quietly, almost on tiptoe, as if afraid to disturb something unseen.

As she reached the small hearth in the main room, she felt her heart sink. It was cold, dark, untouched. The kindling she had stacked neatly the night before lay exactly as she had left it, not a single twig charred or smouldering.

Had someone forgotten to light it? No... that wasn’t right. She always made sure it was set before bed, so it would catch easily in the morning. She crouched down, running her fingers over the kindling, feeling the rough edges, the dry wood brittle beneath her touch. Nothing. Not even a trace of warmth.

Her brow furrowed as she stood up, rubbing her hands absently on her arms as if trying to chase away a chill. “Mother?” she called out softly, her voice barely more than a whisper, yet it seemed to echo strangely in the stillness, stretching down the empty hall. She listened, expecting to hear the familiar rustle of movement, the gentle murmur of voices from the other room, but there was only silence.

She padded softly down the hall, her unease growing with each step. When she reached the doorway to her mother’s and Lina’s room, she hesitated, hand hovering over the doorframe.

Pushing the door open, Ada’s gaze drifted to Lina’s bed, tucked neatly beside her mother’s. It was unmade, the blankets strewn across the mattress, tangled as if hastily thrown aside. A small, pale pillow lay crumpled at the edge, half off the bed, and Elara’s side was empty, the sheets smooth and untouched.

Ada took a step closer, her heart beginning to beat faster. She reached out to smooth the sheets, but hesitated, her hand hovering just above the fabric.

The air felt stale, thick, like the weight of an old cellar, and she could smell something faint, almost sour, lingering just beneath the surface. She swallowed, trying to ignore the uneasy feeling crawling up her spine.

“Mother?” she tried again, louder this time. Still nothing.

She moved to the small window by the bed, brushing aside the curtain to peer outside. The world beyond was shrouded in a pale, hazy light, but she could see the street below. Empty. The snow that had once been piled against the houses was now just a thin, patchy layer, and there were no tracks, no signs that anyone had passed through.

“Lina?” she called, turning away from the window. “Are you there?”

The room remained silent, the shadows stretching unnaturally long across the floor. She stepped back, her hand slipping from the curtain, and moved toward the door. Her feet felt heavier with each step, as if the floor itself were trying to hold her back.

A prickling unease crawled up her spine. She pushed open the front door and stepped outside. Instead of the crisp bite of snow and familiar, white-blanketed streets, she met dry, cracked earth. The cobblestones were dusty, and the air shimmered with heat, as if it had been summer for a hundred years.

Gardens wilted beside homes, flowers shrivelled and brown. The well in the centre of the town stood abandoned, its bucket lying on its side, the rope frayed and useless.

Ada's eyes darted upward, and she froze, her breath catching. "What... how?"

She began to run, her footsteps echoing unnaturally in the stillness. "Does anyone see this?" she shouted. "Please, can someone tell me what's happening?"

Figures moved slowly through the town. She approached a group, their faces turned away. "You have to listen to me!" she pleaded, reaching out to touch a woman’s shoulder.

The woman turned, and Ada recoiled. Her skin was pale, dry, eyes sunken deep into her skull. "Why couldn’t you just do as you were told?" the woman rasped, her voice like the rustling of dead leaves. "We trusted you."

"What?" Ada stepped back, shaking her head. "I... I did my best."

"Not good enough," whispered another voice. Ada spun around to see her sister, Lina, standing with their mother, Elara. They were shadows of themselves, eyes hollow and accusing.

"Mother? Lina?" Ada's voice trembled. "What's happening? Please, tell me!"

"You never listen," her mother said, coldly. "You never fit in."

"Not good enough," Lina echoed.

Ada clutched at her chest, her pulse quickening. She glanced upward, flinching. The world darkened.

A murmur spread through the gathering crowd. More townspeople emerged, surrounding her. Their faces were gaunt, void of warmth.

"She’s the one to blame," someone said.

