The world was not Annabelle's. She was Rachel—her body lean and trembling, her hair wild, her eyes burning with an unnatural violet light. The night pressed in, thick with the scent of rain and the metallic tang of fear.
Rachel knelt on the cracked stone floor of a ruined chapel. The stained glass above was shattered, moonlight fractured into trembling shards. Before her hovered the soul of an elder woman, her form flickering with silver and blue, her face lined with sorrow and hope.
The woman's hands reached for Rachel, her voice raw and desperate. "Please, child. Please, do it now. I can feel myself fading. The shadows… they're hungry."
Rachel's own hands shook as she traced frantic circles and sigils in the dust, her breath coming in ragged sobs. "I'm trying! I swear, I'm trying—just hold on a little longer. I can shift this. I can make it right."
She pressed her palms to the cold stone, channeling every scrap of power she had. The air rippled, reality bending at the edges. Her vision filled with violet light, the world around her warping—walls bending, time stuttering, the dead woman's memories flickering like moths in a jar. Rachel's voice rose, choked and pleading, as she forced her will against the fabric of the universe.
"Let her pass! Let her wish be granted! Please—please—let me change this—"
But the void pressed closer, the darkness alive and swirling at the chapel's edge. The elder woman's soul began to unravel, silver threads pulling away, her eyes wide with terror.
"Rachel, hurry!" she gasped, her voice a fading echo. "I don't want to be lost—don't let me disappear—"
Rachel screamed, the sound torn from her throat as she poured herself into the shifting, her purple eyes blazing. The symbols on the floor glowed, then sputtered out. Nothing happened. The void yawned wider, swallowing the unraveling soul.
"No—no, please!" Rachel's tears streamed down her face, her body shaking as she reached for the woman, but her hands passed through empty air. The soul disintegrated, piece by piece, into the silent, endless dark.
And as the last thread vanished, Rachel felt herself begin to unravel too. Her fingers faded, her voice broke apart, her vision narrowed to a single, burning point of purple light. She was being pulled into the void, her own existence dissolving, powerless to stop it.
A gasp ripped through her. Annabelle woke, heart hammering, breath ragged. For a moment, she didn't know where—or who—she was. Everything was darkness and muffled sound, the rough weight of bandages pressing over her eyes.
She tried to sit up, but pain lanced through her body. Voices erupted around her—panicked, urgent, familiar.
"Anna? Anna, can you hear me?"
"Get the nurse, now! She's awake—she's moving—"
"Oh god, is she okay? Anna, say something!"
Hands gripped her arms, steadying her as she struggled to orient herself. The room was a blur of noise and confusion, her own voice lost in the chaos. She could feel her friends' fear, their desperation, the sharp tang of panic in the air.
Annabelle—no longer Rachel—realized she still couldn't see. The world was a smear of darkness and pain and bandages , the memory of violet eyes and unraveling souls still burning behind her lids.
She clung to the voices, to the hands holding her, as the panic threatened to swallow her whole.
The world was a cocoon of muffled voices and darkness
The door opened, and Dr. Abrams entered, her voice calm but urgent. "Annabelle, you've been under observation for about eight hours. We kept your eyes bandaged to protect the grafts and allow the swelling to subside. It's crucial after a transplant, especially when the tissue is delicate. Now that you're awake and stable, we'll remove the bandages and check your vision."
The nurse began to unwind the gauze, each layer coming away slowly, the air growing cooler against Annabelle's skin. Her friends fell silent, the tension thick and electric.
"Keep your eyes closed for a moment," Dr. Abrams instructed. "I'm going to administer some drops—these will keep your corneas moist and help with inflammation."
A cool sting touched Annabelle's eyelids. She felt the nurse's gentle hand on her shoulder, steadying her.
"Now, open your eyes. Slowly."
Annabelle obeyed. At first, the world was a swirling fog—gray and white and formless, as if she were underwater. Light bled into her vision, too bright, making her flinch. She blinked, and colors began to seep through: a flash of blue, the dull green of hospital walls, the gold of Emma's bracelet.
