《Threaded with Light (Book One of the Riverborn)》


 Prologue

    Prologue


    Ayan didn¡¯t think twice. She rarely did.


    The letter arrived on a Wednesday, neatly folded in a bright white envelope with her name scrawled in a hand she hadn¡¯t seen since she was a teenager. She barely made it up the three flights of stairs to her studio before ripping the paper open, standing in the dimly lit entry as the words blurred together. Legal terms, formalities, an apology for her loss.


    Her grandmother¡¯s house was now hers.


    The same house where she spent humid summers chasing fireflies, where the scent of damp earth and honeyed tea clung to her memories. The house with the crooked porch steps and the attic she¡¯d been too afraid to enter alone. The house that, until now, had only existed in the past she was trying to avoid, in the part of her heart where her family still lived.


    She didn¡¯t hesitate. She didn¡¯t check how much was in her bank account. She didn¡¯t make a plan.


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    She quit her job before the day was out, gave her notice on her month-to-month lease she could barely afford, and spent the next two weeks shoving her life into boxes with a frantic desperate energy. There was nothing left for her in New York City - just a series of jobs that didn¡¯t pay enough, a lack of time to ever finish her sculptures, or even start it, a fridge that hummed too loudly in this tiny space that never felt like a home, and the gaping absence of her parents, gone too soon.


    She told herself she was running toward something this time. A new start. A quieter life, an easier one than the hustling of the city. But the truth settled in her chest like a stone.


    She was running away. Running away from overdue bills and sleepless, lonely nights. Running from the way her chest ached when she passed the diner her mother used to take her too when she was feeling down. Running from the fact that no matter how hard she tried she couldn¡¯t stitch her life back together into something whole.


    The house was paid off - mostly. There was a small mortgage, but it was manageable, at least compared to city rent.


    It wasn¡¯t a good plan, but it was a plan.


    And for Ayan, that was enough.

 Chapter 1

    Chapter 1


    I have never been one for staring contests. I can¡¯t seem to stop myself from blinking. My eyes water faster than they normally would if I didn¡¯t have to sit there and think about not letting them close. I just lose control of my own eye muscles. I always lose.


    Today, I wouldn¡¯t have guessed this about myself.


    I stare unblinkingly at what absolutely should not exist. My eyes narrowing and widening, trying to process the animal looking back at me. It¡¯s very similar to a frog. But it is the largest frog I have ever seen, perhaps five times the largest I have ever even heard of. And it appears to have a pair of leathery wings coming out of it¡¯s back, tucked neatly against its sides. It is all the normal colors of a bullfrog, and yet so distinctly otherworldly even its drab colors manage to look more vibrant than your everyday amphibian¡¯s.


    I¡¯m very used to reptiles and amphibians. More so than most people my family would say. My childhood summers used to be spent visiting my grandmother down South, chasing toads and crickets through the grass. While most people had pet dogs or cats growing up, I had frogs and snakes, and the occasional lizard. I would quietly smuggle them in while the adults were busy. And I was forever being caught out days or - if I was lucky - weeks later and forced to give them away due to my mother¡¯s fears.


    Perhaps my mother¡¯s fears were well founded though. She always did say that she felt snakes and everything like them were ¡°unnatural and don¡¯t belong.¡±


    I¡¯m certainly not an expert, but I can pretty confidently say that frogs do not naturally have wings.


    Frogs don¡¯t have wings. They aren¡¯t the size of an overly well fed house cat. And their eyes most certainly do not tend to convey an air of impatience, if they bother to pay such close attention to humans at all. So obviously this creature I¡¯m locked in a staring contest with simply doesn¡¯t exist.


    Finally, I blink.


    It swats at its left eye with its long pink tongue. Closing its mouth into a smug smirk afterwards, it won the staring contest. Still, it is focusing directly on me, as if I¡¯m the anomaly in this situation. And a disappointing one at that.


    Grinding my teeth, I have to agree with its assessment. I am disappointed too. Just a week ago I got my medication adjusted. I¡¯m tapering down to wean off my antidepressants and of course I was told by my doctor that hallucinations were a slim possibility. But I assumed with this ridiculously slow titration I¡¯d be fine.


    But doctors always fail to deliver in my experience. If I had known I¡¯d be seeing flying frogs for the next few weeks I would have just quit cold turkey like I wanted to and saved myself the seventy-five dollars.


    The winged frog creature takes a deep breath in, expanding as if preparing to let out a throaty ¡°ribbit¡±, and the river seems to swell alongside it. Rising in anticipation of the frog¡¯s croak. But instead it slowly releases its breath to nothing but silence. I watch as the creature stretches out its wings. They shadow the river bank, cloaking the clusters of minnows and critters making their way against the current. Its wings are larger than I would have imagined a cat-sized creature to have. They stretch nearly five feet from tip-to-tip, covered in the same slightly damp skin it has on the rest of its body; a deep, mossy, green that sharpens to talons at the ends.


    The frog starts to flap its wings, raising itself about a foot off the ground and ever so slightly closer to me. I can feel a faint gust of air across my cheeks.


    Closing my eyes, I will myself to come back to reality.


    I want to be off this medicine. Not put onto other drugs to offset my apparently impending psychosis.


    When I open my eyes there will be just a frog. Or maybe just a bird. Not a mixture of the two. I will pack up my things and go home. And I will keep titrating down each week because I feel better. Now three¡­two¡­one¡­


    I open my eyes and relief floods through me. There is nothing in front of me but my blanket, my book, and my water bottle. The sounds of the river at my feet are peaceful, the sunshine filters through the clouds, creating a hazy light that reflects off of the water and sparkles into my eyes. Smiling, I pick up all of my things and turn around to grab my bag and -


    It¡¯s there. Hovering a few feet off of the ground, just above my bag, the winged frog didn¡¯t actually disappear.


    I snatch my bag up, stuffing my items in it despite the dirt and damp that has seeped into the blanket, ignoring what my mind has no business conjuring up, and head home. I refuse to look back.


    Even though the view is lovely this time of year I don¡¯t look around me as I make the short walk home from the closest river edge. Instead I Google how long hallucinations can last as you come off antidepressants. Reddit has lots of answers, people mostly say they experienced auditory hallucinations, not visual ones. And if they did have any visual ones they were more shadowy figures, or quick flashes of something from the corners of their eyes. Things that disappear when you look at them directly. Not like the full blown animal that seemed as real as the cows I¡¯m passing by right now.


    I file away this information to worry about at a later time and rush across the last half block worth of grass between me and my front porch. I haven¡¯t looked back once. I haven¡¯t glanced around to see if it¡¯s still there.


    Running up the stairs, I finally open and shut the front door to my place. It¡¯s almost too warm in here now that the sun is fully up, basking my home in its rays. Leaving the lights off I kick off my shows and drop my bag just past the threshold. The rest of my belongings fall next to the other piles of worn shoes that never seem to make it into the cubby holes I built specifically to keep them out of the way. My house needs a good cleaning.


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    I want to go back to sleep.


    I don¡¯t have time to rest though. I wasted more than enough time this morning at the river staring at things that absolutely don¡¯t exist. It¡¯s time to shower. I have a job interview in less than an hour and it will take me at least thirty-five minutes to walk over to their offices. I need this job, badly. My mortgage will be overdue by two months soon and I don¡¯t know how I can keep the bank off my back if I don¡¯t settle up quickly. I¡¯m down to the last of my savings and I¡¯m not bringing in enough money from selling my sculptures online, babysitting, or any of the other odd jobs I try to pick up to cover my bills. I thought that when I moved out to the country all those years ago I would be able to sustain myself the way I did in the city.


    I can¡¯t lose my grandmother¡¯s house.


    But I didn¡¯t account enough for less people meaning less opportunities for random work, not enough people to make money. No wonder I¡¯ve been steadily put on higher and higher doses of antidepressants ever since I left. And that is doing wonders for my productivity.


    Antidepressants are supposed to make you feel better but all mine ever did was make me foggy and sluggish. I haven¡¯t finished a sculpture on time since three dose increases ago. I haven¡¯t had the energy to look for real work in ages. I can¡¯t keep going like this.


    I quite possibly made the worst mistake leaving New York, and now I don¡¯t even have enough money saved up to move back. It¡¯s time for me to get a real job, a true 9-5, since moving here. Even if I absolutely hate my pickings right now.


    A vet¡¯s office. How much more unpleasant can it really get? Sick and unhappy animals everywhere with their anxious, overbearing owners waiting for answers. It¡¯ll be loud, stinky, and the owner is a creep¡­


    I throw a weary glance at my pre-picked interviewing outfit on the loveseat and rush into the bathroom.


    S.T.A.R. Situation, task, action, result.


    Situation, task, action, result. Don¡¯t ramble! Be concise. Answer with confidence. It¡¯s literally just an administrative assistant position¡­ Even if you do have to hear dogs be sad and cats get shots and they may die in surgery, and¡­ forget about all that!


    You are gonna ACE this interview!


    You have to¡­


    Moving past the sink I turn on the shower, testing the temperature. It¡¯s lukewarm.


    Good enough.


    And I begin to scrub myself down the fastest I ever have before toweling dry and prepping my face for makeup.


    Remember, you want to be pretty but not too pretty. Dr. Jameson is vain enough to want a pretty receptionist but don¡¯t be over the top. Keep it as natural as possible.


    I twist my hair back into two buns, letting some tight coils fall out of the back and tug a few more out to frame the front of my face. My dark, curly hair doesn¡¯t like to do what it¡¯s told so it takes three tries to get the buns to be both even and presentable near the nape of my neck.


    I take one look at my skin, a lovely terracotta color, moving towards ochre brown after all the days I¡¯ve spent tanning by the water this late in Spring, and decide on a light dusting of blush and some mascara will be enough. Finishing up with a brown-pink lip tint before heading back to the living room to throw on my clothes, leaving my towel on the floor.


    I wonder what it¡¯d be like to not have to think about how I look so purposefully before an interview. I bet men never think this hard about appearances and just grab their resume and head out.


    I don¡¯t know if this is true, but it would have been nice to not had spent seventy-five minutes yesterday trying on all possible options for clothing that seemed ¡°appropriate¡± enough to sit at a desk of a run down, small town veterinary office five days a week. I know the vet well enough. He wears jeans and long-sleeved t-shirts to everything! And he probably has for the past thirty years too, in fact. But I have to fit whatever the ideal is of a woman interviewing for a job regardless of what the job and setting actually requires.


    I hate this.


