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I look back into the room to see if the small amount of light might reveal another door, but I already know that if there is one, I won’t be taking it. This way pulls at something deep inside of me, demanding my attention.
Each step is cold and wet, and the air gets thicker the further I go, but there are no doors and no way to go other than forward. A warm light breaks through the dim horizon, sparking hope that I may be coming to an end—to the answers that my soul is demanding I find.
But it isn’t.
It is another narrow hallway that curves to the right and left. To the left, the hallway is dark, out of reach of the lantern that hangs at the junction. The right is lit by the same windows as the path I previously walked down.
I turn toward the left, but something feels off, foreboding. I quickly change direction to the brighter path and immediately feel better. However, when I step forward, my stomach knots and my blood runs cold. So, I take the dark path. The foreboding is still there, but my stomach feels fine.
It can’t be…there haven’t been any Magik users since…since my father. He was the last man recorded in our kingdom to have been born with it. Recognizing this feeling for what it is makes this decision easy. The caster wanted to make sure that if someone stumbled upon this crossroads, they would be led as far away as possible.
I rip the side seam of my nightdress and tie it higher up. This is going to get interesting, and I need to be prepared for the worst. Magik is unpredictable, but the caster is usually more so. With my right hand on the wall, I grit my teeth and power on.
It doesn’t take long for the foreboding to intensify. Sweat breaks across my brow and trickles down my spine. But I refuse to take my hand off the wall. I am familiar with the darkness, so that doesn’t frighten me. What has me on edge is the thought of losing my way to this spell. It could have me turning in circles until someone either finds me with barely a mind left or I waste away into dust down here.
Each step grows more and more difficult as the floor becomes sticky and tips downward. My feet peeling away from the floor seems overly loud, but soon, my grunts accompany it. Raw pain radiates up my legs with each pull. Every step is like my skin is being left behind in the unknown substance, trying to halt my progress.
Still, I don’t take my hand from the wall. I power through, ignoring the pain, telling myself that I have been through worse. I push down my walls and pull forth the memories of HIS fangs piercing my skin until they almost hit bone. I grit through, remembering the feel of my blood burning through my veins as HE fed from me. HE would drink so deeply that I was left listening to my straining heart work double time to pump fluid that was barely there.
It was like that for hours. Maybe even days. It was so dark all the time that I couldn’t even begin to guess how long he made me wait for food or water. And then, when I began feeling better, he would do it all again. Tearing through my flesh like it was paper that inconvenienced him.
I hang my head with unshed tears. How could I have let it get that bad? Why did I not fight back harder? I was obviously capable of it; I got away in the end. My hand trembles against the wall. Why was it so crucial for me to keep it there? There was a reason…
Something like blue smoke floats on the edge of my vision and a burning pain starts low in the pit of my stomach. It slowly makes its way up and then forces its way out of my mouth. Any food I had in my stomach lands on the cold floor. It splatters against my ankles and feet in the pitch black. The burning doesn’t go away. It builds and demands to be released. My stomach continues to expel all liquids and solids as I keep staggering through the darkness toward my unknown goal.
I try to keep my hand against the wall as I walk, not really remembering why it’s so important, but knowing it is. Ignoring the film of sickness under my feet is almost impossible, but it helps keep the foreboding feelings at bay. The blue smoke comes and goes, taunting me, making me question if I really saw it at all.
I am so close to turning around and giving up. There is probably nothing down here anyway. I don’t know why I am wasting time worrying about something like this. I should have escaped. Now, I am probably stuck and won’t have another chance.
No! I will get away! I will fight and…the VINES! That is why I am here.
The nausea eases with the new determination coursing through me. I have been through worse! I tell myself repeatedly until, FINALLY, my hand brushes against a solid wood surface. I trail my fingers down the grain until they meet the cool metal of the handle. It doesn’t take a lot of effort to turn it, but I have to use my body weight to heave the door open.
It drags against something thick and viscous on the floor. But it is too dark to see what it is. The substance sucks at my feet, pulling them into it as I walk deeper into the room. The sucking sound is loud in the silence, but the tether is still pulling me forward despite my deep desire to run away.
A small, warm light appears ahead, and all my worries about the mystery liquid trying to stop me fade away. Vines, both big and small, fill the room in an entangled mass. They writhe and slither around a center point I can’t make out amongst the thorns. Bright red liquid drips and flows amongst the leaves, falling to the floor in thick rivulets. Adding to…I suck in a deep breath and the metallic scent hits me at the same time the realization does. It’s all blood. I am standing in a room flooded with old blood.
I carefully continue forward; my nerves settled now that I know what is coating my feet. This is the source of the vines; it has to be! Which means there is a way to stop it. I can stop it. I just need to see…
“What are you doing here?” A deep growl fills the room.
I quickly look over my shoulder and find a furious Felix dressed in nothing but his white night-shorts. His large shoulders fill the doorway and the small amount of light reflects off his glasses.
I’m so distracted by the Keryth that I don’t respond before a vine lashes out. I raise my arms to cover my face, and it slices through my forearm. I back up a few steps to get out of the vines’ reach.
“I don’t know…” I swallow my explanation and straighten my spine. “It doesn’t matter!”
“Get out!” he roars.
I stand my ground, but notice his chest heaving with each breath and decide better than to anger him more. But before I can get past him, his large hand wraps around my arm and drags me from the room. He slams the door shut and pulls me down the hallways toward the tower. Not a word is spoken between us until he locks his bedroom door.
“What do you think you were doing?” His voice is as cold as the floors beneath my wet feet.
“I was looking around.”
“That place is hard to find. Are you trying to tell me you just stumbled across it?”
“That is exactly what I am saying,” I challenge, crossing my arms over my chest.
