Curse of the Nephalem

I stood frozen at the edge of the living room, unseen, as if the shadows themselves had swallowed me. My parents knelt in the center of the floor, held down by two men so massive they looked more like tree trunks than flesh and bone. The air was suffocating, heavy with a violence that pressed against my chest until I could barely breathe.

“Tell us where the child is,” the leaner of the three snarled, his voice curling through the room like smoke. “Answer, and I’ll make your deaths quick. Refuse, and I’ll carve every scream from your throats while the other watches.”

My father spat blood and fury in equal measure. “Go to Hell. We’ll never give you our child.”

He’d always been kind, endlessly patient—but now his voice cut like steel.

Tears burned my cheeks as I realized I was the child they wanted. My knees trembled with the urge to run to him, to beg them to take me instead, but then my mother’s eyes found mine. She gave the smallest shake of her head and mouthed a single word: Run.

The blade gleams as it rises, catching the light one last time before it falls—

—and then the memory unravels, shredding into white. Screams stretch thin, fading into whispers, until only a blinding haze remains, spinning and spinning until I am lost inside it.

Warmth pressed against my back, steady circles grounding me in the storm. A voice seeped through the haze, soft and coaxing, tugging me back toward the present.

“Falencia, babygirl, it’s okay. You’re safe. Come back.”

I gasped, my lungs dragging in the air like I had been drowning. The brightness faded, and my room slowly took shape—the dim glow of the alarm clock, the cool wood floor beneath my cheek, the trembling in my body that refused to stop.

I turned my head to find Berik, her dark eyes filled with worry, her hand never pausing its gentle rhythm on my back. She looked older in moments like this, shadows of grief carved deep into her face.

“You were crawling out of your window when I found you,” she murmured, her voice equal parts scolding and soothing. “I barely got you to the floor in time.”

A bitter groan escaped me as I raked shaky fingers through my hair. “I wish these episodes would just stop. It feels like they’re eating me alive.”

“They’ve been happening more often.” Berik’s voice carried a weight I didn’t want to name. “Do you know why, sweetheart?”

I bit my lip hard, forcing back the tears that burned behind my eyes. I hated when she looked at me like that—like I was still the broken child she’d taken in years ago. “No. Nothing comes to mind.”

The door creaked open, spilling a sliver of hallway light into the room. Freyja leaned against the frame, her fiery hair tousled from sleep, her green eyes wide with worry.

“Another nightmare?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” I whispered, my voice weak, frayed at the edges.

Freyja crossed the room and perched on the edge of my bed, patting the space beside her. “They’re worse lately. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I don’t know.” My jaw tightened as frustration prickled beneath my skin. “I wish I understood why they won’t stop.”

Berik gave me a sad smile, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Do you want me to call your counselor tomorrow? Maybe she could help.”

I let out a sharp laugh, too bitter for comfort. “No offense, but she’s useless. She acts like my nightmares are just… feelings with costumes. Like she has no clue what they actually mean.”

Freyja reached for my hand, squeezing it gently. “Then we’ll figure it out together. You’re not alone.”

For a moment, silence wrapped around us, heavy but almost sacred. Then Berik stood, her expression softening. “I’ll make hot chocolate. Salted caramel?”

Freyja and I answered in unison, a fragile smile tugging at my lips. “Salted caramel.”

Berik chuckled and slipped out, leaving behind the faint clink of mugs in the kitchen.

Freyja stayed close, her warmth steady beside me. “You know…” she hesitated, “the anniversary’s tomorrow. Their deaths—and your birthday. Maybe that’s why the dreams are clawing their way back.”

The words struck deep, sharp enough to draw breath from me. I hadn’t even realized the date had crept so close.

“I hate that you share your birthday with such an ugly memory,” Freyja whispered. “You should have something better.”

I closed my eyes, letting her words settle over me like a blanket. “Maybe someday I will.”

The next morning starts off normal enough, blaring alarm, covers tangled around my legs, and the realization that I was due for another nightmarish day in a place of total bullshit. I sit up untangling my legs from my blankets sighing as I place my feet on the fuzzy carpet that sits on my hardwood floor, padding quietly over to the bathroom.  

I grimace as I look at myself in the vanity mirror that sits just above the sink; I honestly don’t hold myself in the highest esteem when it comes to the way I look. I don’t feel that I am particularly all that good-looking, my body isn’t model thin, I mean, I’ve been told that I have curves in all the right places, but I have always wanted to be model-thin, just like Freyja and her friends. I sigh dejectedly and get into the warm shower standing under the scalding hot water for a few minutes allowing the warmth to seep into my skin and work out the kinks and knots that have worked their way into my muscles during sleep, I lather my tart cherry shampoo into my raven-black hair that reaches just past the middle of my back, I rinse the suds out of my hair and repeat the process with the conditioner, while allowing the conditioner to soak into my hair, I wash my body then finish my routine with my cleanser and microdermabrasion face wash. I rinse my hair clean of conditioner before turning the water off and stepping out onto the fluffy rug that sits outside the stand-in shower, I finish my morning routine then head back to my room.