    The sun is still coming straight through my kitchen window, beaming relentlessly on my living room as I gather my resume and folder off of the coffee table. Taking a quick moment after to let the sun rays wash over me, calming me, before I continue looking around. The pile of dishes in my farm style sink sparks a flame of anxiety in my chest. As does this morning¡¯s breakfast left on the kitchen countertops and the papers and books scattered throughout the rest of the living room and kitchen. The smell of bread from earlier makes my stomach grumble, but there¡¯s no time to get a snack, and definitely no time for me to clean up my messes either.


    If I do well on the interview I¡¯ll clean up everything and have something to celebrate. Maybe I¡¯ll even have a job before the week is over. A job and a clean house, it¡¯ll be great.


    Digging under the blankets by the fireplace I find the most acceptable thin shawl to cover my freckled shoulders and put it around me before grabbing a pair of kitten heels and stuffing them into my largest purse and opening the front door. Dread creeps up on me as my eyes adjust to the flood of sunshine.


    Will it be there again? Am I really going crazy just because I don¡¯t want to take these pills anymore? Should I just stay on them?


    But nothing is outside other than the peaceful waves o f grass and distant trees along the roads and fences of my neighbor¡¯s family farms. A long breath of air I didn¡¯t realize I was holding in lets out of me and a ray of light, almost bright enough to compete with the one in the sky, explodes through my body.


    I can do this! I can get a real job and live in the country peacefully. I can pay my grandmother¡¯s mortgage off and all my bills AND not be depressed. I can read in the Summer mornings and sit by the river and not see anything that shouldn¡¯t be there - this one is tentative, but I¡¯m really on a roll. Life is definitely looking up! I¡¯ll bring in enough money to have more for dinner than rice and beans and maybe chicken if I¡¯m lucky in no time!


    These sort of thoughts go on and on, carrying me to the vet¡¯s office faster than I can notice the time passing. Pulling my heels out of my purse I lean on their peeling white fence to take my beat up gym shoes off one at a time. Slipping my toes into the kitten heels without letting my feet touch the ground.


    I got this. I got this. I got this.


    I am so positive. I knew I was ready to stop the meds. The river was just a fluke.


    Pasting on my brightest, most customer-friendly smile as I climb the wooden porch steps, I ring the bell and wait for Dr. Jameson to open the door. I can hear some dogs barking as the doorbell rings. Footsteps stomp my way right before the door swings open.


    Dr. Jameson is indeed wearing his unofficial uniform of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt. The said shirt has an unidentifiable yellow substance on the chest area and a small hole just below the left elbow. He smiles at me.


    ¡°Ayan, come in!¡±


    I step into the front of a single-person run vet¡¯s office and realize there are no other applicants. No one else is interviewing for this position. He needs help. I¡¯m going to make it.


    But sitting at the edge of his front desk, just as content as can be, is a frog with wings. Staring at me. Not blinking. And Dr. Jameson doesn¡¯t seem to see it at all.

 Chapter 2

    Chapter 2


    ¡°Well Ayan, now that you¡¯re here, let¡¯s start with a tour!¡± Dr. Jameson beams at me while gesturing around that small front area. A slightly pungent but sweet smell wafts in from the hallway behind him. Something I will likely have to get used to if I start working here.


    ¡°This is our waiting room. We¡¯re open 8 till 6 PM most days. Though, we do close early on Saturdays and Sundays and are generally closed on Mondays unless it¡¯s an emergency.¡±


    He walks towards the desk. The frog-monster shifts slightly to get a better view of the man approaching. Dr. Jameson continues to have no reaction to the creature taking up all of my headspace during this tour.


    ¡°Here¡¯s our front desk. The place you¡¯ll become most acquainted with,¡± he chuckles.


    Huh? Is this a good sign? Do I already have the position?


    His words briefly take my mind off the frog and onto the hope of being hired before the day is over.


    I will DEFINITELY clean my house tonight if I get this job. It¡¯s gonna be great! Oh my goodness I-


    ¡°Are you with me? Hello?¡± Dr. Jameson turns back to me, his brows furrowed.


    ¡°Yes! Sorry yes, Dr. Jameson, I¡¯m here,¡± my quick steps towards the desk, towards that little monster resting there, takes all of my self control. ¡°I actually have extensive experience in administrative tasks.¡±


    Liar.


    ¡°I can-¡±


    It shoots its tongue out at me! Barely missing me by half an inch. I yelp and drop my resume and binder onto the floor. Jumping back I knock into the small table of pet magazines, sending them sliding off and into a mess next to and underneath the waiting chairs on the other side of the room. His floors are oddly slippery.


    ¡°My goodness! Have you gone mad?¡± Dr. Jameson reaches down to help me, the same yellow substance that is on his chest appears to be crusting over on his wrists and upper palm of the hand he hold my way. Wincing, I don¡¯t know if it¡¯s at his choice of words or me knowing there¡¯s no way I can accept his help up without touching whatever is stuck on him, I push myself to my feet without making any body contact and start putting the room back to rights.


    ¡°Nothing, nothing,¡± I¡¯m speaking too quickly.


    Do I sound erratic? Will he still hire me?


    ¡°I thought I saw something. Nevermind.¡± I finish putting the magazines neatly back into place. They honestly look better now that I¡¯ve rearranged them than they did before. ¡°Like I was saying, I have a lot of experience. I, uh, I would love to know what systems you use to keep track of all your patients and appointments.¡±


    ¡°Oh there¡¯s plenty of time for that later.¡± He waves away my question. ¡°In fact, if you have a recommended system you can just go with that one. I do everything by hand myself.¡±


    ¡°By hand.¡± I repeat in disbelief. This is possibly more astounding than the creature now watching the fish tank built into the wall behind the desk. ¡°You¡¯re the only vets office for at least three towns over, everyone comes to you! Even about their farm animals if it¡¯s serious enough. How do you have time to track all of your patients by hand?¡±


    This job is going to be more work than I originally thought. I assumed I would be answering phones and scheduling appointments and smiling at people as they wait for their puppy to get done with its first round of shots. But doing everything manually¡­ I may be working harder and more than I wanted.


    ¡°I don¡¯t. Hence the need for an assistant,¡± he states briskly, straightening himself. ¡°Let¡¯s just go to the exam rooms. Please be careful not to knock anything over.¡±


    Did I offend him?


    Unease creeps into my thoughts. I don¡¯t want to leave the creature loose in the building while I continue the tour. Of course, if it doesn¡¯t exist then it isn¡¯t actually a problem at all. It can¡¯t do anything if it only exists for me¡­right? The worst it can do is cause me not to get this job and become homeless because Dr. Jameson thinks I¡¯m absolutely insane. So perhaps it would be best to leave it where it is and forget all about it. Just like this morning.


    It isn¡¯t like I have a choice anyways. Dr. Jameson is already halfway down the hall and turning into the first door on the right, clearly unaware that I¡¯m not following him yet.


    With one last glance at the beast - of course it¡¯s still ignoring me, watching the cacophony of fish swim in their tank instead - I put back on my interview-ready smile, pep-talk myself back into the confidence I had before seeing the damn thing here, and stride into the hallway.


    ¡°-we have four exam rooms,¡± whatever the beginning of Dr. Jameson¡¯s sentence was probably wasn¡¯t that important. ¡°From previous times when I had a partner and students to help with the place. At most only two will ever be in use at once.¡± He opens drawers and cabinets, baring the room and its belonging for me to look over. ¡°You¡¯ll need to restock the rooms as needed, they all have the same layout and organization. Just mirrors if they¡¯re on the other side of the hall.¡± He closes everything up and heads back toward the door.


    Down the hall and into what must be the largest room in the building, the last door on the left, we walk in one after the other. ¡°Our procedure room,¡± there is a wall lined with spacious cages, most of them are empty, but a few hold tired looking dogs and cats in them. One even has a giant tortoise munching on some lettuce. ¡°Other than stocking I may need help with transporting animals from their exams to here if they have to stay overnight.¡± I glance towards the computer in the corner and the metal table with a hook to hold onto collars hanging from the ceiling above it.


    I knew I would hate this job. It¡¯s so fucking miserable in here.


    Dr Jameson is still talking, completely oblivious to my distaste for medical procedures on animals, no matter how necessary I know they are sometimes. ¡°I have one highschooler who thinks she wants to be a vet coming after school on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays. She helps with any animal handling and feeding on those days. You can help on the other days if someone is particularly rowdy and I need two people to get them here.¡± He turns my way. ¡°You aren¡¯t squeamish about blood or needles are you?¡±


    I am actually very squeamish about blood and needles.


    ¡°No. That doesn¡¯t bother me,¡± I hear exit my mouth.


    ¡°Good. You shouldn¡¯t see much but I can¡¯t have you fainting if it ever happens.¡±


    I frown.


    Needles are the single things I know of that make me faint. I passed out once while a needle was stuck into my arm at some clinic in New York. I made the oh so foolish mistake of watching the nurse put it in. And the entire process of the blood - so, so many bottles of blood - being taken out of my arm for testing. It was enough to make me forget how to breath. I¡¯ve been required to look away at the doctor¡¯s office ever since.


    ¡°Oh I have a great constitution. I never faint.¡±


    But apparently I lie. Often.


    It¡¯s so great to learn new things about yourself!


    ¡°Perfect!¡± he grins and wipes his hands on the back on his pants. ¡°In the back is the trash. I will handle the trash, can¡¯t have such a lovely young lady taking out the garbage everyday,¡± he winks at me.


    Ah there it is. I knew he couldn¡¯t help but be weird. I¡¯m actually surprised he lasted this long.


    I force a laugh out. I can apparently hold down a rowdy animal, but garbage management is taking things a step too far. Good to know.


    He finishes opening and closing the back door for me to have a look. It seems that there¡¯s a little place for dogs to use the bathroom and even a little pond that I wonder if the tortoise has visited yet.


    ¡°Let¡¯s head back inside and finish up. You can start on Tuesday.¡±


    ¡°Oh! Oh t-thank you Dr.-¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t thank me yet. Wait until you see the workload and figure out if you can move me onto a computer format. Let¡¯s do a two-week trial of this and see if we¡¯re a good fit for each other.¡± He locks up the back and heads towards the front of the place again. Back to the waiting area. Hopefully that frog is gone again. ¡°Also no need to call me Dr. Jameson all day. Just Harvey is fine.¡±


    ¡°Of course! And I don¡¯t have any worries, I¡¯m sure we¡¯ll get along fine.¡±


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    Lie and lie, Ayan. Shame on you.


    The worries pile up in my head as we make our way back down the hallway and settle into two of the waiting room chairs. The frog-bird is not gone. It promptly flies and settles next to  me on the arm of the chair to my right. I stiffen before I can even stop myself.


