The Dragon Variation

Chapter Twenty Five

Don't Let The Nightmares Become Truth.

October 2002

She blinks a few time up at the canopy of black silks and satin and heavy draped black cloth. Her head weighting down in the feather stuffed pillows, soft and cushioning on her head. Along with a heavy, Egyptian cotton feathered duvet up to her neck.

Olli rests her eyes to rid the throbbing in her temples. Olli brings her hand up to her head and groans. Slowly gathering her strength, she drags her body up to sit against the large headboard.

As she straightened her vision, she glances around the room, taking in her, yet again, new surroundings.

Floor to ceiling glass windows with drapes, wingback armchairs in a sitting area to her left, deep maroon mahogany wood furniture such as a desk and leather wingback chair, tall wardrobes and decorated tapestries rising the walls. Walls also lined with bookcases as extensive as a library and portraits and paintings and the odd vase of flowers

All the wood carvings and crevasses are furnished and engraved with silver linework. She imagines a King's bedroom to look similar.

It seems royal.

Royal and dark. Despite the drapes being open, the clouds above halted any light to enter sufficiently. She hears him before spotting him in brilliant camouflage in one of the wingback chairs. The rustle of a newspaper is what she hears first and then the tell-tale rasp of him clearing his throat. She then sees his eyes. If she wasn't so familiar with his eyes, it would have been terrifying to see them looking at her.

Only from noticing how casually he sits in the armchair, his shoulders taking up the expanse of the backrest, she deducts—is she in his bed?

Her folds a newspaper down from his view and peers over it at her from across the room.

He whacks the newspaper down on the low coffee table in front of him before pushing himself out the chair to stand. She still can't comprehend how tall he is now—he could easily cloak her entire body.

Both either of them says a word, he swiftly exits the room via the nicely disguised door, blended into the wood and tapestry.

Olli blinks at the door that he shuts behind him.

Her head still pounding, she slowly lifts the covers to see her body dressed in fine silk pyjamas. She is clear and smells—of sea salt and vanilla scented soap. She has no recollection of the time that has passed. It could have been a day or so, or a month and wouldn't have the faintest idea.

She jolts and drops the covers as a tiny elf pops into the room and waddles forward to the left of her. Olli's eyes follow her little waxy ears flopping.

"For miss." She says timidly, refusing to make eye contact while laying a tray of breakfast on the bedside table. It's breakfast time—whatever time that may be for Draco—either way, it's early morning.

Also on her side table is her wand, holster, and knife. She feels most relieved to see them.

But It bewilders her. She didn't realise—the last time she saw an elf was back in her old District—when Arwen would bring her meals to her door like room service in a hotel. She misses Arwen. Arwen was sweet.

"Erm—," Olli hums, her throat is dry and hoarse, but she swallows to somehow soothe it. "Thank you—where—where is—erm—er— Master Draco?" she asks.

The small elf twiddles her fingers together before tugging her ear. "Dot is just a maid. Dot is not knowing what Master is doing." Her beady little eyes stay glued to the floor by little feet.