The Crimson Awakening
It felt like that day.
Dark, damp, and utterly foreign to her own body. Screaming would do no good; a gag was already wedged between her teeth, pressing hard against the roof of her mouth.
Move. Please, just move.
She thrashed her feet with desperate strength, but her wrists were bound behind her back and the effort gained her nothing. The more she struggled, the thicker the fog became, wrapping around her like the night she had been taken. A sob escaped her throat. She knew this was a lucid dream, yet she could not wake.
Then it happened.
A hot breath washed over her tear-streaked face. Two feet? No—one. Someone stood close, a man, judging by the sheer size of him. A chill raced down her spine. Forcing her stiff neck upward, she peered into the distance where a gas lamp glowed dimly through the mist.
Will I finally see his face?
Her heart hammered. Ignoring the frantic warning bells in her head, she forced her eyes wide—only for a large hand to clap over them without warning. Darkness swallowed everything. The rising alarm froze into ice.
The hand slid slowly down her face, lingering at her jaw. A familiar metallic tang mixed with something else, something new, flooding her nostrils. She instinctively stepped back and felt her bare foot sink into something soft and yielding.
I’m barefoot?
The sensation beneath her sole was far more vivid than any dream she remembered. Her heart plummeted. What came next was all too familiar: the lurch of falling, the dress slipping off one shoulder, the iron hook that would tear into her skin.
She clenched her teeth against the expected agony and squeezed her eyes shut.
“Kayla!”
The shout snapped her eyes open.
“Hah!”
The world had changed in an instant. She gasped for breath, struggling to gather her scattered thoughts. Through the curtain of her fallen hair she saw a woman shaking her by the shoulders.
“Oh, Lord. You’re awake?”
……Ah!
Dim dawn light filtered into the modest room. Lisa, the flat’s owner, clutched her rosary, eyes wide with alarm. Kayla lifted her head and spotted Noel, still in her cardigan, just descending the stairs. She pushed herself upright on the wooden floor.
What now?
People with strange afflictions like hers were often dragged to hospitals and locked away if their luck ran out. Ignoring the splitting headache, she searched for an excuse, but the thought that her secret could no longer be hidden left her vision darkening.
Clinging to a sliver of hope, she decided honesty was the only path left.
“I’m sorry……”
Her voice came out hoarse and cracked.
She swept her tangled hair back with trembling fingers and forced down a dry swallow.
“I sometimes sleepwalk—”
Before she could finish, Lisa’s face drained of color. She made a strange wheezing sound and staggered backward until she collapsed onto the floor.
“Oh dear!”
Noel, her own face ashen, bolted away in a panic.
Kayla watched in stunned silence, then tried to approach Lisa.
“Lisa.”
But Lisa thrust out a shaking hand still gripping the rosary, as though Kayla were the devil himself, keeping her at arm’s length.
“B-blood!”
Confused, Kayla followed the pointing finger and felt the breath catch in her throat. A long, ugly crimson stain had spread across the front of her white nightdress, just below the chest.
“This is……”
Blood? The word Lisa had uttered echoed meaninglessly in her mind as she examined herself. The sight of her mud-caked bare feet made her flinch; even her ankles were smeared with red.
Huh?
Something glinted on the dark wooden floor, catching her eye. She reached for it, only for Noel—now kneeling breathlessly in front of her—to intercept the motion. Noel wiped Kayla’s philtrum and chin briskly with a damp cloth.
“It’s nothing serious. Just a nosebleed.”
Kayla stared blankly at Noel, unable to believe her ears.
Noel met her gaze with a calm, steady look and gave a short nod.
“A nosebleed? Then why is it all over my chin… like some kind of vampire……”
Noel glanced over her shoulder at the still-frightened Lisa, her tone softening.
“Not the chin—the jaw. The jaw.”
She continued in a gentler voice.
“I’ve seen her have nosebleeds before.”
Kayla barely heard the rest. Her attention had locked onto the bloodstained paper knife lying on Noel’s knee, the white cloth now soaked crimson.
