might break open and going all numb, like nothing was or had ever been wrong … like he was still here with us. We'd only been back in Breakwater for two nights, and I hadn't been able to sleep through the last one.
Tonight, though, tonight would be different. Happiness saturated my spirits, chasing away even the most malevolent of my thoughts. I was beyond relieved to know that Rune hadn't been forcibly made a Commander. That was good on its own. But seeing the look on his face when I told him he was okay... well. That was another memory I would never forget. A good one, for a change. I wanted to hold on to it as long as I could.
The constant white noise of the surf below the keep was a lullaby that would have had the power to coax me into a fitful slumber if I hadn't been so thirsty.
Stretching, I stepped into the relative darkness of the guest wing hall and spotted the long refreshment bench beneath a gold-framed painting. There were cups, a pitcher and a bowl of apples.
Ignoring the tightness in my healing calf, I made for the bench. As I poured myself a cup of water, I looked up at the painting. It was a lovely work of oil: flaxen fields, spiky palms and gently rolling hills beneath a stormy sky. Afternoon light brightened the grass, laying contrast to the darkness on the horizon with incredible precision. It was clearly a depiction of the lands surrounding Breakwater. I searched for Rune's initials, but found an unfamiliar pair instead.
After experiencing the divine sensation of drinking water and quenching my significant thirst, I noticed someone at the other end of the hall.
As rational as a person can be, it's difficult to not be afraid when someone startles you in a dark, sleeping building. Now I, on the other hand, had always been equipped with a very irrational imagination. It didn't take much to scare the pants off me, as long as a few key elements were present. Dark, check. Empty, check. Hallway, check.
Random stranger, check.
There I go again. Welcome back to being five, Kat.
I put the cup down nervously, ready to dismiss my fear and hurry shamelessly back to the girls ’ guest quarters.
A chill turned my spine to ice.
The figure moving up the hall was mimicking my every move.
“ Thank you for being creepy,” I told the person. “You've terrified me, congratulations.”
Every single nuance of movement, from my hands to the tilt of my head and the rigidness growing in my posture, was mirrored with flawless precision.
I froze the way a child would, frustrated by a sibling copying them, and equally like an animal startled out of good sense by imminent danger.
The figure drew closer, and I could see shadows peeling free of it like sticky tar. A pair of white eyes.
No!
It was too late. I looked into them and couldn't turn away. I skittered backward, too slow. The shadow ripped free of its bindings, sprinting for me, unraveling the closer it came, expanding, smoking and burning with black gauze.
The figure lost it s human shape entirely, tumbling and twisting all around, closing me off from escape. A scream was stolen from my lungs before it could touch the air. Tripping on my own feet, I fell backwards.
I hit the shadows in the floor like a pool, and sank to the bottom of darkness.
Chapter 3: Silhouettes
I expected it to be like it had been before. Staring into those perfectly round, white eyes should have been a direct link to Prince Raserion. He used shadowy humanoid figures to see, speak, and Command his subjects from afar. Linking eyes with a “Voice of the Prince,” as they were called, would force a person into an unwilling audience with the Prince himself. When I spoke with him, I'd seen his silhouette through a wind torn vortex of black, blue and gray smoke.
This was different.
The wind ripped at me, screaming into my ears. I felt pressure all around me, like I was being smothered. I gritted my teeth, steeling myself against the suffocating embrace.
Tonight, though, tonight would be different. Happiness saturated my spirits, chasing away even the most malevolent of my thoughts. I was beyond relieved to know that Rune hadn't been forcibly made a Commander. That was good on its own. But seeing the look on his face when I told him he was okay... well. That was another memory I would never forget. A good one, for a change. I wanted to hold on to it as long as I could.
The constant white noise of the surf below the keep was a lullaby that would have had the power to coax me into a fitful slumber if I hadn't been so thirsty.
Stretching, I stepped into the relative darkness of the guest wing hall and spotted the long refreshment bench beneath a gold-framed painting. There were cups, a pitcher and a bowl of apples.
Ignoring the tightness in my healing calf, I made for the bench. As I poured myself a cup of water, I looked up at the painting. It was a lovely work of oil: flaxen fields, spiky palms and gently rolling hills beneath a stormy sky. Afternoon light brightened the grass, laying contrast to the darkness on the horizon with incredible precision. It was clearly a depiction of the lands surrounding Breakwater. I searched for Rune's initials, but found an unfamiliar pair instead.
After experiencing the divine sensation of drinking water and quenching my significant thirst, I noticed someone at the other end of the hall.
As rational as a person can be, it's difficult to not be afraid when someone startles you in a dark, sleeping building. Now I, on the other hand, had always been equipped with a very irrational imagination. It didn't take much to scare the pants off me, as long as a few key elements were present. Dark, check. Empty, check. Hallway, check.
Random stranger, check.
There I go again. Welcome back to being five, Kat.
I put the cup down nervously, ready to dismiss my fear and hurry shamelessly back to the girls ’ guest quarters.
A chill turned my spine to ice.
The figure moving up the hall was mimicking my every move.
“ Thank you for being creepy,” I told the person. “You've terrified me, congratulations.”
Every single nuance of movement, from my hands to the tilt of my head and the rigidness growing in my posture, was mirrored with flawless precision.
I froze the way a child would, frustrated by a sibling copying them, and equally like an animal startled out of good sense by imminent danger.
The figure drew closer, and I could see shadows peeling free of it like sticky tar. A pair of white eyes.
No!
It was too late. I looked into them and couldn't turn away. I skittered backward, too slow. The shadow ripped free of its bindings, sprinting for me, unraveling the closer it came, expanding, smoking and burning with black gauze.
The figure lost it s human shape entirely, tumbling and twisting all around, closing me off from escape. A scream was stolen from my lungs before it could touch the air. Tripping on my own feet, I fell backwards.
I hit the shadows in the floor like a pool, and sank to the bottom of darkness.
Chapter 3: Silhouettes
I expected it to be like it had been before. Staring into those perfectly round, white eyes should have been a direct link to Prince Raserion. He used shadowy humanoid figures to see, speak, and Command his subjects from afar. Linking eyes with a “Voice of the Prince,” as they were called, would force a person into an unwilling audience with the Prince himself. When I spoke with him, I'd seen his silhouette through a wind torn vortex of black, blue and gray smoke.
This was different.
The wind ripped at me, screaming into my ears. I felt pressure all around me, like I was being smothered. I gritted my teeth, steeling myself against the suffocating embrace.
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