"Outsider,"

"Why can’t you do anything right?"

"No... no... I..." Ada stammered, backing away, her heart pounding. "Please, you have to believe me!"

The crowd pressed closer; their eyes fixed on her.

"Useless."

"We don’t need you."

"What have you done?"

She turned and ran, pushing through the wall of bodies. No matter how fast she moved, they were always just behind her, their footsteps echoing.

"Outcast."

"Why couldn’t you just be better?"

Tears blurred her vision. She darted down an alley, only to find herself in front of the storehouse. Standing on the steps was Daithi.

"Daithi!" she called, a flicker of hope igniting. "Please, help me!"

He looked down at her, eyes empty. "All you had to do was stay out of council business," he said flatly. "Look what you've done now."

"I did what I thought was best for the town," Ada cried. "I was just being me!"

He shook his head, slow and deliberate. "And that's exactly the problem."

The crowd closed in around her once more, whispers growing louder, overlapping, a cacophony of blame.

"Useless."

"Troublemaker."

"You've doomed us all."

Desperate, Ada pushed past them again, her lungs burning as she sprinted toward the edge of the town. She rounded a corner and nearly collided with Marin and his mother, Orla.

"Marin!" she gasped, breathless. "You have to help me! Please, something terrible is happening."

Orla stepped between them, her expression hard. "I told you, Marin," she said. "She is not good enough."

"No, that's not true!" Ada shouted. "Marin, you know me."

He looked at her, disappointment etched in his features. "What’s wrong with you, Ada?" he asked quietly. "Why did you have to be different?"

"Stay away from her," Orla's voice hissed, cold and sharp.

"Marin... please... I... I..." Ada reached out to him, her hand trembling.

He pulled back, shaking his head. "You should have just listened," he whispered, his voice distant. "Now it's too late."

A shadow fell over them. The air grew thick, suffocating. Ada looked up; eyes wide with horror.

She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. The faces around her blurred, melting into a dark, swirling mass.

The world crumbled, collapsing inward, and the last thing she heard was Marin’s voice, cold and unforgiving.

"This is all your fault."

She jolted awake, gasping for breath, her heart hammering against her ribs. Her bed was a tangled mess, soaked sheets clinging to her trembling form.

She lifted a shaking hand, staring at it.

Nothing.

Just a dream. It was just a dream.

But as she sat there, struggling to slow her breathing, a faint dampness brushed against her fingertips.

Her heart stuttered.

“No,” she whispered, voice thin and brittle in the empty room. She looked down, and her stomach twisted. There, on her sheets, was a single dark smear.

Water.

Or... something that only looked like it.

Ada shivered, drawing her knees up to her chest, her pulse loud in her ears. She squeezed her eyes shut, forcing the image away. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

But she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had followed her out of the dream. Something that now lurked just beneath the surface, waiting.

She stayed curled up like that for what felt like an eternity, listening to the silence of the night. The only sound the faint, distant murmur of the lake.

She didn’t dare look out the window.

Somewhere, far away, the lake’s dark waters rippled, a whispering sound that seemed to curl around her thoughts, like a call she could almost understand.

The morning came slow and heavy, weighed down by the lingering haze of the nightmare. Ada lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. The pale light of dawn crept in through the cracks in the shutters, casting thin, spider-like lines across the room. Her sheets were tangled around her legs, clinging damply to her skin as if they’d absorbed the terror of the night before. She shivered, goosebumps rising along her arms.

It was just a dream, she reminded herself again, but the words felt hollow. She could still hear the accusations, the harsh whispers of the townspeople, echoing in her mind. Their faces, twisted with blame, lingered at the edges of her thoughts. She pushed herself up, hugging her knees to her chest. She didn’t want to think about it.

The house was quiet. Too quiet.

