DARIIA GANAGA
THE PHYTIA’S DIARIES
The Voice of the Gods
PART I
This book is dedicated to everyone who has crossed my path in recent years—you are all my family.
Introduction
«Time—the guardian of my soul. I, daughter of Achelous, beseech the freedom of my soul, body, and mind.»
Her voice held ancient power. It resonated like a sacred sistrum. The vibrations rippled through the void. They scattered into silver tremors, breaking the silence of the night. In the quiet desert, even the sands were silent. Her breath, filled with eternity, drifted like a gentle breeze. Only the gods could hear it. Though her words weighed on the wind, they echoed in her heart, unanswered and heavy.
Here, time did not exist. No boundaries, no limits—only her.
A young woman stood alone in the vast desert, where golden dunes undulated like waves upon a frozen sea. She raised her palms toward the heavens.
Her long brown hair flowed in the unseen heat. Strands brushed against her bare back with a gentle touch, but she remained still. The thin fabric of her dress rippled over her body, swaying with the gentle wind.
Golden sands swirled around her feet. She stood at the center of eternity, where the past and future could not reach her. Time flowed around her but never touched her. The grains spiraled, sticking to her youthful skin. Her gaze was steady, silent, and strong, focused on infinity like a lightning strike.
The sands danced at her command, swirling in graceful patterns, ready for her next move.
A slender hand reached for her throat. A glass pendant—an hourglass—hung still against her chest. Her fingers brushed its delicate surface, seeking the power that shaped her fate. This pendant was older than empires, older than language and knowledge. Inside it, grains of time flowed, connecting her soul to the endlessness of existence.
«O Gods, whose breath upholds the vaults of heaven, the earth, and the peaks of Olympus.»
O keepers of fate, whose hands weave the paths of mortals into the fabric of the world!
I am the Daughter of Achelous. Not by my will have I become the Priestess of Time.
I beseech thee—grant me the freedom of my soul, my body, and my mind.
Release me from my gift.
Sever the bonds that ensnare my days!
Let the memory of the ages abandon me. Let time stop flowing through my soul.
May I forget the centuries. May the tide of time be cast from my spirit!
Let me become mortal, that I may know impermanence, love, and drown in oblivion.
The Gods withheld their answer.
The priestess gripped the amulet with all her strength. Her stare cut through the infinite darkness. Her resolve was unyielding.
She raised her hands, and the storm obeyed. Winds roared from either side, hurling sand into the sky. The air split apart, torn by unseen forces. Then, a Voice echoed across centuries, proclaiming:
«Your fate is unyielding. You may shape the paths of mortals, but you cannot change your own.»
She stood resolute.
«You have given me Power and Strength. I know who I am. And I know that I have a Choice.»
The wind howled, lifting pillars of light and dust. The space around her trembled. And at last, the Voices of the Gods, to whom she had called, answered.
Your passage is beautiful—lyrical, strong, and profound. I made minor edits for clarity, flow, and impact while keeping your poetic voice:
“You have sealed your fate.””
“For centuries, I have wiped the memories of mortals, scattering them into the sands of time.”
I guard the days. I remember the ages. I bind them together, yet I have no right to break the chain. But I no longer wish to remember. I no longer wish to know.
Give me freedom.
Give me oblivion.
Give me a life I have never known!
What is eternity without the fire of the heart?
What is knowledge without the right to forget?
What is power without passion, without love—without life itself?
“You seek freedom, but you will find only new chains.”
You sever the bond, but you do not break your fate.
You shatter eternity, but you become its prisoner.
Her gaze—deep and brown, like the shadowed surface of an ancient lake—flared with icy resolve.
No fear. No hesitation. Only silent defiance, cast at fate itself.
Her lips pressed together, sealing the final word she refused to utter.
Then she did what none before her had dared.
She defied fate. She defied the gods.
“Time—her curse.”
Her gift.
Her bond to the divine.
The Priestess of Time grasped the medallion with a firm grip. Its shimmering sands held centuries—grains of time trapped in one form. She felt like one of them, stuck and suffocating in a world she longed to escape.
Fragile glass shattered beneath the force of her fingers. The sands of time spilled into her palm.
In that instant, a Voice thundered across the heavens:
“You are making a mistake. You are an ancient force. There is no escape from it.”
