Crescent (Old Version)

+ Part 2 +

Stone gargoyles with twisted faces leered down from their perches at every buttress. Ice was slick beneath every step as we crossed.

The two grand cathedral doors opened, and a chill gripped my bones as the light from outside flooded the darkness within.

 Warm air bit into my cheeks. We stepped inside.

Our footsteps echoed off the shadowy halls as we walked from the open entrance to a dimly lit corridor. Directly across the space in front of us, there was a sweeping double staircase, and on the other side of the massive hall, there was a fireplace with a roaring fire going.

"Where are we going?" 

I was only met with silence, the sound of our steps the only sound as we walked toward a hallway behind the staircases. I memorized the routes we took. 

Who knew if I'd ever be getting out of here?  

Two hundred paces straight, left, then fifteen paces. Down another corridor and take a right.

The soldiers took another right down a hall, and I was tossed into the middle of a brightly lit room with almost stark-white furnishings. Within, there was a simple ivory desk with fat waxy candles flickering on top, a couch in the corner, and simplistic figurines modestly decorating each of the surfaces.

The commander's hand shoved my back again, and the door slammed shut behind me, leaving me alone with only my breath. I listened for the bolt handle to lock into place door even after their footsteps retreated back down the corridor, but nothing came.

They'd left me alone in an unlocked room. 

I had every intention on running until I couldn't. But, I needed to find my family first.

I assessed the room again and quickly grabbed the heaviest item I might need to throw before gently lifting the bolt.

The door swung open towards me suddenly, and I nearly jumped when a woman walked through the frame and dipped her chin at me in a polite bow. She saw the vase raised over my shoulder, ready to make a hefty projectile, and her dark eyes narrowed slightly.

She said nothing of my bloody clothes or the bullet wound that throbbed as I held the vase over my head. She smiled tightly but took a graceful step back.

Not human, my gut told me.

I lowered the vase slowly. Her brown eyes gleamed with a kindness I hadn't expected and I lifted a brow at her. 

This had to be a joke.

"My name is Moira," she spoke softly. "I'm here to show you to your quarters and have you cleaned up before dinner."

Dinner. So casual as if I hadn't just been shot and ripped from my family.

The hair on my neck was still on end as I watched her. From her plain knitted sweater tucked into a cozy pair of pants, to her black hair that was twisted back into a neat knot and her small lean frame, nothing about her screamed threat. 

Moira. Small kind Moira. This HAD to be a trick. A test of some kind.

I steadied my breathing as I stood. "Dinner?" My eyes floated between her and the door, which was still ajar. Though she was small, she moved to block it, and I knew my guess had been correct. She had the same hidden gift I did...