    Smile. Just smile. You got the job and you didn¡¯t even have to interview for it for real. You can be out of here in five minutes or less if you play your cards right. Don¡¯t look at the thing. Just. Smile.


    I smile at Dr. Jameson¡­Harvey. ¡°I¡¯ll be here Tuesday at 8-¡±


    ¡°7:30 would be better,¡± he interrupts.


    ¡°7:30 it is.¡± Would I get a lunch break? This is almost twelve hour days¡­


    You need the money. Have you already forgotten you need money?


    Ah yes, money. ¡°Dr. Jame- I mean Harvey.¡± I smile quickly again. How do I bring this up without it being awkward¡­ ¡°I was wondering - well the pay wasn¡¯t in the posting and-¡±


    ¡°16.75 an hour.¡± He stands abruptly. ¡°Will that do?¡±


    Will it do? I do some quick math in my head, itching to pull out my phone and use a calculator.


    ¡°16.75 an hour, I- yes. That will be great. Thanks.¡± I stand up too and start to reach my hand out, forgetting that his hands are still filthy with God knows what. Numbers are still running across my mind.


    How much is that a month? Will it cover my bills? Five and a half days a week¡­about eleven hours a day¡­ does this count as overtime??


    Ugh I wish it was ten hours. That would make the math so much easier!


    I think it¡¯ll be¡­maybe almost nine hundred a week? Maybe seven hundred after taxes? Yes I can pay my mortgage on that. It¡¯ll do.


    ¡°Thank goodness! My last admin asked for over twenty an hour! Can you imagine? They almost bankrupted me when I agreed!¡± He lets out a full-bellied laugh while walking me towards the front door.


    I could have gotten over twenty an hour! Wait!


    ¡°Well have a good rest of your week Ayan.¡± The door opens. ¡°Glad to have had this all work out.¡± The door closes. I missed out on over four dollars an hour! That was to be at least two hundred dollars a week!


    My hand automatically raises to knock on the door and see i f I can renegotiate. Or honestly just negotiate at all, how did I forget to negotiate? But a wet, sticky, solid thing pushes my fist away from connecting with the door.


    The pink tongue of the monster is still touching me as it hovers two feet away. It retracts its tongue back in its mouth. My breathing is shaky. Pressure is building in my head. I¡¯m willing myself not to break down.


    I felt it.


    It touched me and I felt it.


    This is not a hallucination. That was solid.


    I look at the frog with horror. Why is it hovering so peacefully? It¡¯s destroying my entire world, my send of reality, and it has so remorse at all. And why doesn¡¯t it want me to ask for more money??


    I¡¯m gasping for air, probably continuing to be a disappointment to the frog, and I decide that my current state is perhaps not the best time to convince Harvey that I¡¯m the perfect assistant who deserves at least twenty dollars an hour. I can just revisit the topic after the two weeks of trial time.


    My hand feels strange as I try to catch my breath. It¡¯s like the residue of slime is stuck on me. I can¡¯t get the feeling of by wiping it on my skirt. I simply leave a damp spot on the satin that I¡¯ll have to hand wash later.


    My hand feels so strange. It¡¯s practically tingling at this point.


    I look at my hand, look at the frog, look back down to my hand.


    What should be nonexistent is as visible as ever. What should be firmly attached to my body is fading away, shimmering into the background until it matches completely, entirely invisible. And it¡¯s¡­spreading.


    I can see the shimmer slowly move from the side of my palm over through my third and second fingers, it¡¯s going to get to the fingertips soon and as I move my hand around the ripple takes on the colors and textures of whatever is behind it. I¡¯m disappearing. And I don¡¯t know if it will cover my entire body soon.


    I rip off my shoes with my left hand- the oddness of moving my hand and not seeing where it¡¯s going is too much to try and attempt with my right one. And move as fast as I can to get my gym shoes into place and my heels safely back into my purse.


    Invisibility has already reached my wrists. Luckily, it appears to be taking my clothes with it. Unfortunately, the clothes take longer to spread over than my skin. At this rate I¡¯ll be mostly clothes, slowly disappearing, before I make it halfway home.


    I start running, wrapping my shawl around me and hiding my right arm underneath the layer of fabric. Few people are likely to be out this time of day. It¡¯s a Wednesday afternoon and the children are in school, the parents are probably working, and the elderly are either taking an afternoon nap or are at the town hall for this week¡¯s list of activities for them.


    The freaking monster is flying circles around me, admiring its handiwork as I sprint home. Cows moo my way, birds chirp in the distance, the smell of horse fades in and out as I rush past different fences and small farm homes.


    I am so out of shape this is actually embarrassing.


    I have to slow down to a light jog less than five minutes into my panicked dash. Eventually even the job fades into a brisk walk. I¡¯m clutching my side as I gasp for breath. I¡¯m still over twenty minutes from home. I can¡¯t see it, but I can still feel my right arm. My shoulders are covered and I can only hope that this little problem decides to travel down my body instead of moving up towards my neck and face.


    I¡¯ve never really been a lucky person though.


    You could cut through the riverbed. If you go past this farm and turn into the river you definitely won¡¯t run into anyone, and you¡¯d get home in less than eight minutes if you just follow the river directly¡­


    The river. Where this all started. Where if I had just stayed home instead of trying to sit by the river before my interview I could have had a normal morning, gotten a normal job, and been a normal, boring person enjoying my upcoming new life with a steady income. Right. That river.


    I turn towards the rover. Surely nothing could go worse than ceasing to exist due to something attacking me that should really cease to exist itself.


    I glare at the exact thing I wish I couldn¡¯t see. And for the first time it seems pleased with itself. This frog has the most expressive eyes I have ever seen on an animal. The closer we get to the river the faster it flaps its wings, shooting forward and then returning back to me like an overly excited puppy. I scowl at it. Trekking along the river is going to muddy my only pair of gym shoes and very likely ruin my socks and skirt.


    I attempt to beat the frog away from me as I climb down the side of the river bed to skirt along the edge of the water from the rest of my much shorter walk home. But it takes serious offense to that. It pushes out its tongue towards me three times.


    One. It hits my left hand.


    Two. It smacks into my ribcage.


    Three. My left hip is hit last and this one sends me tumbling down into the water.


    It¡¯s the strangest thing. The water ought to be shallow. It should be barely a few inches in this section of the river. But I¡¯m falling and falling and I can¡¯t stop. I can¡¯t figure out which way is up. I¡¯m being pulled in all directions, like I¡¯m tumbling around in a dryer, water all around me. For a second I¡¯m truly afraid that I¡¯m going to drown.


    This is how I die? By evil flying frog?


    Just as the thought crosses my mind that I don¡¯t actually feel very wet at all, I break air. An oddly heavy air, cooler than what I felt on my journey back home. I open my eyes, and somehow it¡¯s nighttime as well.


    Impossible.


    It shouldn¡¯t get dark yet for hours.


    I look down, half of me is invisible, or, maybe it¡¯s just too dark out for me to see myself properly. I am also very dry, not a drop of water comes off me and I stand, taking in my surroundings.


    There are no farms, no bird sounds, not a single hint of horse scents the air. The stars here are breathtaking, but the constellations I¡¯m familiar with - only slightly, to be fair - are nowhere to be seen. The only familiar thing about this entire place is the winged frog soaring next to me.


    ¡°Anura? Back already?¡± A voice comes from the other side of the water. I snap my head up as my feet move me backwards, out of the water and away from the man across the way. I can only make out his silhouette in the darkness. Tall with a medium build and broad shoulders, his arm raises up as he beckons the creature to come to him. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect you would actually bring her. How did you manage that?¡±


    The frog lets out a hearty croak. The man breathes out sharply, slapping a hand on his forehead with a quick laugh. ¡°Of course you did, I should have known.¡± His gaze snaps toward mine. ¡°How many times did she get you?¡±


    The winged frog, Anura? My kidnapper? Does a loop in the air then lands softly at the man¡¯s feet. Taking a few hops before wrapping a wing around the man¡¯s legs.


    ¡°Ah. She got you way too many times, I see.¡± He cracks a knuckle. ¡°Guess I¡¯ll have to do something about that.¡±


    He starts my way, getting closer to the water, closer to me, and I realize I have two choices. I can stand here and let myself continue to be kidnapped by a mythical animal and its mysterious owner. Or I can jump back into the water and become invisible by my own river, in my own town, and make it back to my house.


    I take what I think is the better choice and end up wet. Soaked, as this river is very much deeper than the one I¡¯m used to. And now I¡¯m ever closer to the very man and animal I was trying to get away from.


    He reaches in and pulls me up, laughing not unkindly. ¡°You can¡¯t get through like that.¡± He pulls me over fully to his side of the narrow river and hands me a small bottle out of the bag on his shoulder. ¡°Here. Drink up. It¡¯ll be harder to get rid of her effects the longer you wait. And I can¡¯t easily keep track of you if I can¡¯t see you.¡±


    Why would I want him to keep track of me? But also, will I ever get the chance to NOT be invisible if I don¡¯t drink this right now?


    I¡¯m not going to drink it. I¡¯ll take my chances.


    ¡°Anura will still be able to see you even if I can¡¯t¡­Naturally.¡± His eyes meet mine. I can¡¯t distinguish his pupils from his iris. His eyes are so dark they rival the bits of night sky hiding in between the stars. ¡°You can speak, right?¡± His tone is teasing but¡­


    Can I?


    I think I¡¯ve forgotten how to. I think I need to rest. I think I¡¯m simply dreaming.


    This whole day has just been a dream. And this man with the black eyes and smoky voice is simply a result of my loneliness. I cannot speak because everything is starting to fade to black. The sharp cold of what I assume is that bottled remedy touches my lips.


    I¡¯m shaking.


    My eyes close as I swallow, forcing the burning chill of that drink down my throat.


    I hope that when I wake up, actually wake up, to the real world¡­ I have truly remembered to set out my interviewing outfit¡­ I really do need that job.

 Chapter 3

    Chapter 3


    I am freezing. It feels like I¡¯m being cut open from the inside out and then thrown into a frozen ocean. EVERYWHERE hurts. I can¡¯t even open my eyes, the pain is holding onto me too strongly. And i¡¯ve felt like this for ages and ages. My sense of time is warped, but it must have been days of this by now, surely. I don¡¯t think I can handle it for much longer, but I don¡¯t know how I¡¯m going to make it stop either. This doesn¡¯t feel like a dream, but it¡¯s all I can hope for. At least it¡¯ll end when I open my eyes if I¡¯m dreaming.


    <hr>


    Sound rushes in - distant and muffled.


    Voices? Or just the ringing in my ears? No. Someone is speaking¡­


    But the words are tangled upon each other, slipping away before I can make sense of them.


