Chapter 3

Cassandra woke with a gasp.

Her eyes flew open, and for a few seconds, she couldn't remember where she was.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn tightly over the windows, allowing only a thin line of morning light to slip through. Her breathing came unevenly, and her heart pounded so hard against her chest that she pressed a trembling hand over it.

She was drenched in sweat, Her hands were shaking slightly.

Cassandra slowly sat up, pulling the sheets around herself as she stared at the ceiling.

Again.

She had had that dream again.

For as long as she could remember, dreams like these had followed her. At first, they were been nothing more than strange flashes—places she never visited, people she never met, clothes she never worn.

But they became worse over the years.

More detailed and they felt more real.

Sometimes she woke up remembering entire conversations in languages she never heard before, only to forget the words minutes later. Other times, she found herself remembering dances she had never learned, her body somehow knowing movements she had never been taught.

That frightened her more than anything.

How could she know something she never learned?

She reached for the notebook on her bedside table, It was worn at the edges from years of use. She kept it hidden beneath a stack of books because she didn't want anyone finding it, especially her father.

Cassandra opened it and flipped through the pages.

There were lots of entries, descriptions of strange cities and old-fashioned clothing, a pair of hands holding hers and always, there was a man.

His face was never clear.

No matter how hard she tried to see him, something always seemed to blur his features. She could remember his presence, his voice, sometimes even the feeling of his hand against hers.

But never his face.

She hated that part the most because the emotions were always so strong.

Love,

Fear

Happiness

Grief

And sometimes, an unbearable sense of loss that followed her long after she woke.

Cassandra turned to a fresh page and began writing down what she could remember from the dream, this time she wore a white dress and when she raised her hands to her face, there was blood. Then a sharp pain hit her like she had been stabbed...that was when she woke up.

She paused, staring at the words. For the longest time she forced herself to believe they were nothing more than dreams.

That was what dreams were, strange and meaningless. A mixture of memories, imagination, and things the mind created while sleeping.

She repeated that explanation to herself so many times that she almost believed it. Because normal dreams did not teach you things and they certainly did not feel like memories.

Cassandra closed the notebook, she had never told her father about these things.

Arthur already worried too much about her. If she told him that she sometimes dreamed of living in places that didn't belong to her world, he would probably have half the doctors in the city examining her before the day ended.

She couldn't bear the thought , so she kept it to herself. She rubbed her temples and pushed the notebook aside.

"Just dreams," she whispered.

The words sounded weaker than usual.

She climbed out of bed and walked toward the window, pulling the curtains open.

Morning light flooded the room.

Cassandra squinted against it.

For a moment, everything felt normal again.

Then her thoughts drifted to Xavier and her stomach tightened.

She didn't understand why that man's face had become so difficult to ignore. She didn't even know him yet something about him pulled at her.

It wasn't simply attraction, although she couldn't deny that Xavier Vance was strikingly handsome.

There was something deeper that she couldn't put into words. When she first looked into his eyes at the gala, she had felt an inexplicable jolt run through her.

It was almost like recognition.

Why was she so drawn to a man she had no memories of....a man who had made it painfully obvious that he wanted nothing to do with her?

Cassandra remembered the way he had looked at her.

For one brief moment, his eyes were different.

soft, but then he had shut it down.

"I am not here to meet your daughter, King."

The words were so simple, yet they hurt more than they should have

She frowned at her reflection.

"Why do I even care?"

She didn't have an answer.

He was nothing but a rude, arrogant stranger who seemed determined to avoid her.

So why should she take the rejection so seriously.

Cassandra folded her arms.

Perhaps she was simply being foolish.

Maybe she had imagined the strange look in his eyes, there was nothing behind it at all.

But deep down, she knew she was only deciding herself.

She had felt something.

And the strangest part was that Xavier seemed to have felt it too.

She walked back to her bed and picked up her notebook again.

Her fingers rested against the worn cover.

For years, she had written down the dreams because she was afraid she would eventually forget them.

Now she wondered if she was wrong to dismiss them.

Maybe they meant something or they were simply her mind playing tricks on her.

She didn't know and until she did, she would keep recording every strange detail. Until she had answers they would be something only she would know.

That faceless man who continued appearing in her dreams seemed to have a connection in all of this.

Cassandra closed the notebook and held it against her chest.

Something was changing.

She could feel it.

The dreams were becoming stronger. Like something was fighting to be known, that was what scared her the most and she didn't know why it frightened her so much but she knew one thing.

Whatever was happening to her, she was no longer certain she could keep pretending that these were just a dream.