The words echoed over the dunes, carried away into eternity.
She knew her power, but deep within her, another force burned—one that longed for release. One that craved true Freedom. Renunciation.
“Your choice is your burden.”
Something cold tightened around her ankle.
The sand swirled around her foot, creating a divine seal. It looked like a chain-bound bracelet, marking her submission. The shifting grains mixed with the broken pieces of the medallion.
The storm surged, engulfing her silhouette in a vortex of dust and golden light.
“You will know life and its burdens, but you will remember everything. Every breath. Every step. Every life you have lived. You will seek oblivion, but it will reject you.”
She did not waver.
“Then let me receive the curse of life.”
Let it be my fate to remember, but to experience love.
Let me know pain, and let me learn what it means to be mortal.
And then, the heavens parted.
The sands stilled.
Time relented.
Light flared in her palms—silver and blinding. Two spirals coiled toward the sky like serpents at the feet of the gods. They lunged upward with a fierce desire for food. With each twist, her power faded.
Time fled like a river swallowed by the thirsty Earth.
She saw paths never walked by humans. She heard words that someone had not yet spoken. She knew how stories would end before they began. She could hide truth in mist, cover images with illusions, and change fate with a simple flick of her fingers.
But her power was fading.
A tremor ran through her hands.
Her fingers clenched in a futile attempt to grasp the ungraspable.
But the tides of destiny were no longer hers to command.
They drifted away, dissolving into the heights, carried by the will of the gods.
Then the sand rose.
It swirled in fury, like a beast unchained.
It no longer followed her steps.
It was passing judgment on her.
And that which had been eternal became fleeting.
The air, once weightless and unseen, grew heavy.
Her lungs filled—not with eternity, but with life.
Her feet sank into the sand, yet it did not coil around them; it did not heed her will.
Not possible to remove the adverb. Indifferent. Unyielding.
Her flesh gained weight.
Her blood flowed, but no longer carried the currents of the stars.
Her heart beat, but it no longer echoed the chorus of creation.
And in that moment, as the circle of time closed, she understood.
She had become human.
Chapter 1 Our Time
Ice cubes clinked as they tumbled into glass tumblers, disappearing beneath the noise of voices and the jagged pulse of the bass. Bartenders moved in perfect sync—like a ship’s crew braving a storm—gliding past each other with seamless precision. No collisions. No missteps. the rapid shake of mixers, the steady pour of liquor, the unbroken cascade of orders.
Tanned hands scattered ice with ease. The sharp clatter made a rhythm, like a xylophone. Streams of liquor flowed from shakers and bottles. They filled glasses with amber glows, shifting under flickering lights.
The crowd filled the bar. Hands reached out with enthusiasm. Voices clashed as people shouted orders. Whistles pierced the air, and palms slammed against the counter.
“Two whiskeys!”
A man’s voice drowned in the collective roar.
“Margarita, no salt!” Someone waved cash, desperate to catch attention.
“Gin and tonic!”
“Damn it, hurry up!”
People fought for the bartenders’ attention. Desperate people shouted to be heard. The black bar gleamed with scattered liquor droplets. Glass bottles caught the light, breaking it into sharp, colorful reflections that flickered across the walls.
The air hung thick—heavy with heat, whiskey’s sharp bite, and the bright sting of fresh-cut citrus. The counter never emptied. One set of hands claimed their drinks, only for another to take their place—an unrelenting tide of bodies, reaching, grasping, drinking. Seeking escape.
The club thrummed with high voltage, raw energy crackling through the crowd. Eyes locked. Fingers brushed in fleeting touches. Flashing lights carved out silhouettes from the darkness, only to erase them the next moment.
A woman in a silk leaned into the mirror, someone smudged her name, written in red lipstick, on the foggy glass. It was hard to read. With a slow flick of her wrist, she erased it, lifting a glass to her lips, savoring the sharp taste of anonymity. At the bar, a man played with his wedding ring. He rolled it between his fingers, unsure if he should let it drop into his bourbon. It felt like an anchor, holding him back from disappearing completely.
In the shadows, a dark-haired girl leaned into a stranger’s ear, murmuring a name that wasn’t hers—light as a breath, fleeting as a lie. Dancers on the podiums moved under bright neon lights. Their bodies flowed like liquid mercury, bending and breaking in sync with the intense rhythm. Pairs melted into darkness. Hands wandered unfamiliar landscapes. Lips met in quiet conspiracies.