    There¡¯s movement. A sway, a jolt. I¡¯m being carried.


    Carried where?


    I should be afraid but the fear can¡¯t reach me. It¡¯s stuck on the other side of the fog pressing on my mind.


    I drift away again.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    <hr>


    I wake to heat. Blistering against my frozen skin, like fire licking at my bones. It hurts. It hurts so much all I can do is lean into it. Or I think I do. I can¡¯t tell if I¡¯ve moved at all.


    Something presses against my lips. Wet. Water.


    I want it. I¡¯m so thirsty.


    My throat is raw, aching, but when I try to swallow my body rebels. Seizing with fresh pain.


    A choked sound escapes me, it hardly feels like mine. It brings fresh pain to my throat.


    The voices come through again. They sound sharper this time, filled with urgency.


    I don¡¯t know these voices. Should I know them?


    My mind claws for answers, but there¡¯s nothing. Only the cold, only the pain. Only the way the darkness keeps taking me, pulling me down, deeper and deeper until there is nothing at all.


    <hr>


    Finally - light.


    For the first time in what feels like forever, I feel the weight of my eyelids. They¡¯re so heavy, aching.


    I try to open them, just a crack.


    The world is a blur, shapes shifting, melting into shadow and light. My lashes flutter. The effort is monumental.


    A face is hovering above me now.


    I think they say my name.


    And then- I¡¯m gone again.

 Chapter 4

    Chapter 4


    ¡°-for how long? You should have called a healer!¡± A woman¡¯s voice fades in, the first thing I¡¯ve been able to hear clearly since the pain came and froze and burned me over and over.


    ¡°It¡¯s been about two days¡­ she stopped screaming after the first few hours.¡± This voice is oddly familiar. I want to hear more before they figure out I¡¯m awake.


    I know I¡¯m not in my own bed. It has never felt this plush before. And I never let anyone into my home if I can help it.


    ¡°She¡¯s breathing evenly. She¡¯ll wake up.¡± Two fingers touch my wrist, almost making me jump and give myself away. I hold my breath steady, willing my heart rate not to jump. ¡°She¡¯s stronger than she looks.¡±


    ¡°You can just admit you care, you know,¡± the woman¡¯s voice comes again.


    ¡°I can admit you talk too much,¡± he mutters. I feel the air move as he stands from the side of the bed. But they don¡¯t leave the room right away. I can almost feel their gazes on me for a few heart beats. I haven¡¯t tried to pretend I was asleep since I was a child. I don¡¯t know if I¡¯m convincing or not, but I hear them turn away all the same.


    ¡°You¡¯ve clearly been in here for days. When I got back your bed wasn¡¯t touched. And you smell like you haven¡¯t even left to shower.¡± Her voice is flighty, and somehow the most appealing thing I¡¯ve ever heard. I have to fight myself not to open my eyes and take a look at her. ¡°Thirty minutes. Go take a shower. Nothing is going to happen to her by then.¡±


    Is something going to happen to me after then? What was with that wording?


    I wait until I hear their footsteps fade away as the two voices carry further from me. ¡°Honestly, you shouldn¡¯t have even given her that. What if she didn¡¯t survive it? You had no idea how she would react, and we-¡± her voice leaves my range of hearing. He was right though, she does talk a lot. But I somehow don¡¯t mind it.


    I sigh and roll over to my side, opening my eyes.


    Oh yes. I definitely don¡¯t know where I am.


    The bed is layered with fluffy quilts and pillows, propping up my legs and cushioning me on both sides. It reminds me of how I would protect a baby from falling out of their bed if I didn¡¯t have a crib to keep them safe. Someone has taken my hair down from the buns I put in and loosely braided it, protecting my curls from becoming a knotted mess while I slept.


    So they¡¯re considerate kidnappers. How kind of them.


    Sitting up, I see two chairs near the bed, one shoved closely to where my face would have been resting and the other a few feet away, closer to the door. A painted blue and white jug full of water with a matching cup sits on the nightstand. It¡¯s untouched but hopefully for me, because as soon as I see it I remember that my throat burns like the Sahara desert and I need a drink.


    I reach for the jog and pour myself glass after glass of water, finishing three and a half before setting the cup back down.


    The curtains are shut tightly closed, I can¡¯t see outside or guess at where I¡¯m at. I pull the covers off my lower body and relief makes me cry out as I see both of my legs, all of my clothes - which are actually not my clothes I remember wearing at all - and both of my hands are also back to normal.


    It had better been the woman who changed me and did my hair. I¡¯m filing charges if that man touched me.


    I don¡¯t particularly care if he was doing it to help or not. As far as I can tell he¡¯s the reason I¡¯m even here, against my will. Him and that unbelievable frog.


    Gingerly, I place one foot on the thick, dark green and cream carpet covering most of the floor, and make my way towards the window. I¡¯m wearing a matching set that would have been too hot for my home in southern Georgia, but is keeping me warm against the slight chill of this room now that I¡¯m here. The closer I get to the window the more I appreciate the warmth from the tightly knitted sweater and long, matching pants. The dark grey color of them mirrors the walls and the floor of the room. Only the wall closest to the headboard has any decoration at all; a large painting of a hilly forest landscape. It could be the foothills outside of my home town if I didn¡¯t know any better.


    Drawing back one of the curtains I¡¯m met once more with a night sky, resplendent with stars. I seem to be in a small town with a few scattered homes throughout its small hills. I swear I could be right in the same place as I¡¯m used to if it weren¡¯t for the architecture and complete lack of modern infrastructure. There is not a street light in sight to pollute the sky or marr the shine of the stars above.


    Looking down, I see that I¡¯m on the second floor of what seems to be a very large stone house. I could even call it a castle, a small one, but still.


    There are no ledges below the windows, so nothing to help me climb down if I eventually need to escape that way from this room. I hypothetically could make the jump down alone and pray that the perfectly trimmed bushes below soften my fall. But it looks just high enough that I could end up with a broken leg if I land the wrong way, and that would drastically reduce my chances of making it back home without them catching me.


    I think this is real. But. It can¡¯t be real¡­


    I want to stay in denial. I want to dismiss this, just like I did earlier, and put myself back to bed and try waking up again later. In my own bed. Letting this fall away as a hallucination filled dream and lower my dosage once more and simply deal with the consequences.


    I pinch myself, briefly considering throwing myself out of the window head first to see if the sensation of falling will jerk me awake. If breaking my neck will pull me out of this nonsense my brain is making up to mess with me.


    But I am begrudgingly accepting what started when I felt that winged frog touch me however many days ago¡­ If I¡¯m going to be honest with myself, not my favorite thing to do at times, but if I¡¯m going to do it¡­ this isn¡¯t a side effect. It isn¡¯t withdrawals. I was probably never having any sort of hallucination.


    Impossible¡­ Though¡­ if I don¡¯t get home soon I¡¯m sure the side effects will begin even if they aren¡¯t hallucinations. Because now we¡¯re quitting cold turkey until further notice.


    The thought of this doesn¡¯t scare me quite as much as I think my doctor wishes it would. Truly I would rather get all the bad out of the way quickly and in one go than drag it out over weeks, months, and have him constantly asking me the same questions.


    Have you had any suicidal ideations, Ayan? How are the side effects? Are you eating enough? Do you think your depression is coming back? How are you managing your anxiety? On and on and on. The same questions every time. I should have quit my doctor and these damn pills years ago. It¡¯s not like they ever helped. No one was going to do that but me.


    Pulling the window closed I make up my mind. I¡¯m leaving. I¡¯m going home. Perhaps not out of the window, but definitely in the morning. I can make my way back to the river once the sun is out.


    However, a few preliminary steps are required. I have no idea where I am, and no clue of where that river I came here from is in relation to me. All I do remember since jumping in the water and that man pulling me out is immense pain fading in and out. A few jolts of what must have been him bringing me up the stairs of this house and into bed. And now the two voices in this home, one of which must be the man from the river. The other, I hope, will be helpful in telling me how to get home. Because the man didn¡¯t appear to be interested in doing much more than laughing at me.


    That¡¯s kinda unfair¡­ you¡¯re not invisible anymore.


    I don¡¯t care to hear any voices of reason right now. Especially not my own.


    I am dressed. I feel fine enough to move about. It¡¯s time for me to leave this bedroom. I only have thirty minutes max till he comes back according to the woman anyway.


    I take one last look at my surroundings. The bed, caringly made so I couldn¡¯t hurt myself. The clothes, carefully put on and fitting perfectly, keeping me warm when my skirt and shirt and shawl would have never been enough. The water left behind in case I woke up while they were gone. And for a second my resolve softens.


    I could get to know them. I don¡¯t have to go down in a blaze of fury. I don¡¯t have to run away, it doesn''t seem like they¡¯re out to hurt me¡­ even if the very first thing hurt worse than anything. It still helped. You wouldn¡¯t have been able to live the rest of your life invisible¡­


    But the memory of my home, the bills piling up, and the knowledge that they planned this. Planned to bring me here, even if it wasn¡¯t to hurt me. That I¡¯m going to lose my grandmother¡¯s home and I never even got to go through the attic and see all of my family¡¯s things left behind heats the fire in me again. It doesn¡¯t matter what their intentions were. I¡¯m not staying here.


    The door glides open silently, the hinges are well oiled and as well kept as the rest of the house appears to be. Everything is beautifully maintained. If they have a housekeeper I need to get tips from them.


    The doorknobs are antiques and glow with polish. The carpet running down the hallway has recently been vacuumed and I would not believe it if anyone told me it was anything other than a top quality Turkish rug. There are chandeliers as I make my way into the large living room, sparkling with crystals. This room is empty, but incredibly cozy. The fireplace is giant and welcoming. The fire crackles merrily, beckoning me to come and sit for a while and abandon my escape plans.


    Oversized couches gather in the space around the fireplace, candles are currently unlit on the coffee table between them, but perfectly scattered and gently used. The walls are lined from floor to ceiling with bookshelves holding everything from knick knacks to vases of gorgeous flower arrangements between the hundreds - perhaps thousands - of books.


    I can smell the warmth of this place, the coziness. It smells like the first day of Fall. Not the first official day on the Calendar. No, it smells like when the essence o f Fall has finally come. When the leaves are consistently crunching under your boots and you have a mug full of a warm drink filled with spices like cinnamon and ginger between your hands, The sharpness of the temperature drop from the last Summer day can be felt in the air and you just want to cozy up with a good book. That is what this room smells like.


    I don¡¯t want to ever leave it.


    Autumn is my favorite season. I missed it while I was in Georgia. It wasn¡¯t the same as Autumn in the city. I feel like I could sit and read in this room forever.


