SIXTH BOOK OF THE CHRONICLES OF FANTASILIA SERIES
𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘭𝘰𝘴𝘵. 𝘚𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘯𝘥. 𝘕𝘰𝘸, 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦𝘴.
Xanthiene Vivenca has to find allies and legendary objects of po...
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2412, Diori 31, Daleth
Xanthy gasped after a dream of a whip tearing her form apart. Heart speeding, she gathered her knees to her chest and inhaled. The cracking whip never did fade from her ears. She gulped a lungful of air. One. Two. A shiver came and went from her arms. Where was she?
Moreover, why was she alive?
Soft blankets were spooled over her feet. Her body slightly bounced at the mere softness of the cushion she was laid in. She's wearing...
A small gasp escaped from her lips as she realized she was dressed in a loose linen smock. She had no idea how she got in these clothes so someone must have put it on for her. If they did...
Bile rose to her throat at the mere thought of people seeing her form. Especially after what the Heiress and the Sovereign did to her. Xanthy clutched her head as recent memories flashed into her mind in a dizzying torrent. She was...dead and yet not. Was this the Land of Wonders? Where was Pidmena? Shouldn't there be some sort of welcome committee or something?
She needed answers.
The bed she was in was inside a room. A lavish one at that. Rugs with swirling embroidered patterns coated the floor. The large windows had floor-length, dark, velvet curtains drawn to block off the sunlight. Closets, drawers, and a vanity were pressed against each wall. The paint was peeling; the ceiling was cracked, but surprisingly, held.
Xanthy raised her eyes to the canopy of her bed and her heart skipped. This was a bed she imagined rich people had. Now, she's lying on one.
She spied a door to her right. She threw off the blankets tucked over her legs and gasped. Bandages were wrapped around her limbs, covering the wounds she received from the Sovereign and the Heiress. Her arms and most of her body were in a similar state.
Her hands slowly went to her face. There were patches of dressing stuck to it. Then, with a heavy heart, she touched her hair. As expected, it was nothing but a stump at the back of her neck. Ravalee...
Her breath came away shaky when she blew it out. She should have died in Parkane. Why was she alive?
The Arbotro. If anyone could give her an answer, it's the Tree of Breaths.
Xanthy closed her eyes and called the Arbotro's presence in her mind. There was not a single trace of it. Her eyes widened.
"I'm right here," a voice said.
Xanthy yelped and drew the blanket to her chin. Her gaze slowly settled on an ethereal figure seated at the foot of the bed. This time, it had a face. It reflected Xanthy's own, reminding her of how it once was with Ravalee. Except this doppelganger mirrored even her injuries.
Xanthy swallowed bile at the back of her throat. "Why am I not dead?" she asked. "Why are you here?"
The Arbotro coughed into its fist before giving Xanthy a sad smile. "I am but a remnant of the Arbotro's hold on this island," its voice was neither masculine nor feminine like how it was on the Realm of the Lost. "You're not dead because I chose to revive you."