Ah… what have I done this time……
Kayla pulled on a brown bonnet that matched her hair and hurried to the front door. Outside, Noel was checking the cover of a public carriage large enough for six passengers. The navy beret made her look especially boyish today.
Only now learning that Noel had known about her sleepwalking, Kayla hesitated instead of climbing aboard at once. Noel approached at once, pulling a tightly rolled black cloth from her jacket pocket and pressing it into Kayla’s hand.
“I brought it just in case. But why do you have this? And what about the blood?”
Despite her actions, her lowered voice carried clear regret.
She had been thinking about the paper knife the entire time—why it had fallen beside Kayla, why it was stained with blood.
“Get in. People are waiting.”
Believing she had been dragged into something troublesome, Noel urged her forward and lowered the step. Kayla climbed aboard, then reached out and caught Noel’s sleeve just as she turned to leave.
“It isn’t mine. I don’t know why it was there, but I promise it won’t cause you any trouble. And…… thank you.”
Noel paused, lips parting as if to say more, but she only shook her wrist free and climbed quickly onto the driver’s seat, urging the horses toward the stop.
Soon familiar faces boarded the carriage—commuters traveling from Panahan to Duncan City, the capital of the Hasper Empire. Kayla retreated to a corner seat and offered silent greetings to those she had ridden with for nearly half a year.
As the carriage swayed, the passengers began sharing small stories from the previous night, their curious and envious eyes following the vehicles that passed them by.
“Unusually busy traffic today.”
“Tell me about it. Some dog was barking like mad at dawn.”
“A thief, maybe?”
“A thief in the stream? Our house is near the laundry area. It came from over there. Anyway, I couldn’t sleep and my head’s still pounding.”
Kayla, feeling the weight of her own guilt, kept her head lowered and pulled her jacket collar higher against the early spring chill. Because she had hidden her condition when she moved in, she might have to vacate the flat immediately. In the face of this bleak prospect she habitually rubbed the scar on her left shoulder, berating herself.
Her lowered gaze fell on the bag. At once her thoughts turned to the paper knife inside it. She replayed the events of the morning, sinking deeper into a troubled mire.
There had been no wounds anywhere on her body.
The amount of blood on her nightdress was too great, and the pattern too consistent with flowing rather than dripping, to be explained by a simple nosebleed. Her fingertips left her shoulder and traced the corners of her eyes as though searching for traces.
Suddenly the metallic, bitter scent returned.
What…… was that?
The smell felt familiar, yet just out of reach, and the frustration of almost recognizing it gnawed at her.
“Perfect timing.”
A fellow librarian greeted Kayla as she removed her bonnet and thick jacket.
“Inspector Owin York is here to see you.”
The name of her dear friend brought an involuntary smile to her lips. She had been planning to visit the police station anyway to discuss moving flats; this was convenient.
“Where is he?”
The colleague pointed upward with a finger.
“The director’s office. He wants you to come up right away.”
The smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. A summons from a high-ranking official so early in the morning—and Owin was there as well? The combination felt wrong.
Kayla stepped through the door opened by the director’s secretary and found Owin standing at attention in his dark gray uniform, police cap tucked under one arm. He was not alone. The man seated on the sofa, sipping tea, appeared to be his superior.
Owin turned sharply and their eyes met. His usually warm gaze was hard, and he seemed to be avoiding her eyes—an unsettling sight.
“Miss Moss.”
The library director, seated at his desk with a pipe in hand, drew her attention. Kayla bent her knees in greeting.
“No introduction is necessary, I suppose. You were once part of a police family.”
The man rising from the sofa wore a colorful shield badge on his chest that marked him as an inspector.
“It’s been a while. I saw you at your father’s funeral the year before last.”
She did not remember him, but she bent her knees again in greeting before turning to the director with a polite smile.
“I heard you wished to see me.”
“Ah, there are a few things I’d like to ask Miss Moss.”
The answer came from the inspector. She turned back to him.
“Would you accompany us for a moment?”
Kayla blinked in confusion, feeling the director’s gaze sharpen on her cheek.
“As a witness, that is.”