    I drift dreamily towards the cluster of couches. Brushing my hands along the shelves as I cross the room. The heat of the fireplace muddles my mind as I stare into the flames.


    I was supposed to be doing something¡­ I really wanted to do something¡­


    I am supposed to be doing something. What am I doing? I¡¯m at the largest couch now.


    I tilt my head, I could have sworn I had something important to do. I wish I could remember, but also, I never want to remember again. I only want to be here, forever.


    ¡°Don¡¯t sit,¡± that man¡¯s rolling voice pulls me out of my dream. ¡°You¡¯re really susceptible to enchantments right now and I don¡¯t want to have to drag you out of here and get another potion down your throat.¡± His voice flickers with concern as he mentions the potion.


    Weird.


    I turn around to face him even as my body begs me to sink into the couch and never leave this room again.


    ¡°Why would you care? Didn¡¯t you almost kill me with your potions?¡± My eyes drift back to the fire and my body quickly follows, warmth creeps over me and I begin to forget what we were even talking about. That he¡¯s even in the room with me.


    Memories flood through my mind as I stare at the flames¡­walking through a snow-covered park, I am smaller than the second ladder leading up to the jungle gym. Running through the sprinklers, many children are a blur in the background, fuzzy but colorful. Sitting at dinner, I¡¯ve been promised my favorite dessert if I eat all my vegetables. I¡¯m in a movie theater, m y palms are sweating as someone else¡¯s hand creeps towards mine.


    I go from toddler to teen to adult. Memories I had long forgotten rush through me, mundane and transfixing at the same time.


    I am basking in the sunlight, the river is empty this early in the morning and I get to enjoy the pinks and blues mixing from the sunrise in the non-silence quietness that nature offers in abundance. Each beam of light that hits me fills me with joy and I could almost swear I am glowing in my own right.


    I never want to leave that moment. I could sit in that warmth, that light, forever. In fact I think I will¡­


    I am being yanked up and brought halfway across the room before my body can respond to what¡¯s happening. The immediate loss of the fire hits my brain and the memories go dark without warning. I¡¯m so cold now.


    ¡°You don¡¯t listen!¡± He is fuming, his hands are still holding onto me. One firm on my arm, large enough that his fingertips wrap around and meet each other, almost overlapping. The other is gripping my ribcage, just above my waist and tight enough that an imprint of his hand will be there for a minute or two after he lets go. I look up - missing the loss of fire, warmth, light, - and meet his eyes.


    ¡°You didn¡¯t believe me at the river and you aren¡¯t listening now! When I tell you to stay away from something, you should do it. When I say something you¡¯re going to try isn¡¯t going to work, I¡¯m not lying to you. You need to listen,¡± he raises his voice and shakes me slightly with emphasis. The warmth is entirely gone from me now, the fire no longer has any pull on my mind. And I am furious without those memories tugging me into complacency.


    Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    ¡°Let. Go.¡±


    His eyes, somehow, darken. His hands clench on me tighter for a short moment before he releases me. I step closer, a hot streak of triumph hits me when I see him tense, contemplating taking a step back. ¡°If you ever put your hands on me again I will fuck you up.¡±


    I don¡¯t have a clue of how I¡¯m going to back up that threat. But I can improvise if the time ever comes.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think you understood me the first time. I said WHY would I listen to you!¡±


    Is that what I said¡­?


    ¡°Your frog attacked me. You poisoned me, kidnapped me, manhandled me-¡±


    ¡°I saved you!¡± The distance between us gets smaller as he pushes into my space. ¡°This is the second time I saved you and you¡¯re too ignorant to even say thank you,¡± his voice drops to a deadly calm even as his presence screams fury. Freezing temperatures feel like they are rolling off of him and stabbing me, like little shards of ice. ¡°What would you have done if your entire body disappeared?¡± he scoffs. ¡°How would you have gotten up out of that couch alone if I hadn¡¯t manhandled you?¡±


    Did I sit in the chair?


    I try to run through the last few minutes but this room barely exists for the period of time I was near the fire.


    ¡°I would have been fine.¡±


    Lie?


    ¡°Liar,¡± he spits out.


    Ugh! I hate being called out!


    ¡°Take me home,¡± indignation sweeps across his face. And his eyes. I have always heard of people being lost in the blue of someone¡¯s eyes, or mesmerized by deep brown eyes being lit up in sunlight. These eyes though, his eyes, I can¡¯t escape from. I don¡¯t even want to. I feel trapped like I¡¯m falling into a black hole. They¡¯re as bottomless as a chasm. I am not lost in them, I am wandering willfully.


    ¡°No,¡± he bites out.


    ¡°Tell me the way to the river then and I¡¯ll get there myself.¡±


    How? How am I going to get there?


    ¡°You¡¯ll die. Or get lost. Then die¡± his voice loses its icey edge. He takes a single, large step back, letting out a deep breath. And then the room around me comes back into focus. Without him crowding me I finally can notice the woman who was likely talking with him earlier.


    She is small, but has the presence of someone at least eight inches taller. Her hair is long, reaching just above her waist and falling in a determined straightness that can only be natural. I don¡¯t think her hair would curl even if she tried to perm it. Her eyes slant upwards slightly in the outer corners and are a warm dark brown, nowhere near as dark as his, but a good few shades darker than my own. She is somehow interesting to look at. Her eyes and lips are too soft and too wide for her small, angular face. But it all fits together in a way that¡¯s both unique and appealing.


    She wears loose pants that are a similar shade to my own but hers stop right above the ankles, similarly, her shirt stops short on her too, revealing a fewel pierced above her belly button that matches the one in her left eyebrow. That eyebrows quirks up.


    ¡°Well. I¡¯m sorry to interrupt you two, but I thought you might be hungry,¡± she smiles and I have the irrepressible urge to smile back. ¡°I¡¯m Meia. And you can argue just as well in the kitchen as you can in here!¡± Mischief takes over her smile, brightening her eyes as she nods her head in what must be the direction of the kitchen.


    Oh I love her already.


    A small frown takes over my face as I wonder when I¡¯ve ever loved anyone on sight. But the mention of food makes my stomach grumble. I¡¯m following her and before I can stop myself I hear myself saying ¡°I¡¯m Ayan. Do you know the way to the river?¡±


    Oh very smooth, Ayan. Great job.


    The kitchen is just off the living room and is almost as big. A breakfast nook that could easily fit ten people is by a large window that overlooks the front of the house. An industrial sized oven has pots of food simmering on the stove, fogging up the windows with steam and filling the air with delicious aromas. I follow Meia to the  mahogany cabinets on the left. She passes me a plate after piling it with food and reaches across me into a drawer before handing me utensils.


    ¡°I do know the way to the river, but I can¡¯t jump in it to reach anywhere but the bottom and you can¡¯t either.¡±


    She pulls out a chair for herself and gestures for me to do the same. Out of the corner of my eye I see him grabbing two plates and stacking them high with food. Even more than what Meia piled on my plate. He is not as quiet or peaceful with the cabinet doors or drawers as she was. It takes a healthy dose of self control to not stare at him as each one bangs shut and he finally makes his way over to the table joining us. Giving Meia her plate, less stacked than his own, before loudly dragging his chair into place next to her and setting his own meal down.


    ¡°But he can,¡± I say willfully. I won¡¯t take a bite until they do first. He has already poisoned me once, even if it did result in my body returning to normal. I can¡¯t wait another two days to try and get home. I only have a few more days before I¡¯m supposed to start at my new job.


    Or¡­ did my interview even happen? Am I maybe still dreaming?


    My fingers itch to open a medicine cabinet and start back my old dose of meds.


    Perhaps this all never would have happened if I never stopped taking them? Perhaps they did more good than I realized?


    ¡°He can¡¯t either actually.¡± She takes a bite of food, chewing slowly while watching me take in this information. ¡°From what he told me - his name is Enzi by the way. I don¡¯t think you two bothered to introduce yourselves -¡± she snorts at this, plopping another forkful of food into her mouth. ¡°-you went through the water alone, Enzi went in to get you after re-entering and neither of you were transported anywhere at all. So neither of you can use the river.¡±


    He, Enzi, takes a bite of food, looking at me pointedly. I watch them both swallow before picking up my fork and going for the meat. Meia resumes speaking. ¡°Anura can travel freely through-¡±


    ¡°Anura? That thing that tried to erase me?¡± My friendliness towards Meia stutters.


    Surely she isn¡¯t suggesting I let IT get close to me ever again is she?


    ¡°Anura is my familiar and she didn¡¯t harm you!¡± Enzi whips his eyes to mine while clenching his fork and knife in either hand. ¡°Her and I both helped you-¡±


    ¡°Helped me? She beat me with her tongue and-¡±


    ¡°Stop being so dramatic! You¡¯re fine. You said it yourself, you would have been fine, didn''t you?¡± His smirk shows his dimples and highlights his cheekbones. He is absolutely stunning. His skin is darker than the kitchen cabinets and clearer than a cold, sunny, winter day. He looks like he was made by hand, molded out of clay to be absolute perfect. My perfect dream of a man. His hair is short on the sides with tight coils on top. I want to take one and pull and see how long it will stretch out to. I¡¯m sure it could reach his shoulders if I pulled enough. His eyelashes are longer than any man ought to have on them, brushing his cheeks and framing his large, dark, almond eyes when he looks down at his plate to spread butter on his bread. He is perfect. Too perfect. And I hate him for it. But it would be so much easier to hate him if he didn¡¯t look this way.


    I can hate him anyways though. I believe in myself. I won¡¯t let a pretty face mess with my emotions.


    ¡°Anura follows me. And I can¡¯t get you home,¡± the words drop from his full lips lightly. As if he were simply discussing the weather, not my life and existence in another place. ¡°If you would just-¡±


    ¡°What he means to say is,¡± Meia cuts both me and him off before I can get a word in. Stopping me from asking where I even am or how the fuck a river could have brought me here. I have been in that river multiple times throughout my entire life and I have never ended up anywhere till that day. It was his frog¡¯s fault, even if he won¡¯t admit it. ¡°familiars can do things we, as witches, cannot.¡±


    Witches? What does she mean witches?


    ¡°Only river guardians can use it to travel to other realms at will.¡±


    Realms?


    ¡°And there are none anywhere near here anymore. Barely any left alive at all, really. We don¡¯t know how or why you were able to come through¡­ though we were looking for a way to bring you here somehow, so it really did work out,¡± she trails off into her musing, seeming to forget about mediating for Enzi and me.


    ¡°Witches? What are you talking about? You¡¯re witches?¡± With each word my voice gets higher, my heartbeat rising along with it.