Shapes hovered at the edge of her sight, shifting and ghostlike. She saw the outline of Riley's hair, a blur of Ben's broad shoulders, the glint of Priya's rings. Everything was soft, edges melting into one another, as if the world were a half-remembered painting.
She blinked again. The fog thinned, details sharpening—Emma's tear-streaked face, Riley's wide, unblinking eyes, Ben's hand twisting anxiously in his lap. Priya's lips moved in silent prayer.
As the vision cleared further, Annabelle felt a strange pressure behind her eyes, a pulse of violet light. For a split second, the room seemed to ripple—shadows stretching long across the walls, the air thickening. She caught a glimpse of something impossible: a flicker of an ancient chapel, a swirl of silver threads, a woman's face dissolving into the void. The memory was gone as quickly as it came, leaving her breathless.
She blinked hard, and the present snapped back into focus.
Riley leaned in, voice trembling with awe and disbelief. "I don't believe it. They really are lilac, just like you told doctor."
Ben stared, his mouth slightly open. "That's… not possible, right?"
Dr. Abrams smiled gently, as if she'd been expecting this. "Yes, Annabelle, your irises are lilac. The donor's eyes were a rare match, and this color is highly unusual, but not unheard of. The donor was anonymous, but all the tests and paperwork were in order. We suspect a familial connection, but we can't be sure. What matters is that the grafts are healthy and your vision is returning."
She checked Annabelle's pupils with a penlight, nodding in satisfaction. "Your vision should continue to improve over the next few days. You may experience haziness, light sensitivity, or flashes of color, but that's normal. Use the drops as prescribed, avoid bright screens, and rest as much as possible. If you notice pain, redness, or sudden changes, notify us immediately."
Dr. Abrams offered a reassuring squeeze to Annabelle's hand, then left the room with the nurse.
Annabelle sat in stunned silence, her heart racing. Her friends surrounded her, faces full of wonder and confusion, all eyes on her extraordinary, lilac gaze. The memory of that other world still shimmered at the edge of her vision, a reminder that her story was far from over.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Annabelle sat up a little straighter, her fingers still lightly brushing the edge of her hospital blanket. The words the doctor had spoken earlier echoed in her mind, unsettling and strange.
She cleared her throat, her voice still a bit hoarse. "Did you all hear what Dr. Abrams said? About the donor… that there might be a familial connection?"
The others exchanged glances. Ben frowned. "Yeah, I heard. Do you think it's possible? Like, someone from your family you didn't know about?"
Priya leaned in, concern etched on her face. "Anna, do you have any relatives who could have… I mean, would someone in your family do something like this?"
Annabelle shook her head slowly. "I don't know. I mean, I don't think so. I don't even know who my biological family is, not really. I've never heard of anyone with eyes like this—" She gestured to her reflection in the small mirror, the lilac irises still startling every time she looked.
Riley, still watching her closely, said, "Maybe it's not about blood. Maybe someone just wanted to help you, and they happened to be a match. Or maybe…" She hesitated, glancing at the others, "maybe there's more to this than we understand."
Ben nodded, his voice steady and reassuring. "What matters is you're okay, Anna. But if you want to find out who the donor was, we'll help you. All of us."
Annabelle managed a small, grateful smile, but inside, her thoughts churned. The idea of a hidden connection, a stranger with eyes like hers, felt both comforting and deeply unsettling.
Emma, who had been quiet, finally spoke up, her voice gentle but insistent. "Anna… do you remember the old man you said you saw? The day you had the accident? Do you think he could have anything to do with this?"
She remembered the night before, the darkness pressing in, the sensation of slipping away. The memory was sharp and cold: the slowing of her heartbeat, the distant voices of nurses, the feeling that she was being pulled somewhere she couldn't return from. For a moment, she'd been sure she was dying—floating at the edge of something vast and final.
She hadn't told them about that. She hadn't told anyone. Not about the way the world had narrowed to a pinpoint, or the strange sense of peace that had mingled with her terror. Not about the way she'd felt watched, as if someone—or something—had been waiting for her on the other side.
Annabelle swallowed, the memory making her shiver. She wondered if it was connected to the old man, to the visions, to the impossible color of her eyes. But the words caught in her throat, too heavy to share.
