A door of aged wood flickered into existence before me. The wood itself was a deep, rich brown, weathered by countless seasons of sun and rain. Deep grooves, etched by time, ran across its surface like the veins of a gnarled old tree. The very air around the door felt charged, heavy with unspoken history, a silent vow to the unknown that lay beyond. I reached out, my fingers tracing the contours of the wood, a mix of trepidation and exhilaration coursing through me.
A sudden, flashing beam of light momentarily blinded me.
Just as the mirror vanished and the door disappeared, I found myself across the room, looking down at the village and houses that seemed to shrink into minuscule specks from this vantage point.
“Wake up.” My voice, a mere whisper, tumbled into the space as if pulled by a string, my lips moving on their own.
Wake up.
Wake up.
He’s watching you.
A bead of sweat traveled down my forehead as my eyes fluttered open, the droplet collapsing on my cheek with a plop. I held my breath tightly in my throat, my beating heart already clogging the silence inside the room.
I was awake, but reality was more alarming than an inexplicable dream. Someone was here. I didn’t have time to consider how I knew, as strange as it was.
An exhale escaped my parted lips, a silent plume in the still air, a momentary distraction from the sounds that might signal an approach.
It took me a moment to adjust my eyes to the inky blackness. As silently as possible, I swung my naked feet onto the cool floor, one by one, while slipping a hand under my pillow and getting a hold of the dagger. The stranger’s words reverberated in my mind, and I briefly believed I was defenseless, dagger or no dagger.
What if a god was here? How was I going to fight one?
I shook my head, dismissing the thoughts, and the warm skin of my soles felt glued onto the wood, the material snapping under my weight as I rose.
Shit, I almost whispered.
At first glance, it seemed as if the small creature and I were the only guests, the wind itself carrying a sense of loneliness?—
The wind.
The same sensation that took over me in that room washed over me again, filling me with dread, my toes curling on the ground.
My breath caught in my throat, holding in anticipation as I reached my hand to the curtain that batted against the air. Steady fingers nabbed a part of the material, dragging it to the side and revealing the open window. The very same window that wouldn’t budge, sealed with magic, when I attempted to open it first thing when I got here.
My eyes squinted.
Did the fairy unlock it after it forced me asleep? I moved closer, my fingers curling on the ledge, the moon shining away some of the darkness. As I bent over to make sure no one was hiding beneath, 226688’s trembling voice reached my ears.
“How . . . how did you open the window?”
The question was asked carefully, and bewilderment and caution lingered between us. My head whipped toward him, eyes wide. He was standing on the nightstand, and if he had just awoken from a deep sleep, he gave no indication, too startled by the open window.
“I didn’t,” I said.
Quiet settled back over the room, the only sound the gentle flapping of his wings as he approached.
Peony perfume hung in the air, an olfactory echo of the blooms that had filled the room with the red door, along with an unsettling feeling of observant eyes. Whoever lurked in the shadows then was here now.
The signs—the way the cold rippled through my skin, leaving behind feverish shivers and how the hairs on my back stood at attention—weren’t foreign to me, even if I had, not too long ago, told myself it was all in my head.
My father, reeking of stale beer from a long night with his boisterous friends at a city bar, would often stumble at the threshold of my room. For some reason I couldn’t name, I let myself lie in the stillness, feigning sleep, but not once did I miss the creak of the door as he leaned on the frame, his shoulders hitting the wood loudly. Nor thetskof his lips at the sight of me. Nor the low murmur blaming me for the bad luck that fell over his head. Nor the closing steps to my bed.
I shook my head. He was the reason of every torment I felt in my sleep at home, but he couldn’t be the reason now.
The glacial blow of the wind hit my warm skin, drying off any drop of sweat that was rolling down my face. My eyes grew accustomed to the gloom just as a shadow figure passed through the window frame.
I stepped backward, gulping like a caged animal. It wasn’t human. I could tell by the way it moved—too fluid, too fast—but its shape portrayed one. I was certain that if I stretched myhand, it’d pass right through the cool, dark shadow as if it was a fleeting cloud.