    My grandmother was always going on and on about witches being real, magic existing. Only when my parents weren¡¯t around. I won¡¯t tell her what I really think, that witches probably don¡¯t exist.


    ¡°You¡¯re a witch too!¡± Meia beams at me. Like this information should make my day.


    Her smile is dazzling. I¡¯d do anything to keep making her smile at me like that.


    I shake my head, clearing it of her smile and the nonsense she¡¯s spewing.


    They¡¯ve clearly taken the wrong person. Once I explain it to them surely his familiar, or whoever, will take me home again. ¡°I think you¡¯re confused. That frog must have gotten the wrong person. I¡¯m definitely not¡­ a witch¡­¡±


    ¡°Anura doesn¡¯t make mistakes about people, trust me,¡± Meia quickly says as Enzi opens his mouth, likely to say the same thing in a much more insulting way. ¡°Your powers have been suppressed I¡¯m sure¡­ And you don¡¯t have any training¡­ But that can all be fixed! It¡¯s really no problem!¡±


    I would kill to have her levels of optimism. Truly.


    ¡°You don¡¯t understand!¡± Frustration leaks from me as I try to wrestle it under control. I feel hot with annoyance. But I do need their help, their cooperation at minimum to get home. I have to keep myself together.


    ¡°I told you not to tell her,¡± Enzi mumbles while standing, his plate already empty despite the mountain of food he prepared for himself. I quickly shove a few more forkfuls of food into my own mouth, my stomach rumbling in anger again that I prioritized a conversation over its lack of sustenance.


    Meia throws her spoon at him. He grabs it out of the air, returning it to her before sitting back down with three mugs and a pot of what smells like jasmine tea. ¡°She deserves to know at least the basics, Zen!¡± Meia¡¯s voice cuts at him like a whip.


    Zen? He doesn¡¯t strike me as a Zen. But to be fair I¡¯ve only been awake and in his presence for less than an hour now. Maybe he¡¯s very ¡°Zen¡± when he isn¡¯t grabbing half-drowned women from rivers and stealing them home while they wail in pain. Who knows.


    ¡°Really. I don¡¯t want to know anything except for how to get home. You¡¯ve gotten the wrong person even if it wasn¡¯t your pet¡¯s fault.¡±


    I have not said the right thing.


    Meia almost jumps out of her chair.


    ¡°Familiars aren¡¯t pets, Ayan!¡± She gasps and Enzi stops pouring the tea, setting the pot back on the table while I avoid his eyes.


    ¡°You think we can just send you back?¡± He ridicules me, his arms crossing over his chest. ¡°If it were that easy you wouldn¡¯t be here in the first place.¡± His eyes flicker towards Meia before settling on me. ¡°Like it or not, you¡¯re part of this now. So get used to it.¡±


    My hands tremble with the effort of not picking up and throwing the entire contents of the teapot, boiling water and all, at him as he continues. ¡°Though I have no idea why you would even want to go back to your sad little life alone and destitute anyways. Don¡¯t you like eating a real meal, as much as you want? Was the bed you woke up in not comfortable enough? You have no living family and no lovers. No friends anymore if we¡¯re being honest. Your house isn¡¯t even yours and you¡¯ll be kicked out in the next few weeks at this rate. You don¡¯t even have any money, you don¡¯t have a real job-¡±


    My head snaps up at the unfairness of that last statement. I do have a real job. Or I will have one. If I make it back home in time. The house is mine¡­almost.


    ¡°-what are you so eager to get back to? Poverty and unfinished art projects you¡¯ll never be able to sell in that tiny town you decided to move to?¡± He falters slightly, his face losing color as he looks at me, taking in the shock and pain on my face.


    His cruel, and possibly accurate, summary hits me over and over again.


    No family, no friends, no money.


    Embarrassment consumes me as tears start to gather in my eyes. My face is even hotter than before and I know if I look up for even a moment they will both see I¡¯m on the verge of crying. So I keep my head low and stand, grabbing my plate but leaving the mug he started to pour for me, half full or tea. I walk the short steps to the sink and place everything down, steadying my breath so my voice won¡¯t shake as I prepare to answer him.


    ¡°What you described is mostly temporary,¡± my voice fails to regulate itself, cracking as I think about the parts that are not temporary.


    I don¡¯t have any living family. And I likely will never be accepted as a part of the town enough to make true friends. They have very little love for anyone they consider to be an outsider and I am not nearly charming enough to make it past that hurdle.


    ¡°And it¡¯s my life. If I want to be hungry and sit on the riverbank and then go alone to the house my grandmother left me¡­I can choose to do that.¡±


    My voice grows stronger, remembering the parts he got wrong in his little assessment. ¡°I have at least another month or two before I lose my home, and I¡¯ll have enough to pay my bills from the job I got. Despite your ¡®familiar¡¯ doing its best to ruin my interview,¡± I stare up at the light fixture above the sink until stars dance across my vision, driving my tears away before looking over at the two of them.


    Meia sits, horror on her face as she stares at Enzi. Meanwhile, he no longer looks ashamed for a single thing he¡¯s said - or done - to me.


    Witches.


    The shocking, ridiculous idea of it pops back into my head as him and I stare at each other. I could believe he¡¯s a witch. I can believe Meia is a witch, too. They both have a magnetism about them, I imagine they could charm my entire town into loving them within a week. Perhaps if Meia takes the lead on speaking and he only smiles they could do it in three days. They would love them. But me? I have never felt a spark of power within me in any way that felt witchy.


    Besides, despite what my grandmother liked to say, I don¡¯t believe in magic. Or¡­well I didn¡¯t believe in magic. And if I were back in my own home I would promptly go back to not believing magic exists. Here - assuming here exists - I can accept things may not be so simple. My grandmother not only insisted that magic was real but also that we all had some in us one way or another. But even so, I¡¯m very sure what they¡¯re looking for won¡¯t be found in me.


    Enzi, not breaking eye contact, begins to speak but this time I¡¯m the faster one. ¡°You¡¯ve given me nothing to go on and no fondness or any inclination to help you. For all I know you¡¯re lying to me about the river! Or lying about other ways for me to get home. I don¡¯t even know why you need help or what you need help with but I¡¯m sure if I did I still wouldn¡¯t want to help you!¡± I flinch internally at including Meia in that ¡®you¡¯.


    ¡°We¡¯re dying!¡± Meia shouts. ¡°We¡¯re all being killed, witches and fae alike and I think you can help. Enzi may have put it badly, but if you actually have so little to go back to then can¡¯t you at least try to help us?¡±


    ¡°Fae?¡± The word feels foreign on my tongue. ¡°You mean like actual fairies? With pointy ears and little wings, and-¡±


    ¡°If she wants to know more, then she can make a choice,¡± Enzi is firm in both his disapproving tone at my questions and his turn away from me towards Meia. ¡°People are dying, either that¡¯s enough for her or it isn¡¯t.¡±


    Returning to pouring tea, he skips my cup this time and pushes a steaming one to Meia. ¡°You can go back to your room or you can leave. The door is that way, down the stairs,¡± he points at the hall leading away from the living room and the rest of the house I¡¯ve seen so far.


    I want to curse myself to hell but I hesitate.


    ¡°I¡¯ll decide in the morning,¡± the words escape from my lips quickly, like they want to make it out before my brain can catch them, change them.


    Meia shakes her head, slowly sipping her tea, and a tinge of disappointment sours the air.


    I make my escape to what I guess is now my bedroom, avoiding looking at the fireplace even as it calls to me. Running down the hallway and carefully closing my door shut.


    I need to think. I need to rest. I need my meds. I can¡¯t do this right now.


    I pull the covers up and curl myself into a ball under the blankets, closing my eyes.


    I don¡¯t care how real this feels. This just can¡¯t be. There¡¯s no way.

 Chapter 5

    Chapter 5


    No family. No friends. No money. No family. No friends. No money. No family. No friends. No money.


    I can¡¯t sleep.


    I toss and turn in bed. Enzi¡¯s words continue to play over and over in my head.


    There¡¯s no way to tell the time for sure, but it¡¯s been at least a few hours since I ran from the kitchen. And I still don¡¯t know what I¡¯m going to say in the morning.


    On one hand, Enzi has a point. I won¡¯t be missing out on much if I don¡¯t go back, and almost no one will miss me. Even Dr. Jameson will likely just think we ¡°aren¡¯t a good fit¡± and replace me before the month is even up. It will probably  take over two weeks for anyone to even think of checking in on me. My mortgage representative may be the one person who cares if I stay or not, and that¡¯s mostly because she¡¯ll have to clear out my things and put the house up for foreclosure if I don¡¯t come back.


    But asking me to stay here. In a ¡°realm¡± entirely different from my own. Where frogs can fly and witches and fae exist and whatever else is strong enough to kill people that have magic! It¡¯s just like he said. I¡¯m going to end up dead.


    Not too long ago you wanted to be dead though so¡­


    The unhelpful thoughts that fueled my depression, put me into therapy, and onto meds try to creep back into my head.


    That was long enough ago. I remind myself that I don¡¯t truly feel that way anymore. I honestly haven¡¯t for years. No matter how bad money got or how lonely I would feel sometimes.


    I¡¯ve come up with different coping mechanisms since then. Are they better¡­? Well anything is better than trying to kill yourself according to psychiatrists. So yea. I¡¯m doing great.


    Besides. I need to focus an decide. Passive suicidal ideation can come later.


    Three knocks tap against my door. ¡°Can we talk?¡± Meia¡¯s voice comes from the hall.


    ¡°Yea sure.¡± I sit up as she walks in. Her eyes are a bit red, puffier than when I last saw her. Guilt surrounds me as she sinks into the chair closest to my bed. I wonder if it was her or Enzi sitting there the past few days. She made it sound like it was Enzi¡­ but after meeting him, really talking to him, I can¡¯t see how that could be true.


    ¡°Zen doesn¡¯t know I¡¯m here. He¡¯s out for the night.¡± She takes in my face, my hands wringing the covers beside me.


    Does she mean he went out, or he¡¯s asleep?


    ¡°Really, you deserve to know more. You can¡¯t make a decision without knowing more¡­ So here.¡± her hands splay out, palms upwards. ¡°I¡¯ll tell you whatever you need¡­ If- if I can.¡±


    Well that was cryptic.