"I… I don't know," she admitted softly. "But I keep seeing him. In dreams, in flashes. Maybe he's connected. Maybe he's the reason all of this happened."
Her friends fell silent, the mystery growing deeper around them. The questions hung in the air, heavy and unresolved, as Annabelle stared down at her hands, her new eyes reflecting a world that suddenly felt far more mysterious than before
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The silent room was interrupted by the soft but firm voice of the nurse as she entered the room, clipboard in hand. "Alright, everyone, Anna needs to rest now. Doctor's orders. You can visit her again later, but for now, she needs quiet and sleep."
Emma squeezed Anna's hand one last time, offering a reassuring smile. Ben gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder, and Priya brushed a stray hair from Anna's forehead. Riley lingered at the door, her eyes full of questions and concern, before finally following the others out.
As the door clicked shut, the room fell into a hush broken only by the distant hum of hospital equipment and the soft rustle of sheets. Anna let her head sink back into the pillow, exhaustion settling over her like a heavy blanket.
She closed her eyes, replaying the fragments of memory and fear, the mysteries swirling around her new sight and the old man's haunting presence. For a moment, she allowed herself to simply breathe, feeling the ache in her body and the strange, almost electric sensation behind her lilac eyes.
The nurse dimmed the lights and checked her IV, her movements gentle. "Try to get some sleep, Anna. You've been through a lot. We'll be right outside if you need anything."
Anna nodded, too tired to speak. As the nurse left, she was finally alone with her thoughts—half-formed memories, unanswered questions, and the lingering sense that her life had changed in ways she couldn't yet understand.
Slowly, Anna drifted toward sleep, the world blurring at the edges. In the quiet, she wondered if the next time she closed her eyes, she would dream of the old man again—or of something even stranger.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Sleep came for Anna like a sudden drop, and the hospital room faded into shadow.
She stood in a grand, echoing chamber of stone, the air heavy with the scent of burning sage and something fouler—blood, fear, and old regret. At the far end, Queen Ivory sat on her throne, regal and cold, her lilac eyes burning with a merciless light. Anna knew her now—not just as a figure in a dream, but as a piece of herself, the original self she had glimpsed before.
Ivory's gaze was fixed not on Anna, but on the figure kneeling before her—a man, battered and broken, his wrists bound in iron. The queen's lips curled into a cruel smile as she circled her captive, the hem of her gown whispering over the stones.
"Mercy is for the weak," Ivory intoned, her voice sharp as a blade. She raised her hand, and the guards forced the man's head back. He sobbed, pleading, but Ivory was unmoved. With a flick of her wrist, she summoned a blade of shimmering light and pressed it to his throat.
Anna watched, frozen, horror twisting inside her. This wasn't the Ivory who had tried to save the boy. This was a queen who had chosen power over compassion, who relished the suffering before her.
The man's cries grew frantic, echoing off the walls. Ivory leaned in, her voice a whisper only he could hear. "You will remember this in your next life."
She drove the blade home. The man's scream tore through the chamber, rising and falling until it was nothing but a ragged gasp. As his body slumped, Ivory's eyes glowed brighter, and for a moment Anna saw herself reflected in that cold, unfeeling gaze—a future she could not escape.
Just as Ivory's hand reached for another victim, Anna jolted awake.
Anna's hospital room felt like a tomb. The air grew colder, sharp enough to sting her lungs, and a sudden, impossible wind tore through the space—though the windows were shut. The curtains billowed wildly, snapping like sails in a storm, and the fluorescent lights overhead flickered violently before dying completely. For a heartbeat, the room was plunged into darkness.
When the lights sputtered back on, they cast a sickly, strobing glow. Anna's breath fogged in the air as she clutched her blanket, her pulse roaring in her ears. That's when she saw him
A boy stood in the doorway—small, no older than eight, his form faint and translucent. He was crying, his shoulders shaking, though no tears fell. His clothes were strange: a tattered nightshirt, old-fashioned and stained. His feet were bare, hovering just above the floor.
