The Mark in the Morning

After a tiring day, Elara went to her room early. Her head throbbed, and she needed rest. Outside her window, the old orchard stood dark and still. She often felt unseen eyes from there, but tonight the feeling was stronger than ever.

She saw shapes shifting between the trees. Trying to be brave, she closed the curtains and lay down. Sleep came quickly, and with it, a nightmare. In the dream, a tall figure with no face pursued her through the twisting paths of the orchard. Her legs felt heavy as she ran.

She finally dared to look back and saw nothing. Relieved, she stopped to catch her breath. In that instant, a cold hand clamped onto her shoulder. The grip was like ice, sharp and shocking. She jolted awake, her heart pounding.

Sunlight streamed into the room. As she rubbed her eyes, a chill ran down her spine. There, on her shoulder, was a single, dark handprint. She has never worn a sleeveless shirt since.