With a deep breath, Ada threw off the covers and swung her legs over the side of the bed, wincing as her feet touched the cold wooden floor. She glanced around, half-expecting Lina to burst in, humming or chattering in her usual bright, bubbly way. But the hallway outside was empty, shadowed, and silent. A chill drifted through the house, an unnatural stillness that made her skin crawl.

Stop it. It was just a bad night. A shiver ran down her spine, and she rubbed her arms briskly, trying to warm herself. The fire should have been lit by now, but the hearth was dark, its ashes cold and gray. Elara would normally be here, bustling about and making sure everything was in order before the day began. But there was no sign of her mother—no soft murmur of her voice, no steady clatter of pots or rustle of linens.

And no Lina.

Ada’s stomach tightened as she quickly pulled on her clothes, her movements slow and listless. Even the familiar motions felt strange, as if her body were moving through syrup. She tugged her hair into a quick braid, the strands limp and uncooperative, before finally stepping out of her room.

The hallway was dim, the air heavy. Each step seemed to echo.

Ada poked her head into Lina’s room, half-expecting to find her sister still curled up under the blankets, but the small bed was empty, the sheets neatly smoothed over. Ada frowned. That’s not like Lina.

She made her way to the kitchen, glancing around for any sign of her mother. Maybe Elara had gone out early to the fields or to tend to some town business, taking Lina with her. But even that thought felt hollow. It was too early, too cold for Lina to be up and about without a word.

And besides... Lina never stayed quiet for long.

A flash of unease tightened around Ada’s chest, but she pushed it down. Just get on with the day.

The door to the shared room creaked softly, and Ada turned to see Lina standing in the doorway, her small frame silhouetted against the dim light filtering in from the hallway. Relief surged through her, but it was short-lived. Lina didn’t say a word. She just stood there, staring at Ada with wide eyes, her usually bright expression blank and unreadable. “Lina?” Ada called softly, stepping forward. “What are you doing, just standing there?”

Lina blinked slowly, as if coming back to herself. “I... I was looking for you,” she murmured. Her voice was small, barely more than a whisper, and it made Ada’s chest tighten further.

“Come here,” Ada said gently, reaching out. Lina shuffled forward, her gaze dropping to the floor. She clung to Ada’s side, but there was no bounce in her step, no playful teasing. Just... stillness.

“Where’s Mother?” Ada asked quietly, running her fingers through Lina’s tangled hair.

“Out,” Lina mumbled, shrugging slightly. She looked up, her eyes dull. “She went... out.”

That was all. No further explanation. Just that single, strange answer.

Ada bit her lip, swallowing against the rising sense of unease. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong, but Lina’s presence, even in this muted state, was a small comfort. She hugged her sister briefly, then drew back, forcing a smile.

“Let’s get some breakfast, hmm?”

She moved mechanically, going through the motions—stoking the fire, preparing a simple breakfast, tidying up here and there. But each task felt heavy, her limbs leaden. Her hands shook slightly as she wiped down the table, and she cursed under her breath when she accidentally brushed against the small pot of snow she’d set aside to melt. She recoiled.

It’s just water.

Rubbing her hand furiously on her apron until it was dry.

They ate in silence, the house still too quiet around them. Even the creak of the floorboards seemed subdued. Every time Ada glanced at Lina, her sister’s eyes were distant, unfocused, as if she were somewhere else entirely.

What happened last night?

She couldn’t ask. Not yet. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to know.

Ada and Lina moved through the motions of their morning, pulling on their cloaks and boots, the familiar routine feeling strangely out of place. Ada’s hands trembled slightly as she tied Lina’s scarf, her mind still clouded with remnants of the nightmare, but she forced herself to focus, to breathe. Once they were ready, she took Lina’s hand, and together, they stepped outside.

The world was transformed.

Ada hesitated, her breath catching as she took in the scene before her. Lina clung to her side, wide-eyed and silent, as if sensing that something was different.