Anna's chest tightened. She knew this boy. Not his face, but his essence—the way his soul flickered at the edges, the golden threads of his being fraying into the dark. He was like the souls from her dreams, the ones she'd failed to save.
This is a mistake, she thought. Stay in bed. Call for help. But her body moved on its own, her feet hitting the cold floor. The boy's cries pulled at her, a hook in her ribs.
The wind howled louder as she stepped closer. The boy's form wavered, parts of him dissolving into motes of light. His eyes—wide, terrified
Anna's heart twisted. She remembered her dreams—the way souls unraveled before her eyes, threads of light and memory pulled apart by invisible hands. She remembered Ivory's hands reaching, failing to hold on as those luminous strands dissolved into nothingness.
She reached out with trembling fingers. "Hey… hey, are you okay? Can you hear me?" Her voice cracked, desperate. "What's your name? Are you hurt?"
The boy didn't answer. He just kept sobbing, "I'm not ready… I'm not ready…" as if he couldn't even see her.
Anna's hand hovered near his shoulder. "Please, let me help you—"
The boy's body suddenly convulsed, his head snapping up, eyes wide and empty. His limbs jerked, back arching in a way that made Anna's blood run cold. A high, piercing screech tore from his throat—a sound so inhuman, so full of pain and surrender, that Anna staggered back, her own scream caught in her throat.
She watched in horror as his form began to unravel, just like the souls in her visions. Silver and gold threads peeled away from his body, swirling upward and fading into the cold air. His face, oddly peaceful now, seemed to accept the end even as his body fractured and dissolved, piece by piece, into shimmering dust.
"No! No, please!" Anna cried, reaching for him one last time, but her hands closed on empty air.
The lights blazed back on. The wind died. Anna collapsed to her knees, shrieking. The door burst open and nurses rushed in finding Anna on the floor, clawing at her own arms, her screams raw and jagged. "Save him! You have to save him—he's disappearing! They're taking him!"
"Anna, calm down—there's no one here!" A nurse gripped her shoulders, but Anna thrashed wildly, her strength inhuman. Two more nurses pinned her to the bed, their faces pale with shock.
"Get the sedative!" one shouted.
Anna's lilac eyes burned. "Don't you hear him?!" She wrenched free, sending a nurse stumbling into a monitor. For a heartbeat, she froze, startled by her own power, then bolted into the hallway.
She darted past startled nurses and patients, her hospital gown fluttering behind her, searching every shadow and corner. "Boy! Where are you? Answer me! Please, let me help you!" Her voice was raw, frantic, haunted by the memory of those unraveling souls and the boy's final, peaceful face.
The end corridor was ice-cold and the far end, a stretcher sat under a flickering light. Two women wept over a small, sheet-covered body, a man slumped against the wall, his face ashen. A doctor murmured, "I'm sorry. The poison had spread too far by the time he arrived. We'll release the body for—"
A gust of wind tore through the hallway. The sheet billowed, revealing the boy's face—pale, waxy, but undeniably the same child who'd stood in Anna's room.
Anna's scream died in her throat. Before she could move, hands seized her—orderlies, nurses, voices sharp with panic. A needle pricked her arm.
"No—wait—he's right there—" Her words slurred as the sedative burned through her veins. The last thing she saw was the boy's mother, clutching his stuffed rabbit, her tears falling onto his still, small face.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the hush between waking and dream,
Annabelle drifts—Rachel, Ivory, herself—
Souls unravel like silvered seams,
Haunted by cries for help.
Wind claws the walls, the lights convulse,
A boy's sorrow echoes, thin and frail.
Threads of memory, pain, and pulse
Tangle in the hospital's pale.
Lilac eyes open to shadows and dread,
A world remade by loss and fear—
What's living, what's lost, what's truly dead
Blurs as the veil grows sheer.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
[To be continued]
- Signing off ;)💋🧿🩷
If you enjoyed this story or felt something while reading it, I'd be so grateful for your support. Whether it's sharing it with a friend, leaving a kind review, or simply reaching out to let me know—it means more than words can say. Thank you for joining me in this little world. There's more to come, and I'd love to have you with me for the rest of the journey.
With all my heart,
PenPalPhantom