The Second (The Immortal Prophecies: Book I)

XXI. Guenevere

A mother's touch is said to be the first thing a baby feels--one that they remember throughout life, even if we can't create memories as toddlers. But even with that back draw, awakening that feeling gives us immediate response. In my case, it also includes a desiring vision of what that person to me looked like. One that Lincoln now knows in a space of time that wasn't enough for us to escape. My plan for him to read my mind didn't go accordingly when all my past thoughts surfaced to strangle him silly.

But there wasn't time, and the truth had to rise one way or another. We had other matters to worry about anywhom.

With the prophecy in hand, Lincoln and I scattered to escape, though a frightening part of me wanted to stay without a reason to argue his. And as he was close to opening the door, my necklaces glew as I made my way towards him, as bright as the mirror had when I completed the Pillars the day I accepted to play my role. The door creaking, he turned back to me to ensure I was hiding the prophecy and his eyes stayed on the glowing just below my neck, adding fear to our imprisonment. Yet, we still tried to elude in order to make it out before we were driven mad.

Biting down on my fear, I followed Lincoln's order to get through the blocked door, figures shoving aside to make themselves come through. And I don't know what it could've been, whether it be the unusual...magic this place had against us, my often questioned imagination, or the desperation of a long hopeful fool, but the minute I felt one of the figures in similar cloaks touch my arm, I recoiled. But not in remorse, or fear, just shock.

Being distracted, that gave them the best moment to counter our escape, joining together as hurdles to force us back, dumbfounded and weak. Lincoln still seemed to fight them, hoping to get us away and back to a shred of normality. Even though the logical part of me told me to mimic him, I didn't find it in myself to move an inch, except to continue my uselessness by abruptly staring at my hand. It was idiotic to think that a touch from a stranger would affect me, but here I was, lost in the old sensation of care from the warmth rippling from that one caress.

Lincoln's arm lashed out to pull me away, substantially cornering us than coming up with a plan to flee, a frantic wave of panic making his eyes look like stone. Compelling myself to focus, I retreated with Lincoln until our backs hit the nearest wall. The knight who escorted us here stepped aside and shadowed us from the unrecognized hidden figures he bought, although we would've already known who was under the hoods. "If you would please release her," he asked of my partner, who looked like he was frozen with determination. "It is asked of you, please. This is important." For the first time, he showed civility towards him, offering a gentle hand for me to take.

I came here for answers, willing to break my rules to get here and got this far, so I wasn't about to back down now.

Stepping away from his arms, I felt him lurch to grab me again before I assured him that I would be fine. It wasn't the first choice based on a leap of faith that I would be making. My steps slid, never lifting off the ground, as if I were walking on ice, my feet cold. The hoods followed my slow movements as I headed towards the empty space, hands feeling stiff like my back, waiting until I stood still.

One of them, the shortest of the two, slunk out a hand, like a snake treading through a tree, slipping forward like they could sense the mistrust in the air. Her dress sleeve of wine contrasted her pale skin as it offered certitude. I wanted to reach out, but I wasn't completely out of my mind to incline so quick as they were. Yet, her touch drew me to her as much as the inner, insecure part me resisted the urge. Cautiously, I copied her stances, stimulating an excite in the both of us, kindling the lingering magic that possessed me not that long ago. Inside, I knew these people had barrels to do with it. Still patient, her hand waited for mine that was shaking. Lincoln moved again, all fear of me gone from his face. He watched me, worry crossing him as my hand neared hers.