The biting chill was gone. The air was still cold, but it had softened, the sharpness replaced by a subtle, unfamiliar warmth. A breeze stirred, brushing against their cheeks like a gentle whisper of change.

The snow that had blanketed the village just yesterday now lay in thin, fragile layers, barely clinging to the edges of rooftops and cobblestones. Dark patches of bare earth peeked through, dotted with tiny green shoots pushing up from the soil, defying the remnants of winter. It was as if the town had been holding its breath, waiting for this moment, and now it was slowly, cautiously beginning to exhale.

The narrow paths that wound between the houses were no longer thick with ice but slick with melting slush. The wooden fences, usually encrusted with frost, glistened with droplets of water, the icicles lining their edges shrinking into crystal beads that caught the early light.

Ada blinked, her mind struggling to grasp it. It was spring. Overnight, it had arrived as if the season had been hiding just beneath the surface, waiting for a signal. The village, no longer buried under winter’s harsh grip, was emerging—tentative and cautious, as if testing its limbs after a long hibernation.

It was eerie, how everything seemed the same yet different.

The narrow paths, usually packed with ice, were slick with melting snow. Wooden fences, once encrusted with frost, dripped with dew, droplets glittering like tiny jewels in the dawn light. Even the rooftops, which had groaned under heavy snow, were now clear, their eaves steadily dripping as icicles melted away.

The town was slowly stirring to life. Farmers leaned against doorframes, scanning the changed landscape, their expressions unreadable. A few women hurried out with baskets, quietly sweeping away the remnants of winter. Children darted past, shrieking, kicking up sprays of slush as they chased each other through the mud.

Yet, for all the movement and sudden busyness, a heaviness hung in the air. People spoke in hushed tones, their words swallowed by the strange stillness. Laughter was muted, smiles strained. They should have been rejoicing, celebrating the sudden shift of seasons, but there was no joy—just wary, puzzled glances exchanged behind drawn curtains and cautious steps on half-frozen ground.

Ada’s eyes roved over the scene, trying to take it all in. Spring, just like that? Overnight? It didn’t make sense. But there it was. The snow was melting. The earth was thawing. And no one had an explanation.

Lina, too, seemed awestruck. Her usual energy was subdued, her gaze wide as she took in the sight of bare ground and budding greenery. They walked in silence, neither willing to break the spell, their footsteps soft on the wet cobblestones.

Where’s Marin? The thought tugged at Ada, unbidden. He hadn’t come by that morning, something he almost never missed. Usually, he’d be there, teasing her, helping her through her chores before they ventured off together.

She tried to push the thought away, but it clung to her, dampening the fragile warmth that spring had brought. She glanced at Lina, who was still staring around, eyes bright with wonder.

They continued walking, the soft sounds of their footsteps and the distant murmur of voices filling the air. But Ada’s mind kept drifting back to the quiet, the change.

Something’s wrong, she thought, but she couldn’t quite place it.

The lake shimmered in the distance, its surface still, reflecting the pale sky. She glanced at it, a shiver running through her, and then turned back to Lina.

“Let’s go find Mother,” she said. “Maybe she knows what’s going on.”

They moved on, navigating the town as if it were the same as always, but every step felt like walking on thin ice.

As they passed through the market square, Ada’s gaze lingered on the stalls, now almost free of snow. The merchants, instead of shivering in their heavy coats, were shedding layers, sleeves rolled up as they examined their wares with fresh interest. The scent of freshly churned butter mingled with the sharp tang of thawing fish. Despite the sudden bustle, there was a wariness in their eyes, as if they expected the snow to return at any moment.

The town seemed to breathe differently today. The air felt thicker, the sounds muted, like they were all moving through water instead of air.

Lina skipped a few paces ahead, her tiny boots splashing in the half-melted snow. She twirled around, her face lifted toward the sky, the first genuine smile Ada had seen since they left the house. “Look, Ada!” Lina pointed at a cluster of wildflowers peeking out from beneath a patch of frost. “Pretty, right?”

