SHADOW OF MYSELF

Chapter one (1)

Whispers of the Past

Eighteen years ago, a child was born, heralded by whispers of a legend reborn. Prisca, with her shoulder-length brown hair and eyes that held a hint of an unfamiliar emerald green, arrived seemingly ordinary. Yet, beneath the surface, a destiny stirred.

Legends spoke of Princess Elsa, a radiant goddess who ruled a forgotten realm called Azure. Her laughter soothed troubled souls, and her touch, warm and firm, mended broken bodies. But within her resided a darkness, a reflection of humanity's capacity for cruelty. This power, a potent echo of darkness, remained dormant, a caged beast yearning to break free.

Years bled into decades, and peace flourished under Elsa's gentle reign. However, shadows crept at the edges of tranquility. A neighboring kingdom, fueled by greed and a hunger for power, set its sights on Elsa's bounty. War, a ravenous beast, descended upon the land.

Elsa, ever the protector, rallied her people. Three valiant guardians, chosen for their unwavering loyalty and unmatched skill, stood by her side. The battles raged, a brutal symphony of clashing steel and screams that tore at the very fabric of reality. The vibrant land became a canvas of desolation.

One by one, the guardians fell. The first, a towering warrior named Joshua, met his demise protecting Elsa from a poisoned blade. His booming laughter, a comforting constant, was silenced forever. Grief, a suffocating shroud, threatened to consume Elsa. The remaining guardians, their spirits fractured, fought on with a desperate ferocity.

A prophecy, etched in the stars, resonated on the wind: "When the leader falls, sorrow shall cripple, and shadows shall rise." Blinded by grief for Joshua, Elsa faltered. The dormant power within her, sensing her vulnerability, surged to the forefront. Fear, raw and primal, coursed through her veins. What if the remaining guardians fell? Would she be responsible for the annihilation of her people?

In a moment of agonizing clarity, Elsa made a desperate choice. With a trembling hand, she turned the shadow power inwards, a sacrifice to prevent further destruction. Her light, so vibrant and warm, sputtered and died, plunging Azure into an age of darkness.

For millennia, Elsa's body lay dormant beneath the inky depths of the Dark Sea, a monument to a love that turned destructive and a sacrifice shrouded in secrecy. Legends whispered of her potential return, a beacon of hope in the face of despair.

                          ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

In the midst of a tense gathering of no more than Twenty figures, Prisca stood out with her shoulder-length brown hair. Confusion clouded her face as she wondered why they were there and why she was the center of attention. Suddenly, an authoritative voice sliced through the air. "Find the writer of this book! It is too bulky, too real, too exposing. It reflects pain, secrets, loneliness. I want the writer of this book!"

The owner of the voice, a woman judging by her attire, stood with her back to the anxious crowd, her right hand raised high, holding a book aloft. Prisca's blood ran cold as she recognized the worn leather satchel clutched in the woman's hand - it was hers. A jolt of fear shot through Prisca. Her breath hitched.

Without a sound, she slipped away from the crowd and hurried towards the cottage where her grandfather relaxed. After barking orders for the guards to take him to safety, she raced to her room, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. Frantically, she rummaged through her satchel, only to find it empty. The diary was gone.

"How did that woman have my diary?" she thought, her mind a whirlwind of confusion. "Who gave it to her? Why is she after me?" Realizing the diary was gone and staying in the cottage dangerous, she packed a few essentials and snuck out, her heart hammering against her ribs.

As she sprinted along the bushy path, a low, insistent buzzing filled the air, vibrating through her bones. It grew louder with each step, mingling with the frantic rhythm of her footsteps. With furrowed brows, she glanced around, trying to pinpoint the source of the noise, but it seemed to emanate from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Suddenly, she stumbled, her foot catching on an unseen root, and she tumbled forward, plunging into an endless pit that shimmered with an unnatural, swirling pink that seemed to suck the light from the air. As she fell, the sensation of weightlessness washed over her, and she braced herself for impact, only to awaken with a start on her bed.

Present

Prisca bolted upright, gasping for breath. Her sheets were tangled, a testament to the frantic movements of her dream. Disoriented, she scanned the familiar contours of her room, the remnants of the dream clinging to her like cobwebs. The memory of the woman's accusing voice, the chilling pink light, and the persistent buzzing echoed in her mind.

A glance at the clock sent a fresh jolt of panic through her. Late! Scrambling out of bed, she reached for her worn leather satchel, her fingers brushing against an emptiness that confirmed her worst fear - the diary was gone.

"Prisca darling, wake up! You're going to be late for your first day of classes at the university," her mother's voice floated through the room, gentle yet insistent.

Prisca's eyes fluttered open, confusion battling with the lingering fear from the dream. "Thanks, Mom," she murmured, her voice hoarse. As her mother left the room, Prisca couldn't shake the feeling that the dream was more than just a figment of her imagination.

With a sigh, she pushed aside the unsettling thoughts and focused on getting ready. Every rustle of fabric, every creak of the floorboard seemed amplified in the silence, a constant reminder of the strange events of the night.

She dressed quickly, choosing the blue armless gown her aunt had gifted her, paired with her favorite denim pink jacket and the birthday present from last month - the trusty pink bag. Just as she was about to leave her room, a nagging feeling tugged at her memory. The diary.

Rushing to her satchel, she confirmed its emptiness. Panic clawed at her throat. This wasn't a dream anymore. Her diary, the repository of her most personal thoughts and secrets, was gone.

"Mom!" she called out, her voice tight with worry. Her mother hurried in, concern etched on her face. Prisca recounted the dream and the missing diary in a hurried torrent.

"Don't worry, darling," her mother reassured her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We'll find it. But for now, let's focus on your first day. It's going to be great, I promise."

After a hurried breakfast, Prisca's father offered to drive her to school. The familiar morning routine felt unsettling in the wake of the dream. As they made their way, Prisca couldn't shake the feeling that the events of the dream were a message, a warning.

She vowed to uncover the truth behind the missing diary and the mysterious dream that blurred the lines between reality and nightmare. She wondered what other mysteries awaited her on her first day at university, a place that now felt less like a fresh start and more like a step into the unknown.