Awake - Book One of the Spinner's Curse

Chapter Twenty-Five: Awake

Chapter Twenty-Six:

Awake

　

　

My eyes come open and I instantly know I’m alone. The music has stopped. The sweet, haunting tune has quieted, settling somewhere inside me while I lay sleeping. I am surrounded by silence. My heart beats, the only teller of time. A blanket covers me, and resting on it is a vast layer of dust. I heave it off of me, choking on the plumes the movement causes. I cough, and bat at the tiny motes of dust.

My arms are freckled with grey splotches. I wipe them, smearing the dirt down to my wrists. I pull my legs out from under the covers, unsurprised when they too, are coated. I groan. My head aches from sitting up too quickly. It feels foggy and heavy on my neck. I tilt my head to the side and my neck cracks, sending a ripple effect down my spine.

I twist and examine the room I’m in. It is large and dimly lit. The ceiling is made of wood, which has gaps that let in streams of sunlight. Cobwebs cling to every available surface, including my hair. My teeth chatter and I realize that without my blanket, I am cold. I shake the worst of the dust from it, coughing as the air becomes polluted.

When it settles I venture from my bed, flinching when the floor groans under my weight. Gingerly, I make my way around the room. In the dimness, I can make out piles of furniture, chests, and old clothing. Everything screams of decay, of the time I’ve been cursed to miss. My hand strokes against a wardrobe, intricately carved and foreign in design. Many of the things crowding around me are unfamiliar.

I walk through them, half-curious, but my need to be free from the dust makes me move too quickly to examine each item. I crawl over a particularly large chest and my heart stops. A giant spinning wheel is propped before me, layered in dust. As I look at it I feel nothing; no pull, no connection.

I sigh and stroke the wooden wheel before I press harder and send it twirling. It spins, its spokes becoming a blur in the scattered dust. I cough and cover my mouth with the top of my dress. As I do, I notice something glinting along the edge of the wheel. I slide towards it and watch, fascinated, as tiny golden fibers slip along the top of the wheel and out, towards the spindle. They become slack as the wheel slows and I reach out to touch them.

They are cold, as if made from real metal instead of wool. I pull on them and the wheel spins again. I tug harder and harder, until the last bit of thread pools in my hand and around my wrist. I laugh at the gold sparkling around my wrist like bracelets. Rosa would have loved… I stop myself as a river of emotion begins to awaken inside me. I close my eyes and try to concentrate on my breathing. I will get nowhere thinking of her.

I leave the spindle, continuing forward through all the junk filling the space. I climb onto a chest and look out over the room, hoping to find an exit. There is a light beaming up from around a square in the floor and I race towards it. I jump from the chest and trip, my hand reaching out to catch me.

My knee connects with something solid and a loud crack fills the air. I look down to see what I’ve broken. It is a coffin, made of what seems to be glass. As I rise, the hem of my gown scrapes across the top, revealing the torso of girl with her long, thin hands resting across her abdomen. I scream and scrabble away, racing towards the exit. This is a place of horrors. Where am I?

I squeeze around a wardrobe and stop. I cannot move. Everything: my limbs, my eyes, my heart, are all connected with the object before me. A bed, a simple bed, holds the greatest treasure I could have ever imagined. I climb across the dusty coverlet, my eyes no longer seeing anything but the figure resting beneath the covers.