No one came here to remain themselves. They peeled off their skins like old regrets, slipping into the lives they longed for, even if only for a night.
Lips met. Hands explored unfamiliar territory. On the podiums, dancers arched under neon floods, their bodies liquid, hypnotic, moving in perfect sync with the fevered rhythm.
The oval bar at the club’s center divided the space into two distinct realms—like a stage where the same play unfolded night after night. On one side, the dance floor: a vortex of movement, music, and heat. On the other, the lounge: velvet-draped and slow-burning. Deeper still, behind glass tables laden with opulent drinks and decadent platters, the VIP section loomed in the haze of cigar smoke. There, hushed voices murmured over negotiations. They decided fates. Deals struck. Women bought.
At the center of it all — a girl named Anna.
She perched at the edge of the barstool, her body leaning forward enough to keep distance from the chaos. The leather of her coat absorbed the neon light, swallowing it whole, refusing reflection. Crossing her legs, she shifted, the material stretching, whispering as her boot scraped against the metal footrest. The heel slipped, becoming briefly ensnared in something sticky. A flick of her toe freed it. Her lips moved, tightening into an unreadable expression.
From here, she could see everything.
The night roared around her . Glass shattered. Laughter flared and then died in an instant. Music pounded through the hot, sweaty air. Voices layered together—stories, confessions, and whispered deals traded like currency. The bar buzzed with movement. Bodies pressed forward, hands raised to signal the bartenders. Drinks disappeared as soon as they hit the counter.
Faces drifted past—some painfully familiar, others mere shadows of the past—but each had once been significant to her. Recognition flickered for a moment, then faded in an instant. They were near, moving, laughing, speaking, their voices blending into the hum of the city. And yet, between her and them stretched something vast, invisible, immeasurable.
She had lived in this city for years. She built her life brick by brick. She hoped to feel its pulse one day. She wanted to matter to them as much as they mattered to her. But they never allowed her to become part of their circle. She memorized them all. She watched them for years. She studied their gestures and absorbed the rhythm of their lives. It felt like she was trying to weave herself into their reality.
But it had all been in vain, like chasing something lost in the fog. She knew their stories. Who had betrayed whom, who loved in secret, whose desires remained buried, who cheated, who met in the dark, who spun webs of deceit. No words, no gestures—the quiet understanding that she knew them, knew everything about them, about each one of them. And yet, nothing created a true connection between her and these people. She had been a silent observer of their lives, but she never engaged in their world.
Anna knew their secrets, every tangled thread they attempted to conceal from one another.
And yet, despite it all, they were still hers. This city—its streets, its air, its secrets, its people—it held her captive, tethered her to it in ways she couldn’t explain. They were all caught in an unseen web. It felt like they were under a blanket, tied together by something more than chance. These connections, unseen by most, flowed through their lives like fine threads. They bound them together in ways they would never understand.
And then there was the fear—thick, suffocating, creeping into her chest like a tide rising too fast to escape. Everything she had built, everything that had once seemed permanent, was slipping through her fingers like melting ice. A cold certainty settled deep inside her—this world, this life, these people… soon, they would no longer be hers.
As if her entire existence, this city, and all who inhabited it had begun to dissolve into the currents of time.
Why are these people so important to me? she asked herself.
Anna’s attention caught on Esther, seated beside her, drawing the hall into her orbit with effortless ease.
Esther laughed, filling the room with sound. It rolled through the air like fizz from champagne. Her long platinum ponytail flicked in a sharp arc, shimmering like the tail of a golden fish slicing through water. Every movement and turn of her head caught the light. Her extravagant outfit, a cascade of sequins and silk, clung to her like liquid stardust. It made her glow, as if someone had dipped her in gold.
She threw her head back, exposing the sleek curve of her throat, her body arching into the moment as if gravity itself yielded to her delight. The room tilted toward her, drawn in by the magnetism she exuded without effort.
A dark-haired man, tanned and lean, let his fingers glide over the smooth silk of her dress—slow, deliberate, exploring. The touch was neither rushed nor hesitant, a quiet claim rather than a request. He was testing, waiting, yet never doubting the outcome.