Ada nodded absently, her gaze drifting.

“Where could Mother be?” Lina asked, her brow furrowing.

“Not sure.” Ada bit her lip, worry gnawing at her. Where is he? It wasn’t like Marin to not show up. They always met in the mornings, no matter what. Even if they had separate tasks, he always found a way to swing by.

The thought left a bitter taste in her mouth, her shoulders slumping slightly as they continued down the path.

Lina glanced up, eyes narrowing shrewdly. “What’s wrong? You’re making that grumpy face again.”

Ada sighed. “Nothing. I just—Marin didn’t come by this morning.”

“So?” Lina tilted her head, a sly smile forming. “You don’t need him every day, do you?”

“That’s not the point.” Ada scowled, but there was no real heat in her voice. “He’s just... he’s always here. And now he’s not.”

Lina’s smile widened, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Aww, does Ada miss her knight in shining armour? Poor big sister, all alone...”

“Lina!” Ada’s face flushed, her scowl deepening. “I do not—”

But Lina’s giggle cut her off. The sound was light and clear, bubbling up like a spring brook, and despite herself, Ada felt a smile tugging at her lips.

“Okay, okay,” Lina relented, still grinning. “Maybe he’s just running late.”

Ada shook her head. “Maybe. But... something just feels off, you know?”

Lina’s smile faltered for a moment, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. Then she shrugged, her expression brightening with forced cheerfulness. “Well, if it’s ‘off,’ we’ll just have to turn it ‘on’ again, won’t we?” She puffed out her chest, striking a ridiculous pose. “The Agnew sisters, off to save the day!”

Ada’s lips curled into a smile, unforced and bright, catching her by surprise. She reached out, tousling Lina’s hair with a playful touch. “You’re a handful, you know that?”

Lina stuck out her tongue. “And you’re too serious. It’s spring, Ada! Look around!” She gestured dramatically at the thawing town, spinning in a circle. “Everything’s changing! We should be happy!”

The words struck something deep within Ada, and for a moment, she stood still, staring at her sister’s beaming face. Everything’s changing. But was it really for the better?

Lina’s laughter broke through her thoughts, and she forced herself to relax, nodding. “Yeah... you’re right. Maybe I’m just overthinking things.”

“Definitely,” Lina said with a firm nod. “Now, come on! Let’s find Mother, and then we can—”

She stopped abruptly, her gaze flicking to the side. Ada followed her sister’s line of sight, her heart lurching.

There, just outside the blacksmith’s forge, stood Elara.

Relief swept over Ada, warm and sudden, but her feet hesitated, lingering in place. She stared across the slushy square at her mother’s familiar figure, caught between wanting to rush forward and the memory of last night—the sharp words, the disappointed gaze. It lingered, like a bruise that hadn’t quite healed. The memory made her pause, her heart tugged in two directions.

But Lina didn’t share her reservations.

“Mother!” she called, her voice bright as she sprinted toward Elara, kicking up tiny sprays of slush. The sound shattered the stillness in Ada’s mind, and she blinked, the fog of hesitation lifting just enough for her to follow, her steps measured and careful.

Elara turned slowly, her expression distant for a heartbeat. Then, as if sensing their gazes, her eyes sharpened, focusing. A warm smile bloomed, like the first flower of spring.

“Ada, Lina,” she said, arms opening wide. Lina threw herself into her embrace, giggling with relief.

Ada’s steps slowed. Her mother looked... different. Maybe it was the lingering emotions from last night or the strange haze of the morning, but there was something uncanny in how Elara moved—so calm, so gentle, so... normal. As if nothing had happened. As if the argument, the biting reprimand, the tension had vanished.

Lina snuggled into Elara’s side, babbling about flowers and the spring thaw, her voice a stream of words. Elara’s smile remained serene as she patted her youngest daughter’s hair, nodding along. But her eyes lifted, meeting Ada’s across the few steps still between them. For a moment, they just stared.