    ¡°Who is killing you? Why are they killing you? How many people have died?¡±


    ¡°I-¡¯ Meia shifts uneasily. ¡°I may have been exaggerating a little bit¡­ We¡­ Well we aren¡¯t all being killed.¡± She grabs my hands. ¡°But no one is taking any notice of who does disappear. No one is even doing anything to look into it!¡±


    I¡¯m only more confused when she rushes to speak again. ¡°The nights are getting longer, and witches are disappearing into the darkness. Everyone says it¡¯s normal, that our seasons and days follow a magic of their own and I can¡¯t expect things to stay the same because it¡¯s convenient to me.¡± She tightens her grip on me. ¡°But no one cares that entire covens disappear without any warning some nights! Parts of the forest seem to be in perpetual darkness. And even our most steadfast covens - some witches and covens can be really temperamental and flighty I guess. Elementals, especially air witches, sure. They would leave without a word and resettle somewhere else - but druids? The forest witches? They¡¯re as old and stubborn as air witches are changeable. They¡¯re as steadfast as the trees they make their homes in. And so many of them are just gone. Homes abandoned with everything left behind. It just doesn¡¯t make sense!¡±


    I turn her word vomit of information over in my head¡­ ¡°So¡­ this is a hypothesis?¡±


    They kidnapped me for a fucking hypothesis? Just a few worries??


    Meia pulls me closer. ¡°The fae are worried! Worried enough that they reached out to us for the first time in centuries. And our Queen is too stubborn to listen to them-¡±


    ¡°Wait Meia! You¡¯re asking me to get involved in God knows what¡­ a whole different world¡¯s political landscape based on hearsay and hypothesis!¡±


    Which - I can¡¯t help but think to myself - is actually a lot less dangerous than getting involved based on facts and cold-blooded murder.


    ¡°Okay.¡± I pull back from her, away from her hands and tug the quilt back over my hips, giving myself more time to think through my options. ¡°Okay. Say I do stay here willingly. You have some ideas that something is wrong. The fae-¡±


    It feels so wrong talking about this like it¡¯s all normal. Totally real everyday occurrences. It¡¯s just the fae. No biggie.


    ¡°-have enough concerns to talk to witches¡­why has it been centuries since you all¡­have spoken?¡± I wave my hands in her general direction as I say this.


    ¡°Witches and fae both have access to magic. But it¡¯s¡­different. Witches, we¡¯re practically human. I could go to your realm and fit right in. Easily. It wouldn¡¯t even be too hard of an adjustment, except for my loss of magic.¡± She cringes, just the idea of losing her magic is painful to her, I guess.


    ¡°Fae, they¡¯re other. Not quite human, a little more, a little less than humans in so many ways. It¡¯s hard to explain, if you ever met one you¡¯d just notice¡­ they¡¯re different. It¡¯s hard to put your finger on until it¡¯s right in your face.¡±


    Despite her pause here, I can¡¯t think of a single thing to say. I¡¯ve never personally thought about the possible differences between a human and a fae. Let alone a witch and a human or a fae. So I just let her continue.


    ¡°Witches can channel magic, I¡¯d say. We can learn it and use what¡¯s already around us in ways we manipulate. It can start young, most people teach their kids early the same way humans teach their kids to read. But it isn¡¯t within us, not really. At least, not in the way the fae have magic inside of them. They¡¯re born with it. However strong they are is determined at birth, whatever type of magic they have is innate and can¡¯t be changed.¡±


    She flashes out of the room, disappearing in front of my eyes and returning within a second, a book in her hands. I almost fall out of bed at that casual display of what¡¯s possible here.


    ¡°Like this!¡± Her excitement is infectious.


    I wonder what kind of witch she is. What she¡¯s learned.


    She opens the book at random. ¡°I can study this book and depending on my skill or talents or both I can learn a new type of magic! Well. technically. There are some other factors I guess.¡±


    She shrugs. ¡°But either way that isn¡¯t the case with fae. They can build up their personal magic, of course they have access to a basic, more general magic. I suppose that witches can and do learn that too. But it¡¯s more like feeling and making it happen with them. It will never come that easily to us, but we can do it, it¡¯s often some of the first things we learn to do since it¡¯s things that will make our lives easier.¡±


    She disappears again, returning without the book this time. I can only guess she went to put it away.


    ¡°But if a fae¡¯s magic is in, say, earth magic. And they want to use water magic instead, it will just never happen.¡±


    She toys with the jug of water, pushing it this way then that. ¡°At the same time witches don¡¯t usually reach the level of skill fae have with their own magic. Even if they can¡¯t learn it all. We¡¯re long-lived, but not like they are. They can live thousands of years, and reach an expertise in that time that most witches can never hope to achieve.¡±


    Meia sighs, fiddles with the eyebrow piercing, then puts her hands back into her lap. ¡°This created issues for us. First we were envious of each other, then jealous. It came to an outright war almost five hundred years ago. And ever since that ended we¡¯ve lived separately. They went to their own realm and we stayed here.¡±


    Five hundred years ago? She¡¯s talking about this like this was yesterday! How does she even know all this?


    ¡°How old are you, Meia?¡± She¡¯s talking about these events like she witnessed them herself. Surely she can¡¯t be¡­that old.


    ¡°Oh. I¡¯m only eighty-two. I¡¯m young. But everyone knows this about our history. It was the biggest war in eons.¡±


    ¡°Eighty-two! Meia! How long will you live?¡± I can¡¯t believe Meia, who looks my age, I thought for sure we were around the same age, just shy of twenty-eight¡­ There¡¯s no way she¡¯s older than my grandmother was when she died.


    ¡°At least a few centuries. I haven¡¯t even hit my first century yet!¡± I can see her color rising.


    I backtrack, clearly I¡¯ve insulted her, and attempt to reassure h er before I can do anymore damage tonight.


    ¡°Of course not. It¡¯s just¡­well humans don¡¯t really live that long, that¡¯s all. No one in my family has ever lived that long. I was just surprised,¡± I¡¯m mumbling by the end of it. I don¡¯t think it was an adequate apology at all.


    Meia, however, is a force of joy that cannot be brought down for more than a few moments. Understanding clears up her features, and her constant, bright smile returns.


    ¡°Right! I forgot! Everyone from your realm tends to die before their first century even!¡±


    ¡°Well-¡± I¡¯m cut off, thankfully. I really didn¡¯t have much to say about that.


    ¡°Look. All we need from you is to come with us! We¡¯re going to be travelling soon and we think-¡± She looks at me closely before continuing. ¡°Well I think that you may be able to help us with the darker areas of the forest at minimum.¡±


    Denial washes over me. I can¡¯t help with anything. I forgot she even thought I was a witch too throughout this conversation. ¡°I can¡¯t-¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t have to do anything. Right now you don¡¯t really have to do anything at all!¡± She grabs my hands again, almost falling out of her seat to stop me from immediately saying no. ¡°The first walk through the forest will be kinda like a test! To see if what we think is right.¡±


    I feel my face twist in apprehension. ¡°A test.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t be in any danger! We¡¯re going to go through parts we already have been through before! There are some darker parts¡­ but nothing Enzi and I can¡¯t handle, you won¡¯t have to do a thing!¡± She bulldozes over me every time I open my mouth. ¡°And all that the test will be is if we have to handle anything at all. With you there,¡± I get an appreciative look my way as she barrels on. ¡°It should be nothing more than a few days¡¯ hike to the next town.¡±


    Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make sense!¡± This time I take myself out of bed and stride to the window. Pulling back the curtain I still see the stars, slowly beginning to fade away as the faintest edge of sunrise fights to make its way up in the sky.


    ¡°You¡¯re our light!¡± She crosses the room, but stays a few feet back from the window, wringing her hands. ¡°I mean. You- you¡¯re¡­ look it¡¯s just a test. If you¡¯re the witch we need it¡¯ll become clear as we travel. I can¡¯t really say much more right now.¡±


    Their light? What does she even mean? Like a nightlight?


    ¡°I¡¯m not a witch Meia.¡±


    This conversation is getting us nowhere.


    ¡°Well if you come with us you can prove you aren¡¯t. And I promise, I swear, if that¡¯s the case I¡¯ll make sure we find you a way home before we do anything else!¡±


    I study her as she makes me promises.


    No family. No friends. No money.


    I have nothing to lose. Except my home.


    ¡°All I have to do is travel to the next town over? Once? Prove I¡¯m not a witch, that I can¡¯t do anything for you¡­ And then you¡¯ll get me home?¡± I consider this for a moment. It really does sound easy enough¡­


    Meia nods hopefully. Her already large eyes get even bigger. Even knowing she¡¯s old enough to be my grandmother, she has the puppy eyes down so well it¡¯s hard to resist giving in.


    ¡°Will you get me home before my first day of work? If I say yes? I have¡­ like four days max to get back, I think.¡±


    ¡°Well¡­¡± Gears are turning behind her eyes now. ¡°No¡­¡±


    I¡¯m going to be fired before I even have a first day. I¡¯m going to lose my grandmother¡¯s house. I can¡¯t do this.


    ¡°It¡¯s just, that¡¯s impossible.¡± She begins to pace around the room. ¡°But! But! I can always take some money from Enzi¡¯s stash. He won¡¯t even notice, you¡¯ll be set for life with just a handful!¡±


    Once again, she delivers this statement like it¡¯s the best idea anyone could ever have. Like he wouldn¡¯t tear me apart, at minimum verbally, for even considering the offer.


    I don¡¯t know if that is what makes me not like this plan or the fact that she¡¯s essentially suggesting we steal. But Enzi is her friend. Seems like something they would have to work through themselves. I doubt I would get off as easily as she would if he found out though.


    ¡°He¡¯d kill me.¡± I say flatly.


    ¡°Oh he would never! And he wouldn¡¯t even know till you¡¯re gone. Plus he has more than enough. It wouldn¡¯t even inconvenience him. Plus he isn¡¯t gonna travel across realms to get it back! I¡¯d give you mine if I could but-¡± her shoulders raise and drop gracefully. ¡°-I¡¯ve given most of my money away.¡±


    I pause. To who? I want to ask. But pausing at any moment to think simply allows Meia to have more time to speak.


    ¡°It¡¯s a good plan! I promise you won¡¯t regret it!¡± She comes over to hug me as I turn to close the curtains and we collide with her hugging my side and my elbow just missing her shoulder.


    ¡°Wait! I haven¡¯t agreed-¡± I look at the door as she shuts it. Ignoring my protests.


    Sighing, I fix the bottom of the curtain and crawl back into bed. I only have a few hours until breakfast. Until I have to officially make the decision like I promised. And honestly, Meia has only given me even more questions. I need to know more.


    <hr>


    With Meia out of the room my doubts come back to the forefront of my mind.


    I really do need to find out what type of witch she is¡­ something about the way I just want to please her is abnormal. Since when have I ever just wanted to please anyone?


    But she did give me at least a bit of good information. And the questions, perhaps I could get answers somewhere else.