She didn’t resist.
Esther allowed him to press something sweet to her lips. She parted them enough to accept it, feeling his warm fingertips linger for a moment longer than expected. She held the taste on her tongue, savoring the indulgence. Aphrodisiacs. He was feeding her like a decadent offering, and she—like a queen on her throne—allowed it.
And then—everything collapsed.
The air around Anna pulled inward, folding in on itself, pressing tight against her ribs.
Light shrank. Sound snapped out of existence.
The people remained, but frozen—blurred edges, figures half-formed, trapped between seconds.
All except for her.
Somewhere between past and future, she hovered.
Weightless. Untethered.
Her awareness moved like a specter through the crowd, brushing against them, absorbing. The heat of bodies too close. The tang of sweat and perfume fusing into something intoxicating. The pulse of the music drumming deep beneath her skin. Laughter curling through the air. Secrets slipped between lips, unburdened in the safety of the dark. The hunger of strangers, fleeting, electric.
She took it all in, let it settle, let it fill the empty spaces.
She was everywhere and nowhere at once.
A thought surfaced, unbidden.
What if she existed only as an echo?
A shadow without weight, without consequence?
If she slipped away now, dissolving into the night, would anything shift?
Would anyone notice?
The mirror behind the bar fractured her reflection, distorting light, pulling motion into liquid shapes. Faces blurred, stretched, melted. Nothing solid. Nothing real.
The city pulsed around her, alive, relentless.
And yet, the thought pressed deeper—nothing lasted.
No one saw the moment things began to disappear.
For too long, thoughts of death had settled at the edges of her mind, quiet, waiting. She had learned to drown them out, push them aside, bury them under movement, sound, touch.
But silence always found a way in.
The weight of it coiled in her chest.
Her fingers traced the fragile stem of a champagne glass, condensation pooling beneath her touch.
Cold bled into her skin, but she didn’t pull away.
The champagne remained untouched—golden bubbles locked in stillness.
Her breath caught for a moment.
Droplets clung to her fingertips, slick, fleeting.
A reminder of how things slipped away with ease.
The night carried on, unaware of her presence.
A thousand fleeting moments flared and burned out, unnoticed. No one sensed how she dissolved into the rhythm of their movements, how she slipped between the beats of the music. A pause between heartbeats. A breath before a kiss. A second before a touch. She existed in the in-between, seeping through the cracks of time itself.
Her gaze swept across the club once more, searching—for something.
Something to fill the void.
Something to grasp.
A tether to the present.
Laughter. The heat of bodies pressed too close. The scent of spilled drinks and burning citrus peels. Everything felt alive, but too fleeting.
Her hand drifted along the bar’s edge, fingertips grazing its uneven surface. Scratches. Sticky traces of spilled alcohol. Proof that this place had existed long before her and would remain long after.
But not her.
Not them.
A deep inhale.
Skin. Smoke. Perfume.
The city wrapped around her—close, yet indifferent.
Her grip slackened, the glass tilted, but she caught it before it fell. The cold weight grounded her, an anchor to something real beneath her fingers.
She wanted to belong to this night, to these people, even if they never knew her name.
Even if no one noticed when she disappeared. She loved them with all her heart.
Music, once deafening, now echoed with a muffled quality, as if heard through water. The lights dimmed, shadows stretched, shifting into unnatural forms.
Dancers began to vanish in a gradual and surreal manner. Their bodies faded, outlines blurring, faces melting into golden masks of ancient women. Fabric dissolved, revealing sheer tunics clinging to their skin.
The wine in their cups thickened, darkened like blood.
Gold flickered along their thighs, catching the glow of unseen flames.
The air thickened, pressing against her ribs, dense with something beyond time.
Anna dug her fingers into the bar, pressing into the cold wood.
Reality wavered.
The present fractured, surrendering to another place, another era.
The scent of burning myrrh and ancient stone filled her lungs.
Something crunched beneath her feet.
She looked down.
No more wooden floorboards slick with spilled liquor. Now, beneath her lies cracked marble, veined with the markings of centuries.
She took a careful step forward.
Then another.
The sounds of the party receded, distant now, an echo bouncing between towering columns.
Anna made a quick turn.
The nightclub remained, beyond the veil.