Elara broke the silence. “Good, you are both up,” she said, her tone light, almost absent, as if distracted. It was a far cry from her usual discipline.

Ada hesitated. That tone—it was the same one Elara used when she wanted to pretend everything was fine. Her mother was smoothing over last night’s fight, glossing it with a smile.

Ada’s fingers curled into fists, nails biting into her palms. The impulse to call her out, to demand an apology or at least acknowledgment, flared hot in her chest. But it withered under the weight of her exhaustion. She just didn’t have it in her today. Not after the nightmare, not after waking up to this strange, hollow spring.

She managed a stiff nod, her voice tight. “We were looking for you.”

Elara’s smile softened, but there was a glint of something else in her eyes, almost calculating. “Oh? I assumed you’d be with Marin.” She shifted the conversation effortlessly, her tone light and teasing, but there was an underlying edge—like she was guiding Ada to notice something she hadn’t yet.

Ada’s stomach tightened, and she glanced away. Not with him... he didn’t even come by. The thought stabbed at her chest, a quick, sharp pain. What if he’s avoiding me? What if... his mother really does want him to stay away?

“I... haven’t seen him yet,” she said slowly, forcing her tone to stay light. “He’s probably busy.”

Elara arched a brow, her lips curving into a knowing, almost playful smile. “Oh, I see. Well, don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll turn up.” She ruffled Lina’s hair, looking down at her fondly. “He always does, doesn’t he?”

Lina nodded eagerly, grinning. “Yup! Marin’s like a shadow—always there when you least expect him!” She giggled, glancing over at Ada. “He probably got lost in the mud or something. Maybe we should go rescue him?”

Ada let out a soft, choked laugh, caught off guard. “Maybe. Or maybe he’s just hiding from you, Lina. You do have a way of scaring people off.”

“Hey!” Lina pouted, but her smile returned a second later, bright and playful. “I do not! Marin likes me.”

“Only because you haven’t tried chasing him with that stick again.”

Lina’s pout deepened; her lips pursed in an exaggerated frown. “That was one time, and he totally deserved it! Besides, you’re the one he’s really scared of.”

“Is that so?” Ada tilted her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. The playful banter was... nice. Familiar. It steadied her in a way Elara’s strange smile and distant gaze couldn’t.

Lina nodded firmly. “Yup! You’re way scarier than me. I bet if you yelled, Marin would run all the way to the other side of the lake!”

“Good thing I don’t yell much, then,” Ada murmured, glancing sideways at her mother.

Elara’s smile didn’t change, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. Then, with a soft sigh, she stepped back, gently untangling herself from Lina’s embrace.

“Let us go,” she said softly, her tone gentle but firm. “We have a lot to do today. The town won’t wait, even if spring has finally come.”

There it was again—that odd note in her voice. Like she was relieved. But why? Ada’s thoughts churned as she followed Elara and Lina back down the slushy path.

Everything looked brighter, fresher. But that didn’t mean everything was fine.

As they made their way back, Ada’s eyes darted around the town square, scanning for a familiar figure. But there was no sign of Marin. No shadow in the alleyways, no tall form leaning against a fence. Just empty streets and townsfolk moving with quiet efficiency, their faces unreadable.

Where are you?

But there was no answer, just the soft drip-drip-drip of melting snow and the distant murmur of her mother and sister’s voices, blending into the strange, still silence of spring.

Ada kept her eyes on the ground, forcing her feet to move, one step at a time, hoping—praying—that everything would turn out fine in the end. Because if it didn’t...

No. She pushed the thought away. Not today.

“Keep up, Ada,” Elara called over her shoulder, her voice light and airy.

“Yes, Mother,” Ada murmured, her gaze drifting to the lake one last time before she turned away.

But in the back of her mind, the memory of her nightmare lingered, coiling around her thoughts like a shadow that refused to fade.