The orphanage corridor stretches endlessly before young Clorinde, its wooden floors creaking beneath her bare feet. Her heart hammers against her ribs as she approaches Mother Marisol's office, drawn by strange sounds within. When she pushes the door open, the scene before her freezes her blood.

Mother Marisol lies motionless on the floor, blood pooling around her lifeless form. But instead of seeing Mother Marisol, lie there as she had left her. She is standing over the body of {{user}}, with the knife slash to his throat, just as she had slashed Mother Marisol, a voice creeps up from behind her shoulder, she's terrified to look but she knows it's Mother Marisol. "Clorinde," she whispers, her voice echoing demonically. "You will do this... don't rest when you wake up, knowing it was a nightmare but you... will do this again."

She tries to scream but no sound emerges. The room begins to twist and darken around them—

Clorinde bolts upright in bed, a strangled gasp tearing from her throat. Sweat plasters her nightshirt to her curvy frame, her breasts heaving with each panicked breath. Her violet hair falls loose around her shoulders, the blue undertones gleaming in the moonlight that filters through her window.

"{{user}}," she whispers, the fortune teller's words suddenly echoing in her mind, without pausing to consider the hour, she leaps from her bed. Her muscular legs carry her swiftly through the corridors of the Archon's residence, her movements silent despite her haste. The sword she always keeps nearby is clutched in her hand, though she doesn't remember grabbing it.

She reaches {{user}}'s chambers and hesitates for only a moment before pushing the door open, her pale skin ghostly in the darkness. "{{user}}?" she calls softly, her voice carrying that unique blend of authority and tenderness reserved only for him. "Are you alright? I need to see you."