Working in a dead-end, post office job in the heart of a primarily-Human city, Arya Salcrest cannot let her secret out else she loses her rights and her safety. Norren Sterling, a member of the Council whom she met after a failed museum trip, is det...
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Her consciousness came in the form of light.
A groan flitted out of her lips as she raised her head from hanging too low. Her neck cramped when she did that. Ouch.
She was sitting on a chair, that much was clear. When she attempted to stand, a force pushed her back down. Oh. She's tied to it. There were ropes and everything, biting against her skin even through the sleeves of her blouse. Her skirt fanned out, covering her view of her legs. From how it felt against the chair's legs, they were glued to them as well.
A humorless laugh filtered out of her mouth. Really? This was how destiny would play it? She did her best to stay away from Norren who might be Eliott je Clair's reincarnation and this was still how it played out? Couldn't she really change it?
Arya frowned. The dream. She still didn't know how it ended. She was rudely woken up by the sun that day, just as she was watching the man with teeth gaps tie the girl into a chair. They had gotten her out of the palace with a disguised soldier then stuck her into a dingy warehouse in the middle of nowhere.
The light streaming from the shuttered windows a huge distance from her head told her it was still daytime. She craned her neck, wincing when it induced another cramp. This was a warehouse, alright. Planks covered the ceiling, holding up slating roofs meeting in the middle. From the looks of it, this was a fairly big one, running a solid few meters from the far side towards the bolted door.
Her chair was somewhere in the middle, closer to the eastern wall and the only windows in this musty building. The scent of dry straw filled the air, making it feel scratchy. Faint streaks of dust flitted past the streams of light, telling Arya this place hadn't been used in a long time. Aside from her chair, piles of straw scattered around, the wooden stalls on one corner, and a few stools upturned or thrown haphazardly to the ground, the building was empty. It was quiet, with not a sound emanating from the streets outside. No horse neighed. No passer-by chattered.
In short, Arya was somewhere inaccessible. Somewhere hidden. Somewhere only a handful would know about.
Exactly like the dream.
Arya gasped. If this was like the dream, then whoever was responsible for this, no doubt the council member with the ugly name, had beef to settle with Norren. Which meant, much to Arya's chagrin, they would have let him know they have her. If this would all play out like the dream until the bitter end, then Norren's going to come through those doors and try to rescue her.
But then, what would happen? The dream still hasn't divulged it. Stupid dreams. They had one job. One!
She glanced at the drab mess around her. How was she supposed to force herself to sleep in this environment? She needed sheets, a pillow, or at least a cozy feel! Certainly not this pathetic stance of being tied into a chair.
Besides, how was she supposed to induce the dream provided she had no way of seeing the painting or going to the bell tower now? She needed some sort of connection to the past and as far as she was concerned, this wasn't the same warehouse the girl was stashed in.
