The Missing Princess of Vanyalí

five.

5.

"Fantasy is a necessary ingredient in living, it's a way of looking at life through the wrong end of the telescope."
- Dr. Seuss

***

A small wave of consciousness seeps into my being. I can feel my body weight sinking into something soft and comfortable. I let out a content sigh and start to roll over into a more pleasant sleeping position.

Just when my body makes the slightest movement my head ignites with a searing pain. Groaning and bringing a hand to my head, I question what could've caused this mind blistering pain.

Did I get drunk or something? I ask myself thinking back to Tyler's party and the severe hangover I endured the next day. No, I couldn't have drank. I'd at least remember deciding to get drunk, right?

I still have yet to open my eyes in fear that sight will do nothing but worsen the pressure in my skull. I grit my teeth with every movement I make. I recognize that, though the pain makes it's way throughout my whole head, it originates from a particular spot just above my left ear.

I was attacked.

I finally register the severity of my situation as the memories of Cyrus' words echo through my mind. The realization hits me so hard that I quickly lift my heavy eyelids to open. I instantly regret my decision, however, when the light blinds me and causes the pain to worsen. I stay frozen until the thumping in my eardrum lessens.

Once my headache has ceased enough to think straight, I take in my surroundings: I am laying in a large four poster bed with a red comforter on top of me. I lightly run my hand over the fabric, taking in the intricate gold embroidered pattern that has been delicately sewn into the bulky blanket. The room is large and way too spacious for just one person. There is a living room off to my right, with a large fireplace.

I stand up slowly, careful not to disturb my head any further. I make my way to the door, pushing my fear aside.

I close my hand around the golden doorknob and almost jump back when my hand comes in contact with it. From my knowledge, most untouched metal is cold, but the handle is warm. Very warm.

I cautiously pull the door open, attempting to stay as quiet as possible. After taking a few deep breaths, I make my way into the corridor.

The walls are made from a beautiful dark wood. The ground beneath me looks like cobblestone. Right in the middle of the cobbled floor is an elegant red carpet that's been rolled out for what looks to be miles.

Why am I in this massive place? Where is Cyrus? And WHY did he attack me?

Instead of turning back around and locking myself back into the room like I want to do, I start taking shaky steps down the large hall.

The air seems to tingle against my skin. It reminds me of when I was little and I would shuffle my feet across the carpet, in an attempt to shock my dad. I don't know if the staticky feeling is coming from my nerves, or something else entirely.

I make my way past a couple people dressed in old medieval clothing: tunics on the men and long gowns on the women. Everyone in the building looks to be aristocratic in some way, between their jewelry or fur coverings.

Their attire makes me look down to examine my own, I am still wearing the shorts and t-shirt from the long road trip; shoes included. The passerby's all give me looks of disgust, shock, and fear. Everyone I've seen has a different shade of red to their eyes, but none of which compare to Cyrus'. The thought makes me feel sick.