Its chaos pulsed undisturbed. Neon bursts exploded into the air, fireworks scattering in golden embers above the crowd. The air hung thick with cigarette smoke and the sharp tang of alcohol. In the dim light, VIP guests lounged on leather sofas. Champagne flowed in abundance, and bodies intertwined in a state of relaxation.
Anna blinked —
And reality cracked.
Two worlds tore apart.
In one—strobe lights flashed. In the other—torch flames flickered. The acrid sting of club smoke curled into something older, resinous, the scent of ancient incense thickening the air. Where sleek leather couches used to rest against dark walls, carved marble benches now lined the banquet hall. Their surfaces have become smooth over time.
The people remained.
Anna moved forward, her steps silent against the cold marble. Shadows flickered in the firelight—blurred figures, half-formed, slipping between dimensions. Voices wove together, thick as honey, dissolving into the hush of harps, the slow trickle of wine into golden cups. The feast stretched on, but the guests seemed weightless, imprints left behind by another time. Their edges wavered, as if reality itself struggled to hold them in place.
A draft swept through the ancient hall, billowing through the drapery, peeling away layers of concealment.
Anna shuddered.
A veil of fabric quivered—weightless, moving without touch. It lifted, carried by something unseen, beckoning her into the space beyond.
Beyond it—bodies entwined in silk, their shapes fluid, merging in the candlelight. Slow, unhurried movements. A languid haze of pleasure. Men and women, draped in the softness of sheer linen, their bare skin luminous beneath the fire’s glow. Drops of thick, pomegranate-red nectar slid down collarbones, tracing the ridges of spines.
Laughter rose—muffled, syrupy, slipping through the air, drowning in the perfume of burning myrrh and heavy wine.
The sheer fabric swayed, revealing glimpses of entwined bodies, bare skin glowing in the flickering light. A mouth traced the hollow of a throat, warm breath melting against flushed skin. Movements were slow and easy. Hips rolled, muscles tightened, and bodies pressed together in a quiet rhythm. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and heat, of something deeper, older, carried in the gentle slide of limbs against one another.
A hand, smooth and deliberate, skimmed the arch of a back, pressing into the warmth of another. Fingers curled, not in possession but in worship, learning the shape of pleasure through the press of lips and the glide of damp skin. Somewhere beyond the veil, a breath caught, a sigh lengthened into a low, trembling sound. Shadows danced and shifted, moving with a deep, sacred rhythm. Bodies intertwined in an endless pull of desire.
Anna’s pulse quickened, the weight of it heavy in her veins.
Bare skin gleamed under a light dusting of gold powder. The illusion of modesty faded with each slow, careful movement.
A dancer, golden as the desert, circled her like a whispered promise, silk and shadow entwined. A sheer veil of soft pink fabric clung to her hips, slipping and shifting as it teased the air with its minimal concealment.
She moved closer, the space between them dissolving like the veil that floated around her body. Every step and arch of her back brought her closer. She glided, curving around Anna. Her presence pressed against the heat of the moment.
Her fingers painted invisible patterns through the haze, trailing heat, leaving the ghost of spice and embers in their wake. The warm scent of burning resin filled the air. It was intoxicating and thick, holding something ancient that pulsed beyond time.
Her body brushed against Anna's. It was a slow, intentional shift. Their movements melded into the space between them, skin almost touching, but not quite. A tease of warmth. A breath away.
She moved like a ghost spun from gold and fire—fluid, untouchable, lost between worlds.
She never saw Anna.
But Anna saw her.
Felt her.
The space between them thinned. Heat curled around their bodies, thick, electric. A slow shift, a thigh brushing hers, a shoulder grazing her arm, the soft weight of a breast lingering for a breath, then pressing closer.
Anna didn’t pull away.
Her fingers wove into the dancer’s cascading hair, sinking deep, gripping. The strands slipped between her fingers like silk spun from midnight, thick, heavy, alive.
Her other hand trailed lower, grazing the curve of a hip, tracing the shape of a thigh beneath the sheer fabric. The dancer moved with her, never resisting, never acknowledging—only existing within the moment, within the touch.
A breath, warm and sweet, spilled against Anna’s lips.
Then—a shift. A hesitation.
Their mouths met with a slight touch. Lips grazing, lingering. A whisper of warmth.
Anna pressed her palm firmer against bare skin, feeling the shiver beneath it.
