hiraeth

seventeen

A/N: see end for a bunch of notes !!

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xvii. Enne

In her mind's eye is a picture of a garden, the remnant of the dream she just had. It won't go away, no matter how hard she tries to snap out of it. Her limbs are frozen in place, lungs begging for oxygen. Several minutes pass until the cool touch of a palm presses against her forearm. She gasps, a numbness spreading from her toes to the rest of her body. Fingers twitching, she flails her arms out, smacking her hands into what she assumes is a wall.

The garden won't go away. She rubs at her eyes. The image stays. She seethes in frustration.

"My, my, no need to be frightened, little bird."

Heels clicking on stone. The snap of fingers.

"It will wear off eventually," the unfamiliar voice coos. The person draws out their syllables, like moving through molasses. "Sleep paralysis is quite silly."

Hardly. Enne doubts it was induced naturally. The last thing she remembers is falling asleep in the backseat of the car, with Peter driving. How on earth did they get separated?

"Where is Ed?" Her own voice is the Nevada desert, cracked and scorched. It reverberates through the air.

"Ed? You mean my Edmund?"

"You know his name?"

"Oh yes, my dear, I know his name. I know everything about him."

Big yikes. That's what Nia would have said.

Enne rubs at her eyes again. The garden disappears, replaced by a solid blue. White stars swim in her vision. "You didn't answer my question. Where is he?"

"Enne! Over here!"

Her breath returns, shoulders sagging. "Edmund? Edmund, is that you?"

"I think I-" He's cut off by the swift crack of knuckles against flesh.

The Witch kisses her teeth in irritation. "Tsk. No matter how many times I tell him, he does not obey."

Edmund no longer speaks. Enne curls her fists and stumbles upright. "Who are you?"

"I go by many names. Lady of the Green Kirtle. Queen of the Underland. The Witch-Queen-"

"I get it-"

"Ooh, and the Emerald Witch. You take your pick, darling."

Enne falters. Emerald Witch rings a bell. "I'll settle for Witch."

Unperturbed, the woman claps her hands together. "Wonderful!"

The stars disappear and reality rushes in. An outline of a tall, towering figure serves as the focal point of an underground pit. Donning a flowing, viridescent gown, the Witch keeps a mandolin instrument tucked in her arms. Her lips are painted a rouge as dark as blood, but it's her eyes that make Enne shiver, with their piercing gaze and dilated pupils. Water drips from stalagmites high above. Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.

Next to the figure stands a silver chair, radiating with an incandescent glow. In it, Edmund slumps over, head lolling to one side. Chains ensnare his wrists and ankles, pinning him down. 

"What's going on?"

The Witch peers down at her, flaming red hair curled around her face. "Edmund believes you two are friends," she explains with a little laugh.

"What does that have to do with...Ed never mentioned you."

"Let me spell it out for you, then: Edmund is mine, and I must say, I am slightly disappointed he still feels something for you." Her smile is dangerously sweet. "I've been waiting for a moment alone with him."