    I¡¯ve always believed I can learn more from books than anywhere else. And leaving the house couldn¡¯t hurt. If I need to run away from here it¡¯d be better to know my surroundings on my own.


    The sun is cresting over the edge of the visible sky at this point, it can¡¯t be any later than 5AM¡­ if their time system is similar to what I¡¯m used to¡­ I could take a quick walk around the town. If there are other castles then there are probably more people around here¡­ Servants? Maids? Stable boys? Someone has to be awake this early to make a whole castle run. Even if I haven¡¯t seen another soul in this house so far.


    And after a bit of knowing the area better I can come back and grab a few books from the living room.


    I embrace the curiosity that raises its head up thinking of the living room, the fireplace.


    We¡¯ll read them in OUR room. Not the living room


    I scold myself for even considering going back near the fireplace. Despite the cozy feeling I get from thinking about sitting back down on the couch. Enzi may be a cruel, blunt, rude, asshole. But there is something strange about that area and how it drew me in.


    And I don¡¯t feel up to a repeat of yesterday evening.


    I smile to myself. That, I¡¯m sure, is not a lie.


    I grab a pair of thick woolen socks from the top drawer of the dresser tucked into the back of the closet and feel around on the floor to see if a pair of boots might conveniently be here as well. Luck is not with me so far for boots, but I do find a dark grey cloak, with a deep enough hood I either will not be noticed at all while walking around, or people will think I¡¯m a thief and instantly alert their version of the police on me lurking about. Only time will tell.


    I thank whoever keeps up with the cleaning of this house  as my bedroom door opens and closes for me just as silently as it did the last time I was sneaking out of the room. And make my way to the kitchen. Enzi has helped me even further by telling me exactly where the front door is. Neat rows of shoes and boots are in the entryway. It looks how I wish the front door of my own house would be. Everything in its place instead of thrown about.


    My dishes. I¡¯m going to have flies by the time I get home. I should have done my dishes.


    Bugs are quite possibly my worst enemy. People, especially my father, were always surprised that I don¡¯t like bugs. They think liking snakes and lizards, or frogs and turtles, means that you should be a-okay with bugs existing. And I guess that they have a right to exist. I¡¯m not saying they should be eradicated or anything. But it does not at all mean that I have to like it, or them. Reptiles¡­amphibians they may not appeal to everyone but some of them are actually cute. You can still see their faces. They still have a reasonable amount of legs - or no legs in the case of snakes. They may not want to cuddle with you, or hangout with you at all, or give any indication that you matter to them past feeding them¡­ but they aren¡¯t creepy crawlies. They don¡¯t skitter across the floor and roll in packs of way too many. Or emerge from nests and try to take over your whole house as soon as it gets warm outside. I just, I don¡¯t like bugs. Flies aren¡¯t the worst of them. But they¡¯re so hard to get rid of once they¡¯ve infested your kitchen and I am not at all looking forward to trying to get them out once I get home again.


    A pair of boots fits me well enough that I think I can go out for an hour or so and not have too many blisters when I return. Perhaps I should have doubled up on socks. But I don¡¯t know if Enzi is in or out of the house and I don¡¯t want to run into him on my way out. I need to leave as soon as possible.


    I drape the cloak around my shoulders and pull up the hood. It is so annoying I found a cloak and not a real jacket. It fits in with the feel of this world, I guess. But it is so much more practical to have the front actually close entirely. Zippers are a fantastic invention. I may need to introduce the concept here before I leave. The cloak could have at least had buttons.


    I step out the front door and can¡¯t help but turn around to get a better view of where I¡¯ve been the past two days. It really is a lovely castle¡­house. Having very little experience with castles, or large homes in general really, I¡¯m not quite sure what to categorize it as. But I know I never imagined I would stay in a place like this.


    The pale grey stones that make up the exterior are worn down in some places, making me think this house has been standing for millenniums. The windows are large towards the bottom and get smaller with each floor. By the time you make it up to the top, five floors in total, the windows are thin rectangles, barely slits in the walls.


    What may be my favorite part of the whole estate, where I would love to explore more if I have enough time this morning, is an oddly shaped glass structure I can see jutting out from the back of the house. It doesn¡¯t have the typical shape of a greenhouse, even though the materials are all the same. Instead of being rounded and domed on top, it is sharp on its sides, which each rise to a point at the ceiling as well.


    I can see two out of possibly five points from this angle and I think, I hope, that there is an entrance from inside the house. Perhaps from one of the place¡¯s impeccably kept hallways.


    The sun seems to be rising faster than it would have back home.


    I hope they sleep late.


    The distant town is quaint in the glow of sunrise. I could imagine a historical novel taking place here. Or plopping this town down somewhere in the countryside of England, Scotland maybe, and it being a UNESCO historical location. Tourists would love it here. I would love it here.


    Of course, that was the same thought I had before permanently moving to Georgia. But my town has nothing on the charms of this one. This place has castles for goodness sake.


    But it does not have people as far as I can see.


    I walk down what I hope is a road that will lead into a larger town area, as the homes nearby have their doors firmly closed and their lights off.


    Perhaps I can find a small market or some cafe, anything that will be open this early in the morning. I don¡¯t know how towns work when they appear to be set back a few centuries from my own.


    And magic may get rid of the need to do too much early prep¡­


    Wincing, I hope that this is not the case. That I¡¯ll be able to find a single person to try and talk to before I need to go back and pretend like I was in my bed all night.


    A bakery!


    Bakeries are staffed early in the morning, even in modern times. I can¡¯t imagine just because the time period is different they don¡¯t have to start at the crack of dawn.


    I¡¯ve only passed by homes so far. Some larger than where Meia and Enzi stay, set further back into the land. Others are small and have vegetable gardens or fruit trees out front. Almost all the homes are made out of stone, no matter their size.


    I only have so much more time to explore before I ought to head back, two thirds of the sun is already in the sky when I make it to what must be the town¡¯s center.


    Two story shops line the street, with smaller, winding roads connecting to the main one. I can see the rise of smoke from some of the buildings, but the majority of the windows are shuttered. As if this place is abandoned. People may be awake, but they are not outside yet.


    Deciding I have enough time to do a quick jog up and down the two or three blocks that make up their main street, I begin to survey the area.


    I pass by a tavern. Closed. A small general store. Closed. A jeweler, two dressmakers, both closed. Tiny row houses are plopped in-between with little care for consistency.


    Surely they must have a baker?


    I am almost to the end of the second block when the smell of fresh bread hits me.


    And now hopefully they¡¯re open? Or friendly enough that they¡¯ll let me in before they officially open?


    I pass by three more random shops, all closed, before I make it to the bakery. No open sign graces the front, but there isn¡¯t a closed sign either. I look through the window and see an array of breads, pastries, and baked goods that would make any Parisian patisserie proud. But again, no people. I try the front door, giving myself five minutes to talk before I need to head back.


    Bells tinkle as I walk through the front. The smell of bread and warm sugar reminds me of waking up to a late breakfast on the weekends at my grandmother¡¯s, having some fresh fruit and tea on the side and then spending the rest of the day splashing in the river and exploring the farms nearby. Missing home hurts me, it rips through my chest like a knife to the heart. Placing one hand over my breast for a second, I close my eyes before shaking off the pain. Then look around for someone to speak to when I hear noises in the back.


    ¡°Hella?¡± I call towards the kitchen. No response.


    ¡°Hi! Is there anyone I could talk to?¡± I call out louder this time, but still no one answers. I have less than four minutes left before I need to race back to the castle.


    ¡°I just have a quick question, can I come back there?¡± I say as I walk past the counter and poke my head through the door leading to the baking area. There are no people. But there is definitely baking going on.


    Bowls are being whisked, ingredients prepped and put away, oven doors are opening and closing, perfectly round cakes come out of them and are set to cool, pastries are being iced, fruits and decorations put the finishing touches on bite sized items across the kitchen. But not a single person is doing the work. The bakery is run entirely by magic.


    I stumble out of the doorway and get back behind the counter.


    Are there no people here at all? Is every store run this way? Where IS everybody?


    I am almost out of time when I finally pick myself up off the figurative floor and gently shut the door behind me. The bells tinkle in their cheery way, saying goodbye to me before falling silent as I turn to make my way back.


    The sun is almost fully above the skyline at this point and I decide on a brisk power walk back up the winding road. I can¡¯t help but peer into the other shop¡¯s windows, even as they¡¯re still shuttered, wondering what¡¯s going on behind their curtains.


    Is it possible for people to not work at all here? Is it a strain on them to have these shops running without physically being there?


    The houses and castles are as still and quiet as ever on my walk back. I see my destination coming up around the last bend and quicken my pace. The castle is astonishingly beautiful with the sun gleaming off the windows and brightening the stone walls. Even I can admire the building while also hoping I never see it again.


    I make it up the walkway and to the front doors before a loud noise stops me in my tracks.


    ¡°Ribbit!¡±


    I turn slowly, just catching Anura as she fades into view behind me. Her browns and greens come into focus from the background, top to bottom.


    Was she invisible? This whole time she¡¯s been behind me? INVISIBLE?!


    ¡°Oh God.¡±


    I don¡¯t know if she can Enzi can¡­communicate? But I need to get back to my bedroom, fast. The books in the living room can wait. I leave the door open as I pull off my boots and cloak, setting the boots exactly back where I found them.


    I start to tiptoe through the house, making it all the way to the corridor just before my room when Enzi appears out of a door just two down from mine.


    ¡°Ran away and gave up already?¡±


    I freeze. Anura flies over to him, taking two short hops at his feet after landing.


    That absolute traitor. I think while inching my way towards my bedroom door.


    ¡°I was just getting some fresh air. I couldn¡¯t sleep.¡±


    I make the final few feet to my door before looking back at him.


    ¡°See you at breakfast,¡± I blurt out.


    Enzi moves forward as if to follow me into my room. I shut the door just as he makes it to the handle.


    ¡°I heard you and Meia talking last night. What will she think about you trying to run away?¡± He calls out.


    I hope Meia isn¡¯t on this floor too.


    I say nothing, hearing a huff then a croak and finally footsteps leading away from me and towards the communal parts of the house.


    Time is almost up for when I said I¡¯d give them their answer. I have no more information than I did ending my conversation with Meia. And if Enzi does what I think he¡¯s going to do, Meia will believe I tried to escape immediately after - kinda - agreeing to try for her, just once.


    I slide my hand down my face and look towards the closet. Throwing the cloak back in, I groan, knowing I only have a few more hours at most to think my way through this, out of this. I should have just stayed here to think instead of believing I¡¯d get any answers from the nonexistent people of this town.


    I settle in, with the half empty jug of water and a blanket, to the chair furthest from my bed. I have to make a decision.