The scream shattered the stillness of the night, ripping through the fabric of my dreams like a knife through silk. I jolted awake, my heart pounding in my chest, my breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The room was bathed in an eerie half-light, the moon casting long, ghostly shadows across the floor.

 

My head throbbed with pain, a dull ache that seemed to pulse in time with my racing heartbeat. I struggled to make sense of my surroundings, to shake off the fog of sleep that clung to my mind like a heavy blanket. And then I saw her – my mother, standing at the foot of my bed, her face twisted in horror, her eyes wide with fear.

 

“Elena,” she gasped, her voice trembling with emotion, “what have you done?”

 

I blinked, my mind still muddled with sleep, trying to process her words. And then I saw it – the blood. Staining the sheets, splattered across my hands, a grim testament to the horrors of the night. Panic surged through me like a tidal wave, threatening to drown me in its icy embrace.

 

“No,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a hoarse croak. “No, it can’t be…”

 

But even as the words left my lips, I knew the truth. Knew that I was trapped in a nightmare from which there could be no escape. Knew that I was alone, adrift in a sea of darkness, with no shore in sight.

 

As the servants rushed into the room, their eyes wide with shock and disbelief, I felt a cold, creeping dread settle over me like a shroud. They whispered among themselves, casting furtive glances in my direction, their words like knives in the darkness.

 

“She killed him,” my mother whispered, her voice barely above a whisper. “My husband. She killed him.”

 

And in that moment, I knew that my life would never be the same again.

 

Hours passed in a blur of confusion and fear, as I sat alone in the cold, sterile confines of the interrogation room, my mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Detective Tom, a grizzled veteran of the force, sat across from me, his eyes boring into mine with relentless intensity.

 

“Tell me what happened,” he demanded, his voice like gravel against stone.

 

But I had no answers to give him. No explanations for the horrors of the night. All I had were fragments – half-remembered images that danced at the edges of my consciousness, teasing me with their elusiveness. 

 

“I don’t know,” I whispered, my voice barely more than a breath. “I don’t remember…”

 

But even as the words left my lips, I knew they sounded hollow, empty. Knew that they would do little to convince Detective Tom of my innocence. And so I sat in silence, my thoughts consumed by the darkness that lurked within me.