Mickey Macmurphy/Macmurphy Publishing
Ch1:
It had been so long. Even after all this time, the ache still burned just as intense as when the realization first hit. And now, the final chance, her final hope, had been shattered. There was no way to get in, no way to get home. She sank to the ground, against the marble floor so cold the frost danced its way across the surface in glimmering patterns. Boiling tears rose and dropped hissing to the frozen floor below, frustration grating her soul bare.
That was it, then. She would have to find a way to live with the ache. It was either that, or join the Fallen. The very thought of the Fallen made her shudder, and there was no way she felt she could bring herself to that. For the first time in her long existence, she felt a terrible sense of meaningless, utter uselessness. She had no mission, no goal, for the first time in as long as she could remember. Which was a very long time.
She looked up, staring down the hallway that not only seemed to stretch to infinity, it did stretch to infinity. Her faint image, a slender, almost pixieish, yet somehow innocently seductive oval face, with onyx black hair streaked with silver falling down just above her shoulders, reflected and multiplied in the highly polished white marble walls seemed to taunt her. Her hair framed her head as if it were a black halo in her accusing reflections, making her shrink back in miserable sorrow.
You've failed again, it seemed to say, staring at her accusingly. You never made it back in time, and now you never will.
But why, she thought to her millions of reflections, why were all the gates closed at all?
Gates that had been open and friendly for over four thousand years? Gates that hadn't closed in anger in over four thousand years, some never even closed at all, now all locked tight. But stranger still, no one manning any of the ramparts. Everything was completely deserted.
There had to be another way in. She drew her knees up, hugging them tightly against her chest, against a cold she did not feel. She'd exhausted all the possibilities, took her nearly five Earth years to reach this gate, doubling back, watching for the Fallen's spies, taking her time, and finally, it too was locked, shut, barred, and the portcullis down. But not guarded. None of the gates had been guarded.
There had to be a way in, she couldn't give up all hope. She sat, head resting on knees, eyes staring off into nothing, for what could have been hours or perhaps even years. This corridor had a way of messing with time, time itself had a different meaning here, but that too, meant nothing now. Without a way in, nothing had any meaning.
She sighed, and slowly pulled herself to her feet. Starting down the hall, eyes gleaming dully in her reflections, judging her, leaving her feeling hollow. All she could do is go back to the Middle World, somewhere she really didn't care much for at all. She sighed again. She would make the best of it, and continue to gather information on the activities of the Enemy. That would be her mission. It would have to do for now.
She reached the Portal and paused, looking back down the hallway. The closed Gate seemed to taunt her, daring her to find some other way in. Enough! In sudden irritation, she spoke the Word for the Portal, activating it and stepped through....
.....To find herself in a dank, dark alley that stank of stale urine, sickly sweet rotting garbage and strong, fresh sin. Cars whizzed by at the end of the alley, and a bum slept wrapped in a cardboard mansion, snoring off the day's whiskey. She walked to the edge of the alley, blinking in the suddenly bright afternoon sunlight. Through the haze of smog and other air pollutants, before her eyes adjusted to the brilliant sun, she saw the shimmer of deep gold, accented with deep royal blue bands. Her breath caught, and her vision cleared, and she blinked.
