Ellowyn
Iran through the woods, my bare feet pounding over rocks and fallen branches. Some stuck to the soles of my feet, but I didn’t pay them any attention. I had to keep running. There was another woman in here somewhere, I knew it. I could feel it. Almost as if there was a tether connecting my soul to hers. I was so close I couldtasteit, but I just couldn’t reach it.
“Come to me,” she called.
I pushed harder, my breath heaving in my chest. My legs were like soft putty, my feet a torn mess, both screaming for me to stop. But if I stopped, I would never find her. And I needed to find her. Something in my soul pushed me to her, and I knew that I had to be the one to find her.
I crashed through the trees, pushing branches out of the way but others crashed into my face, leaving a spattering of cuts and scrapes. I didn’t care. Nothing mattered but making it to the girl. Suddenly the forest shifted, and I was no longer running through the underbrush. I was standing in a wide-open space. The forest was gone, in its place was nothing but dry, cracked earth. The sky was abnormally dark and cloudy, the air thick and heavy like just before a storm. There was an unnatural stillness permeating the space, and I saw a line of mountains in the distance. Lightning cracked above them, briefly illuminating the darkness. I heard no noise—no bird or animal sang.
It was eerie.
“Child,” her voice rang through the space, echoing off nothing.
I turned on my battered and bruised feet, desperately searching for the owner of the voice—the woman I was chasing moments earlier.
“What do you want?” I rasped, my chest still heaving from running through the forest.
“Destroy.” A command.
“What do you mean, destroy?” The voice made no sense. It was baffling and infuriating.
“Destroy.” The command was deeper, more forceful. Almost as if there was some sort of magical compulsion behind it.
“I can’t. I don’t know what you want!” I pulled at my tangled hair in frustration. I couldn’t create anything! There was nothing here, and I had no magic yet.
“Hmmm. Pity. Maybe you’re not the one I want.” The voice moved around me, seemingly circling me. I felt a brush of air that distinctly felt like someone’s fingers on the back of my neck.
“But you’re marked by Fate. So, you must be the one.”
Marked by Fate?
“I don’t know what you mean,” I repeated, my voice soft and imploring.
“We’ll meet again soon, child. You must destroy,” the voice whispered in my ear. Then the cracked desert was spinning and all I saw was black.
I woke with a start and a gasp in my bed, my heart pounding out of my chest. The once opaque nightgown, now translucent from sweat, clung obscenely to my body. The blankets were doing the same but to my legs and I aggressively kicked them off while letting out a few frustrated grunts.
I wassoover this mystery voice invading my dreams and waking me up at horrid hours. I glanced at my curtains and, sure enough, the sun wasn’t even peeking through the sides yet. I groaned and flopped back on my pillows.
I closed my eyes, willing my body to sleep, but it was a futile effort. I grumbled before hoisting myself out of bed. The floors weren’t even warm this morning.
Ugh.
I hissed in pain as my abused and torn feet made contact with the cold, smooth stone. Every time I woke from this dreamscape, my body retained the physical effects.
This wasnotthe start to the day that I needed. Spending the next fewdays preceding my Awakening with Mother was going to be harrowing enough, the lack of sleep would only exacerbate the situation. I tiptoed to my bathroom, wincing at the pain with each step, and quickly did my business in the toilet that a Water Mage would come collect or make disappear later. I was too tired to think about how it worked.
I slid a pair of slippers on, sighing at the comfort and protection they offered my battered and bruised soles.
Yawning, I crossed to the stand with my washbasin, relieved to find water in the pitcher. It would most definitely be cold, but I could at least scrub away the sweat from sleeping.
I poured the water into the basin and added a healthy amount of lavender oil before dipping a cloth into the water and briskly scrubbing at my face. The water wascold, and I was already angry from not sleeping well.
I grumbled my way through my washing, getting progressively more agitated as time went on. Once I was done thoroughly washing my face, I pried the bun apart that was now sitting slightly askew on the nape of my neck.
Marked by Fate. What did that mean? What mark? As far as I knew, I had no birthmarks or any other type of mark that would identify me in that way. It was another thing that I needed to add to my journal entry of “dream questions.” I snorted at the absurdity of it.
I quickly dipped my hair into the remaining water, making sure to scrub it with the lavender goat milk bar. Once it was as clean as possible, I wrapped it in a cloth and left it lying on top of my head. If Pip couldn’t do hair, I was screwed today.
