My F*cked Up Fairytale

TRAPPED IN DRYADALE - CHAPTER TWELVE

A bright light is pouring over my body. Its warmth slowly scatters across my skin, waking me up from the safety of my dreams. A coldness soon overpowers the warmth in me as the darkness of Aeolus clutters my thoughts. Those awful, almost glowing eyes of his, his bastardly grin, and that wretched arrow.

I swallow hard and open my eyes to see that I'm sitting in what looks to be a bed framed by large, thick roots, wrapped in flowery vines. It's a sight that should evoke awe, but no emotion of appreciation is brought on, only a dreadful feeling of terror that continues to crawl into my heart.

I'm definitely not in the manor anymore. The usual Victorian decoration I'm met with in my waking moments has been traded in for nature-esque decor. Dark green vines, dotted with the occasional purple and white speckled flowers, run across the ceiling and hang down the walls like drapery. The vines meet together in the middle of the ceiling to surround a circular window that takes in the rays of the day's sun.

I sweep my eyes away from the window and look across the rest of the room. There are multiple windows that stretch from the floor to the ceiling. Their frames are not of metal but the woven roots of trees.

It's mesmerizing how nature flows throughout the whole room. Even the floor has found a way to connect itself with nature. Bits of spring flowers and thin lines of grass stretch through the cracks in the light brown wood spanning the bottom of the room. These little splashes of nature come to an end when the floorboards reach my bed. In their place are unsettling splotches of deep maroon. I'm not going to try to fool myself into thinking that those stains are from a clumsy elf that dropped their wine. Although I truly do wish I could, I know the scars left in the midst of this beautiful nature are from blood.

And I'm definitely not up for adding my own blood to the floor. I toss the woven blanket from my body and haul myself out of bed. As I stand, I find that the familiar weight of my dagger is no longer there. My eyes widen, breath hitching as I pat myself down, frantically searching for the dagger in the folds of my clothes. There is no dagger, not in my waistband, pocket, or anywhere else.

"Oh, shit," I mutter under my breath, feeling more defenseless than ever.

I'm in the territory of Dryadale, and I'm without any form of protection other than my own fists and feet. Even I know that my flimsy punches and kicks can't do much to deter any elves that may wish to harm me. At least with a dagger, I could have brought on some sort of second thought into their minds. Now, all I can do is either surrender myself to those that attack me or vainly try to fight back. Neither option settles the pounding of my heart against my ribcage.

I press my palm flat on my chest as I tread across the floorboards. My feet come to a slow when I'm before one of the large windows. Little rainbow-colored cracks are littered across the glass here and there. I run my finger over one crack. A little bit of the heat from the glass transfers into me, settling my nerves.

That feeling of comfort that's enveloping me only increases when I decide to press both of my palms flat on the window. It seems as if this window is pulling out every scrap of negativity within me. This sensation almost rivals the numbing qualities of alcohol.

These windows would've been helpful when I discovered my ex cheating on me. Instead of drowning myself in pity and crying my eyes out, I could have simply just pressed my palms to this window, taken a deep breath, and let all of those horrid emotions pour out from my heart.

The sound of a cracking noise meets my ears, finally bringing the newly formed splits in the window to my attention. These fresh cracks trail from my hands, winding themselves toward the edges of the window. I watch in fascination as more cracks begin to form until horror engulfs me at the entire window shattering. My arms raise upward to shield myself from the shards of glass. As the glass hits the ground, a voice sounds through the air, one that sounds strangely similar to mine.