The dancer’s chest trembled, a soundless hum escaping her throat, vanishing between them.
For a heartbeat, reality unraveled.
Nothing existed but heat, silk, and the press of a body against hers.
Too real. Every sensation pressed in, undeniable, wrapping around her like heat, like breath. Touch, scent, warmth—all consuming, making disbelief impossible.
« He was born into the night with the blood of Uranium. He waits for you—no one can escape fate."
The dancer murmured in a voice laced with mystery—then vanished.
Anna moved forward, past the banquet, deeper into this world unstuck in time.
Each step careful. Each movement drawn tight with quiet restraint.
A shiver crept beneath her skin.
This place breathed. It touched her back. It called to her, whispering of something more.
At that moment, Anna understood—this world was not a dream.
It breathed, pulsed, reached for her, pulling her deeper into its core.
A voice curled through her mind, neither male nor female, neither young nor old—timeless, knowing.
“Here they are—the gods of the night, at the peak of their dominion. They shaped the fates of mortals. Thousands of years have passed, yet nothing has changed. Just like you, Anna.”
She stood on the border between ages, struggling to grasp the truth.
Two realities layered over each other, neither yielding. Time did not flow; it shifted, like sand revealing hidden layers of existence.
The flickering glow of torches wavered against cold concrete walls. Neon bursts ignited the air, dissolving into shimmering trails. Wine merged with champagne, cascading over bare skin, its aroma thick, sharp, intoxicating.
Harps and basslines throbbed together—two rhythms, discordant yet beating within the same heart.
She no longer remembered what it was like to exist without these visions. Without voices skimming the edges of her consciousness. Without the signs that followed her.
Time.
Did it exist?
And if it did, what was it? A shape, a weight, a place?
Anna stepped forward—
And froze.
A breath caught in her throat.
Fingers clenched tight.
What if this was a vision and not something else?
What if she was seeing the past—and it waited for her to understand it?
But why?
At the far end of the ancient hall, a soft glow seeped through the heavy drapery, flickering like a distant mirage.
She moved toward it, knowing—whatever lay beyond, she had no choice but to face it.
Her palm grazed the thick fabric. Her fingertips pressed into the woven threads. Then, she pulled the crimson curtains apart.
A burst of white light—
The world shattered.
A tide of brilliance surged through her, hurling her deeper—
Down, past layers of time, into the very roots of her consciousness.
Another scene unfolded before her eyes.
Night.
An endless sea stretched to the horizon, where water bled into sky, becoming a single abyss. Moonlight glazed the waves, silvered their peaks, casting its glow over the delicate figure of a girl seated in a wooden boat.
A cradle upon the water.
She looked untouched by time.
But fear did not belong to her.
Anna saw through her eyes.
This dream had pursued her for years. Returning. Again. Again.
Every detail etched into memory—
The vast night sea.
The gentle sway of the boat.
The whisper of fabric.
The wind combing through strands of hair.
The slow lull of waves kissing the hull, rocking her like a child in a cradle.
She lay at the bottom of the boat, white silk pooling around her, luminous in the moonlight. The salted air wove itself into her skin.
Her gaze fixed on the sky.
Stars spilled across the darkness, constellations carving a map where the Milky Way traced an invisible path.
But to where?
She did not know.
Beneath that infinite sky, in the hollow of the boat, her lips moved, releasing a whisper into the night.
“Father Chaos, give me an answer.”
Darkness shuddered.
Time shifted.
The past world crumbled once more.
A blinding flash tore through space and pulled Anna back. Back to the present. Back to the nightclub.
Weight rushed into her limbs, the undeniable gravity of reality anchoring her in place.
Spotlights flared in sync with the pounding music. Thousands of white napkins and rose petals burst into the air, spiraling like birds caught in a storm.
The song—DJ Goja – I Never Let You Go—filled the space. It stretched and vibrated, making the world feel like it was unraveling. Everything seemed to slip away into something new.
Anna remained here.
Yet the voice from the past, old and chilling, slithered into her mind like a snake. It bound her thoughts and wrapped her in its power, forcing a different reality onto her own.
“All stories, since the dawn of time, have faced one fate—to end.
But not this one.”
The words settled in her, heavy as prophecy.
