Blinding Light (BLS Book 1)

Something furry nudges my face. I groan and roll over—I guess I’ve fallen asleep after all.

I gasp and open my eyes when I hear a meow. Midnight sits casually on my pillow, licking his paw. It must be midnight again. My mind drifts back to the time with Prince Nolan, and I smile into the pillow. In a way, I’m glad Rave did this. I shake my head at the thought.

Remember. Don’t let your emotions cloud your judgment.

“Midnight!” I whisper. “How did you get in here, you sly cat.”

He meows and purrs against my cheek. I scratch his tiny head and cuddle him up in my arms. He is surprisingly light on my lap.

“Do you come every midnight, Midnight? You couldn’t have chosen a better time to come?” I fight back a yawn as he meows innocently.

“Fine! Wake me up in the middle of the night.” I scratch him on the head, annoyingly but also lovingly.

“You strange cat…showing up again at midnight and will be gone by morning?” I fall backward onto the bed again, deciding that I’ll go back to sleep since my eyelids are too heavy for my body to keep them open. But Midnight meows and squeezes in right in front of my face, yellow eyes meet mine. And before I know it, I’m gone from this dream.

***

A scream wakes me from my dreams. I rub my eyes only to see that I’m back in the white room. I sit up. The white room…

No…not here!

Remembering, I look up at the ceiling. The walls are intact this time. There are no cracks in the walls, no robotic arms. No restraints.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and let my legs slide off the cold bed; my legs give out just as they touch the floor. I land on my knees as I gasp. Wincing, I grab the side of the bed for support and force myself to stand. There’s a door. I limp towards it and push it open. The sunlight seeps through outside.

Outside?

As soon as I step out, I’m met with the most beautiful sight. Prettier than my hometown, which is saying a lot, considering it’s at Calanques.

I can feel the warm sun on my face. The soft grass tickles my feet as birds soar by, singing. The willow trees surround what seems like a pond of water. When I ease closer to the mountains, I see a river clear as day—straight through the bottom.

When the sun’s out of my vision, I see a magnificent waterfall from the top of the green mountains, flowing into the river. The tiny wildflowers surrounding the edge of the river have all sorts of colors: red, pink, white, blue, and many more with mixed colors that it was believed to be impossible.

It’s so pretty that it seems too good to be true. I bend down, touching the grass.

It must not be real.

But it slips through my fingers. I can feel the texture of it, the roughness of it.

It’s real?

A giggling child appears and runs by me. Startled, I take a step back. She doesn’t notice and stop in front of me to pick a dandelion. She couldn’t have been older than three. I reach out, and my hand passes through her head. I blink, look down at my hand, but nothing happens. She reminds me of someone with her big green eyes. The way she trips over herself clumsily, laughing all the time reminds me of myself. But the other, I couldn’t place it.

Someone else comes running behind her, a boy, laughing as he comes. The boy has the same green eyes. He chases her, catching up to her quickly with his bigger size, probably ten or eleven. He tackles her to the ground and tickles her. His movements are playful but gentle.

Her laughter rings out against the sloshing of the water. The setting reminds me of Mother’s painting of the wild grass fields with two women. The three children, two girls, and one boy, standing at their feet, are laughing.

The boy and the girl try to wrestle the other only to get themselves tired as they both lay flat on the grass. The girl sits up to blow what’s left of the dandelion. I don’t realize myself smiling at the scene. I don’t realize it when my feet gradually disappear. Their laughter is all I hear before I fade away…

***

“Mademoiselle Hayes! Wake up, or you’ll be late for the festival!” Shouts someone—Karen. I feel an unusual level of joy when I wake.

“What is it, Karen, late for what?” I yawn, smiling at the same time.

“The peach festival! Almost everyone left already! I thought you woke hours ago!”

I jump up, stumbling before catching myself.

“What?” I exclaim. “I thought it was in a week?”

Karen stares in astonishment, “Are you feeling alright, Mademoiselle?”

She shakes her head, “No matter, I’m going to get your dress.” She dashes into the closet. I slip out of my nightgown and throw on the dress she chucked at me. I brush my hair furiously and rush out. As I approach the courtyard, I crash into someone just as I exit the doors with a turn.

“Ah!” I almost fall backward but they catch me by the arm and pulls me back up. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t looking.”

“Oh, it’s you again.” His smothering voice sends involuntarily shivers down my spine.

I look up to meet ocean blue eyes. But those hooded lenses almost look angry. The man had his dark hair is pulled back, standing like a knight with a big book in his hands.

“I’m sorry? I don’t believe we’ve met Monsieur. I must go now. Still, I apologize for that.”

Before I could leave, he catches my arm, “Miss Hayes, you are standing in front of your ride. I am your escort.” He points to the carriage in front of me.

“Oh.”

Poked up (embarrassed), I follow him to the carriage, and he opens the door for me.

A knock on the window, and we start moving. We sit in awkward silence, and I play with the folds of my dress. I don’t know what to say to him. He doesn’t seem to mind the silence, though, but I’m hating every second, call me a chatterbox, but I’m complaining mentally at this point.

I clear my throat. But the man doesn’t react and continues to peer out the window.

Ugh! Guess I’ll have to start this conversation.

“Have we met? You said something earlier about me, Monsieur?”

He shifts, clearly uncomfortable.

“You know, never mind. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you.” I force myself to stop playing with the edges of my dress.

“Asher Moore,” he replies anyways. “That’s what I’m called, that is.” I frown at the strange wording.

Wow, this man is not very social, is he…?

“D’accord (okay)… Asher Moore. I’m Mila Hayes. Nice to meet you.”

“Uh-huh.”

Just when I thought he couldn’t be more socially awkward.

“We have not met—it is I who has confused you with someone else.” He looks at his shoes.

“Um…oui. I said, nice to meet you.” I give him a look and extend my hand. Now I feel all awkward because he’s not taking it, only muttering to himself.

“I assumed that you were that church bell (talkative woman) I met the other day.”

Excuse me?

“Your attire is unclean, and you were a mess earlier today: stumbling everywhere. I only wanted silence, but you wouldn’t take the hint and leave me to peace—in silence.”

“Excuse me?” I’m trying hard to keep my rage down. He says nothing. It takes every ounce of my self-control to keep myself from shouting.

So instead, I grit my teeth, “I demand to know the reason, Monsieur Moore. What have I done to you that you want to insult me? As you said, you don’t know me.”

“It’s the way you hold yourself high. The cunning state of no noble lady, but a gold-digger,” he merely replies.

I’m trembling slightly from his insults, but I didn’t back down. “I will not be spoken to this way. I don’t know what I’ve done to you, but I am a lady, and I deserve respect. I will get you fired if you don’t hold that tongue of yours,” I spat.

He was about to speak again when I wave a dismissive hand. Nonetheless, the hurtful words escape his lips, “I do not know you; it’s a fact. But—”

“You are my escort,” I cut him off. “You will not speak out of turn.”

“Of course, Mademoiselle.” It disgusts me how he calls me that.

How dare he!

Humiliated and angry, I gladly let the silence creep up again. The bumpy ride makes me dizzy, along with all the frustration that’s spinning in my mind. I frown and blink, but my vision fogs. My head wobbles back and forth each time the carriage jerks.

What’s happening…?

I can’t keep my body up, and I feel so sleepy all of a sudden. I slump down in my seat with a thud that almost rings out. I massage my temples, but I can’t feel my arms. I can’t feel myself anymore. And Asher’s calm face is all I see as my consciousness slips away.

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Thanks, with lots of smiles

☆•Yiona•☆