Her Graceful War Song novel Chapter 1066

Barrett gasped for air, his chest tightening as though gripped by a massive hand, making it impossible to breathe.

"What's wrong with you?" Viola had been woken by the commotion. She looked at him sitting up, clearly in a daze.

"Another nightmare?" she asked impatiently.

Lately, he had been having nightmares every night. Viola couldn't help but wonder how much guilt weighed on him to make it happen so often. What frustrated her most was that he often called out Aurora's name during these nightmares.

When he didn't respond, still clutching his chest and gasping for breath, she sneered, "Dreaming about Aurora again? Did she die in this one too?"

"She's dead," Barrett murmured, his face drenched with either sweat or tears—it was hard to tell. "It felt so real... I dreamt that the villagers hacked her to death. She died miserably. Her head was severed, and there was blood everywhere. Her body...was torn apart."

Hearing him say this in the middle of the night made Viola's skin crawl.

"Enough!" she snapped. "Whether she lives or dies is none of your concern. Just go back to sleep."

Barrett swung his legs off the bed and stood up, his body heavy with exhaustion. "You sleep. I'm going to the study."

Viola's frustration flared. "You always go to the study. What do you think the servants will say about me?"

Barrett didn't even register her words. He stood, clinging to the edge of the bed for support. His mind was consumed by the echoes of Aurora's screams in his dream.

He stumbled out of the room, the sound of rain hitting the roof catching his attention. It had started raining without him noticing, the relentless downpour rolling down in streams.

As he walked down the corridor, the flickering lamps outside swayed violently in the wind, their light casting eerie shadows. His silhouette was distorted, at times looming like a monstrous figure, at other times swaying like a ghost.

The wind and rain combined into a mournful chorus that sounded like wailing spirits. The thought of Aurora's anguished cries from his dream made his chest ache. It felt as though his heart had been tossed into a boiling pot of oil—painful, searing, unbearable.

He had intended to go to the study, but his feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying him instead to the Blessed Haven.

By the time he pushed open the door, he was drenched through.

In just a month or two, the once well-kept residence had become overgrown with weeds. The servants no longer came in to clean, and the place was engulfed in darkness. The only light came from the lamps outside, casting faint shadows that barely illuminated the courtyard.