Ear to the Serpent | ONC 2020 WINNER ✓ [ PUBLISHED ]

chapter II

JANE AUSTEN WASN'T a particularly favourite author of mine, simply because I hated reading about the past. But when my eyes opened to a delicate English bedroom ceiling, I knew exactly what entailed.

Wasn't I just trialed for being a witch? Where on Earth —or rather, when —am I now?

The bed felt significantly more comfortable —cotton sheets and a silk duvet, with goose feather pillows. I stretched out my nightgown covered limbs, and still found more bed beyond my fingers and toes.

I must be horrendously wealthy this time around.

"Miss Garland, it is a quarter past ten in the morning," a voice came from the other side of the wooden door. "Are you perhaps unwell?"

"No," I called, my voice higher pitched and feminine. "I am about to rise."

"Let me draw a bath for you, m'lady."

"All right."

"Oh," the voice went on, "I was instructed to inform you that Lord Hugo has written for a visit."

I wasn't sure who that was, nor why I should care, but my heartbeat quickened at the mention of the name —in a horrible, foreboding sort of way. Regardless, it somehow motivated me to lift the covers and get out of the luxurious bed. I yawned and shuffled towards the vanity —before I let out a small yelp.