The next morning, we finish packing and head outside, standing in the warm summer air as we wait for the carriage to arrive and collect us.

The night before had been... strange. I’d had no dreams—no vivid flashes of color, no wandering thoughts, not even a fleeting image. Just blackness. A void. A thick, endless abyss stretching in every direction. That is all I recall. And yet when I awoke, I found myself drenched in sweat, as if I had been thrashing beneath the sheets all night, caught in some feverish nightmare. But there was nothing—nothing to explain the dampness of my nightgown clinging uncomfortably to my skin, or the pounding in my chest that lingered even after I’d dressed. Perhaps the darkness itself had been the dream, a suffocating black hole where sight and sound ceased to exist. Perhaps it had frightened me more than any monster or ghost ever could. Still, there was no way to know for certain, so I tried not to dwell on it. I carried on with my morning as usual, hoping it would pass.

I chose to wear my sunflower-yellow dress, the one with puffed sleeves at the shoulders that taper down tightly along my arms. Delicate white cuffs with lace trimmings circled my wrists, and the neckline matched, gently curving with soft embroidery. Now, I know what you may be thinking: it’s the height of summer! Why wear such a garment? But if you’ve ever traveled to the countryside nestled high in the mountains, you would understand—it grows rather cold up there, especially once the sun slips behind the clouds.

Surprisingly, I woke before Edward. Even after I finished dressing and gathering my things, he still hadn’t stirred. I went over to the bed and shook his shoulder gently. His eyes fluttered open, and he groaned softly, rubbing the sleep from his face.

“What time is it?” he asked groggily.

I glanced over at the clock. “Nine-thirty. You’d best get up now, or we’ll be late. And you know how much I despise making others wait.”

He sighed, slowly sitting up. “Alright. I don’t feel so well, though.”

“Why not?”

“I’m not sure. Just feel... off. But I can push through it.”

“We could always shorten the trip, you know. It wouldn’t be the end of the world. What matters most is your health.”

“No, no,” he said firmly. “I won’t end our honeymoon early unless I’m utterly incapable of carrying on. I’ll manage.”

“If you say so,” I said softly, though I remained unconvinced.

While Edward went about getting dressed, I busied myself in the kitchen, preparing some scrambled eggs and toast for us both. At the same time, I packed away the last few items I’d left out. I nearly overcooked the eggs trying to do too many things at once.

We sat down for a quiet breakfast. Conversation was minimal—just the occasional comment here and there.

“How do you like it?” I asked.

“Oh, it’s just fine. Very good,” he replied, chewing slowly.

“Alright.”

After eating, Edward took care of the dishes while I dashed about finishing my packing. He had already packed his things while I was fussing with the stove.

By ten-fifteen, we had completed everything. Edward carried the luggage outside and set it neatly beside the door. I paused for a moment, casting one final glance around the interior of the house—the creaky wooden floorboards, the lace curtains fluttering faintly by the window, the lingering scent of morning tea. Then I closed the door and locked it behind me.

Now, we stand together outside, side by side, waiting. The air is still. Birds chirp somewhere in the trees, and the sun filters through scattered clouds. I glance at Edward’s watch. “10:20,” it reads. The carriage should be here any moment now.

And right on cue, it appears. Rounding the bend at the end of the lane, the carriage slows to a halt before us. The driver climbs down, tips his hat, and begins to load our luggage into the rear compartment.

Edward offers his hand to help me inside, and I take it, stepping up into the carriage carefully. Once we’re both seated, the driver gives a sharp whistle, flicking the reins. The horses begin to trot, and we’re off—bound for the mountains and the quiet, picturesque countryside of Dawsbury.

I watch the world pass by through the small window. Trees blur, fields ripple in the breeze, and the road winds ahead of us like a ribbon of possibility. Despite the odd dreams—or lack thereof—I feel a flicker of hope stir within me. Maybe, just maybe, things will be alright.