Twelve Days of Spring

Chapter 4: Your Doom

Nicole found herself sitting on a cold stone floor surrounded by dozens of withered flowers in old dusty pots.

A freezing breeze came from a tall gothic window on her right.

She barely had the chance to wonder where she was when a flash of light blinded her.

Eostre walked through that light and twirled across the room.

"Welcome," Eostre said. She stopped twirling, held her arms up to the molded ceiling and looked over her shoulder at Nicole. "To your doom."

Nicole's eyes widened as a gasp escaped her lips.

Eostre giggled. "Did I say doom? I meant room. Silly me."

She walked to Nicole, leaned forward and gently caressed Nicole's chin. "I won't ever hurt an innocent child," she said. She pushed Nicole's open mouth shut. "But I don't mind hurting their vicious parents. So I hope your not attached to your father, dear."

Nicole was speechless.

Eostre gazed at Nicole. When she realized Nicole couldn't answer, Eostre sighed.

"It's alright, dear. You don't have to answer. I always tell my sweet Robin to not talk to strangers, so I don't expect you to tell me your life's story."

Eostre straightened her back. "Don't worry, dear. I'll make sure you'll be safely returned to your mother as soon as I have finished that hypocrite of a father of yours."

Eostre turned around and commanded the heavy mahogany doors to open.

She strode through them. With a movement of her hips she turned around and looked Nicole up and down. Her eyebrow raised in contempt. "You're in dire need of some fastening, dear. But don't worry, I've got your back. I'll only give one meal a day. Dinner will be served at 7." She moved her shoulders in a semi shrug and commanded the doors to close. "Toodles!"

The doors shut with a BAM.

Nicole tried to process what had happened.

It had all started with a dream... She's still dreaming, right? It must be! The Easter Bunny and magic aren't real right? And her father could never be the Santa Claus. That's just impossible... Right?

Right?

Nicole rubbed her arm and looked down.

This was all just my subconscious speaking, right?

But the cold breeze did feel real and so did the stone floor. She had been able to feel the prickly grass moments before and those withered flowers...

Nicole stretched out her hand and gently touched the charred stem of what used to be a rose.

It felt dry and firm, yet so fragile. She pricked herself on one of its torns.

"Ow," she said as she felt the sting in her finger and watched a scarlet drop form. She licked her wound and tasted its typical syrupy consistency and the uneasy feeling it always gave her.

This sure feels real... So real...

Nicole whimpered.

She curled up on the cold floor as panic took over.