“Not by my will did I become the Priestess of Time,
Erasing memories to dust,
Scattering them into the sands of eternity.
Each grain—
A page of my life.
Past. Future. Present.
I remember everything.
Every breath. Every step. Every life.
Behind the veil of centuries, I am bound by my own sins,
And now, they stand before me.
For too long, I have been silent,
Locking these words behind seven seals of truth and despair.
No one was ever meant to know of our meeting.
I have carried this love for too long,
Bound by oaths—
Years, epochs, centuries.
I ran.
And defying fate itself,
I shattered these memories into dust,
Scattered them across the sands of the desert,
Imprisoning myself in the search for truth without realizing it.
The voice bled into vision.
A memory not her own.
“Someone never meant for us to speak of our meeting.”
Seven seals held these secrets, shut tight like the doors of ancient Babylonian temples.
“With you, but without you.
Without soul. Without God.”
Through the haze, Anna saw them—a man and a woman, standing beneath the night, bound in an embrace.
A garden bathed in moonlight. Towering cypress trees stretched toward the sky, shrouding them from the world.
The night cloaked them, sheltering them from prying eyes.
His whisper slipped into the darkness.
Their lips met—not in fleeting passion, but in a vow, in a promise stronger than words.
And then—
A crack.
A wooden beam snapped.
Flames surged, ripping the night apart.
Fire devoured everything in its path, its reflection flickering in the wide, dark eyes of the girl.
Flames twisted into a storm of sand.
Anna saw the desert.
A woman’s hand tore a pendant from her throat—an hourglass medallion.
She snapped it in two.
The sands of time merged with the desert winds.
A cold shackle snapped shut around her ankle—a bracelet of iron, the mark of a slave.
A whirlwind of sand coiled around her, circling, tightening, refusing to let her go.
“Tonight, we will reveal all secrets.”
Anna’s fingers clenched around the slender stem of the champagne glass.
A sharp crack—
Glass shattered in her grip.
Champagne splashed across the bar, the crisp scent slicing through the air.
Her body jolted, yanked back, the force of reality dragging her out of the vision.
“What’s wrong with you? You’re completely out of it,” Esther’s voice cut through the music.
“I’m fine, sorry” Anna finally answered, her voice steady but distant.
Her hand shot forward, yanking a handful of napkins from the stack. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she tossed them onto the spilled champagne, watching as the liquid soaked into the white fabric.
“… too many thoughts.”
The two friends stood by the bar in a nightclub Anna rarely visited. But for Esther, it was home—she was a socialite, an ambassador of the night, someone who knew everyone and everything about them.
“Can you, for one night, let go of your thoughts and put on a smile? Please. We’re here to have fun. And take off that ridiculous coat. Life is short, and you’re hiding yourself behind these rags.”
Anna shed her second skin with compliance. Esther reached out, Esther pulled the zipper down on her top of her outfit, revealing more of her décolletage.
“There. Much better.”
Anna tried to focus on the pulse of the club—the rhythmic thud of music, the hum of voices melting into the atmosphere. But something else had already begun to settle inside her. A slow, creeping unease. Heavy and sticky, like fog that refused to lift.
She knew this feeling all too well.
This unease always led her back to one person. The one who had marked her with something greater than love, something deeper than desire.
That familiar sensation pressed against her chest like a switch she could never unpress.
And like that—something pulled her into a memory.
The past consumed her.
A balcony, bathed in moonlight. The soft whisper of the sea in the distance. Towering cypress trees. A sky littered with stars. And the two of them—alone in that moment.
She would remember the moment he handed her a glass of wine, when their fingers brushed in an unexpected touch. A fleeting touch—yet it carries an unbearable power.
She had felt her breath catch, as if the entire world had paused, leaving them suspended in time.
“You’re so beautiful.”
His fingers had grazed her bare skin, sending a shiver down her spine. Honesty, tenderness, and something close to magic had filled that night. His voice wrapped around her like a warm blanket on a cold evening.
She had laughed, allowing herself to dissolve into the moment. Into him.
And when he had traced her cheek, when their lips had met in a kiss—soft, unhurried, deliberate—Anna had felt something she hadn’t in years.
A warmth, sharp as lightning, spread through her blood—
and she felt it again.
Only one man ever stirred that feeling in her.
It was him.
Theon.
