Bloodbound

Chapter 1: The Girl from Lake Mourne

The lake was still this morning, and that should have been comforting.

Truthfully, it had not been these past weeks. Even on windless days, the water would shiver and stir as though a beast of some sort were lingering just beneath its surface, leaving slow ripples that reached the shore long after they should have faded.

I sit with my back against the damp grass, legs stretched toward the lake, my cloak pulled tight around my shoulders. The wind lifts strands of my hair and lets them fall across my face again and again, cold enough to nip at my nose. I should have stayed inside. Aunt Maris would scold me if she knew where I had gone so early, but I needed the air and the quiet that came with it. She always says you can tell the future by watching the water, but Lake Mourne has never told me anything useful.

It lies a short walk from the house, close enough to feel familiar, but far enough to feel private. I come here when my thoughts grow too loud. Usually, the water answers with something—movement, sound, a sign that I am not alone in my unease. Today, it gives me nothing at all.
I watch the surface for longer than I intend to, waiting for some sign I cannot quite name myself. A ripple, or something to prove that the trepidation curling low in my chest has a reason beyond just my own restlessness. However, the lake remains smooth and silent, reflecting the pale sky without distortion.

"Elara!"

I hear my aunt's voice carry faintly across the distance, softened by the wind. It comes from the direction of the house, sharp enough to cut through my thoughts but not yet edged with worry. I hesitate, then push myself up from the grass, brushing damp leaves and grass from my palms. The chill lingers where I had been sitting, leaving a damp spot seeping through my cloak as if the ground resents being left behind.

I take one last look at the water before turning away. For a moment, I think I see something dark pass beneath the surface, a shadow where no cloud crosses overhead. I blink, and it is gone.

"Coming," I call back, though the words feel strangely heavy in my mouth.

The path home winds through low brush and uneven stone, familiar enough that I could walk it blind. I have done so before, on nights when sleep would not come, and the lake felt like the only place that might understand me. Today, the familiarity brings no comfort. With every step, the silence presses closer, and I feel myself holding my breath along with it. Aunt Maris is standing in the doorway when I reach the house, her shawl pulled tight around her shoulders as her gaze is fixed not on me, but somewhere towards the lake beyond my shoulder. When she finally notices me watching her, she startles slightly and forces a smile before clearing herself from the doorway. For a moment, I think she sees it too—the unease forming in my chest. I push it down, force a smile back, and step inside.

"You're shivering," she says, reaching out to tug my cloak more securely around me. Her hands linger for a heartbeat too long. "You ought not sit out there so early."
"I know," I say. "I just needed–"

I trail off. I do not know how to explain what I needed, only that the house felt too small this morning, the walls too close around me. Maris studies my face as if searching for something she hopes not to find.

"Did you sleep?" she asks.

I nod, as it is easier than telling the truth. The house smells faintly of fresh herbs and smoke, familiar enough that I do not notice it most days, though this morning it seems to settle heavier than I am used to. Maris moves ahead of me, setting a kettle over the fire, her back too straight, her shoulders drawn tight as if she expects something to strike her from behind. She does not ask again about my sleep. That, more than anything, tells me she knows the answer.