The Second (The Immortal Prophecies: Book I)

V. Guenevere

Blast! The pencil and paper I was occupying to draw vanished from my hands, the incomplete attempt of art was waiting to be finished when Bonnie saw me become another poltergeist, and rushing to get ahold of anything useful, while I myself was scurrying to inform Lincoln, but it was far too late.

"Grab help, hurry!" Was the last things to come out of lips before I landed back in the castle.

Now, with nothing on but a black vest with a poor excuse of sleeping trousers and old soot coloured socks, I was sprawled on the same old stone, cursing the blooming genetical curse that sent me away before I could place a jumper on, or continue sketching the bloody dream I had last night. And it was monkeys here, too! The frosty bills of wind wafting by appeared to have taken with it the life of the fires in the overhanging wall chandeliers, and any other soul besides my own who used this space as their home.

With the wintry air nipping at the bare skin on my arms I couldn't cover, the temperature coercing my trembling body to move, I wondered through the solitude of the castle, endeavoring to produce plenty of warmth for the snow my hands rubbed frantically against, my thoughts at once returning to the dream who introduced itself to me recently. I could recall it detail for wee detail: how it began with the same way I was transported here, but instead of settling down in the odd castle, or elsewhere, I floated in the midst of otherworldly stratus gray painted around me, the only colour coming from my hair and eyes.

How a shimmer of gold glistened within my muted dream, and I narrowed my eyes to capture a glimpse of what it could be. I strained with all my might to reach across and get near, though the smallest part of my conscience warned for me to pull back.

For the slightest second, I almost did.

But I couldn't help being drawn towards it, and the familiar pull that it tugged at me, forcing my surrender to face it directly. And sure enough, the shimmers began to grow slowly as I came nearer, the anticipation increased the beating of my heart tremendously, various emotions flooding my being that it tightened my lungs, preventing any air to come through.

And before me a crown of unimaginable features suspended itself in the air, made of the rarest gold, and jewels that were no longer abundant in the world I lived in, no longer thriving. And yet, as extinct as the royal mark might have been, my eyes swelled with warm water at the recognition it produced at me. The brown and amber waves of silken keratin underneath that fell like a waterfall of hair when she bent down and smiled with pride, such a smile that my lip quivered. The pearl skinned hand that reached inside, and rubbed her velvet next to my cheek as if I was the treasure, and not the diadem on her head. Her eyes glistened with a sheen coat of melancholy, wist liquid as she hummed something that caused her eyes to storm away the tears which clung like ceased leaves to a branch, holding their own until a gust of persistent air begged for it fall without hesitation. And with her eyes, it was like drops of bittersweet chocolate.

She wore this, my mind savvied.

Hitting the rock wall, my memories of the dream hastened away like a frightened bird urging to escape sudden danger. But the question now was: who was this she? Disregarding the pain with a quick curse, I asked myself that if in fact my subconscious hadn't been the guilty one to have shaped the stupor. Could that have been a distant reminiscent of someone? Perhaps, as crackers of this sounds, but...my mother? She seemed particularly loving at the sight of me, something that happens as rarely as finding the gems on the crown she wore--the only person who gave me that much affection was Bonnie. Aside from that, why was that woman wearing such a thing in the first place? Was she celebrating and excused herself to see me, or at an event similar to that? If so, why was she so striken? When did all this happen?