Chapter 1
Chapter 1
Prologue
Tick-tock. The faint sound of a second hand echoed in the profoundly silent room.
The room itself was strangely peculiar. The only furniture was a pillar-less bed in the center and a plush rug surrounding it. The curtains, tightly drawn to block out any daylight even at midday, added to the oddity. But the strangest thing of all was the two people within: a woman submerged in a seemingly endless sleep, and a man watching over her.
The man, whose face was as perfect as if sculpted by a god, had long lost any trace of expression. A dark shadow lay upon his impassive features.
Benedict gazed at the peacefully sleeping woman—or rather, he waited for a time that was only minutes away.
Tick-tock. The golden pocket watch clutched in his hand gleamed with an unnatural brilliance in the dim room. Among the hands moving at different speeds, the second hand, the most diligent of all, created an ominous ticking.
‘It’s grating. This regular sound. It’s driving me mad.’
But Benedict wasn’t mad. He couldn’t be. If he were, it would be easier, but his startlingly clear mind wouldn’t allow it.
‘I can’t go mad. Not until I end this punishment with my own hands.’ He repeated this mantra endlessly. Again, and again, and again.
His dark, dead eyes flickered to the watch. The second hand was just passing the number 6.
“Hilde.” Benedict called the name of the still ‘living’ woman one last time, his voice a hollow shell. “Hilde.” His cracked voice was devoid of any moisture, too parched to even savor grief.
Tick-tock. As the second hand passed 10, Benedict silently placed his fingers beneath Hilde’s nose.
And finally, the moment the second hand struck twelve…
“Dead again.”
His voice was monotonous and dry, as if asking someone who had just woken if they’d slept well, devoid of any discernible emotion.
Benedict rose and gently kissed the forehead of the woman who no longer breathed. Her skin, still warm, made it hard to believe she was truly gone.
‘Perhaps she’s merely asleep, under the influence of the sleeping draught. I used a very potent one…’
“Ha.” His delusional train of thought shattered into self-deprecating laughter as he realized his own foolishness. “She felt no pain, at least. She was in a very, very deep sleep.”
He tucked a strand of her beautiful silver hair, which had fallen across her cheek, behind her ear, whispering in a tone both tender and ominous. “It’s alright, Hilde.”
The lid of the pocket watch, which had been diligently ticking away, snapped shut. The sharp click in the silent room sounded like the closing of a coffin lid. “I can just turn back time.”
No matter the cost.
***
Again. It felt like shards of glacial ice were being shoved into his skull, crushing his cranium and spilling his brains. Benedict opened his eyes, a splitting headache throbbing in his head.
He was in his tent. He could see the ceiling, tinged bluish-grey by the dim light of dawn.
‘It’s still before sunrise.’
Benedict sat up in his cot and listlessly pressed his fingers against his temples. But instead of subsiding, the throbbing pain intensified, tugging at his nerves.
It was always like this. Every time he had this dream. It should be familiar by now, having repeated countless times, but he could never get used to this awful feeling.
He briefly recalled last night’s nightmare. The dream itself was simple, almost devoid of content. Waiting for the death of someone whose face he couldn’t see.
That was all Benedict did in the dream. He didn’t know who was dying, why they were dying, or why he was there with them. He simply repeated the same dream over and over.
“How irritating.”
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