Wake Up, Witch

Chapter 18

The dream was empty when I stepped in. I wandered aimlessly, tried to imagine what it would have been like for me. Trapped. Helpless in a dream I couldn't even morph into something else. The window was immovable, wide and open to remind me of the fire that killed my friends and family.

I settled in Evensen's winged chair. Then I scoffed. This wasn't his. This was mine. So was everything in this room. I woke up in that bed the morning of the fire, done so for years before that. That was my washbasin. I dressed behind that dressing screen, warmed myself by the fireplace. I've thrown things carelessly in that closet. Everything here was mine, and yet I couldn't feel I owned them. Someone else had shared this space with me for two bloody centuries and I had let him willingly... or not.

Suddenly, I froze. Eyes flying to my closet. With heart pounding in my chest, I pulled the doors open and let out a shaky laugh at the sight of my repertory. "Oh, Aster, you moron," I said in disbelief, grinning at my reflection. The shelf emerged in front of me and I frantically searched inside. I found the dream version of my crux and everything else. "Please give me something else," I murmured, blindly searching the bottom with my hand. Frustrated, I stepped back. Swallowed as I carefully searched the top shelf.

And there it was.

A notebook.

I never used it. I scribbled all my notes in the past on whatever piece of paper I could find. But I just knew at that moment that being trapped in this place for two centuries must have nearly driven me to madness. There must be something to keep me sane.

I reached for the notebook and opened on the first page. Tears welled my eyes when I read my handwriting.

No good news. Evensen thinks he knows everything. Well, he doesn't.

I realized I wasn't a proficient diary writer. I didn't write daily, nor did I write in detail. Two months passed before the second entry.

Well, I knew they'd fail. I told them it would happen.

Three months.

Slapped him. Tried to kill him, too. How could he do that? Why would he even do that?

"What's that?"

I jumped at Evensen's voice behind me and looked over my shoulder at him in panic. Reminding myself that he could not see the shelf, I dropped the diary inside my repertory. "I don't look a day older, don't I?" I asked instead of answering his question.

He didn't answer and droned, "I know about your repertory, Aster."

I pivoted on my heels in surprise.

"But I'll never ask what you keep there," he said, taking off his coat.

"You're not even interested?"

"No."

"You were never curious?"

He sat in his—my—winged chair. "This place was suffocating enough for you. You needed something that was entirely your own."

I scoffed. "That's very considerate of you."

He crossed his leg over the other, eyes uninterested. "Where's Katz?"

"I'll have to find him."

"We," he corrected. "I'm coming with you."

"There's no need—"

"I'm coming," he said with finality.

***

We stepped out of the blue door and found Tiff sitting around a long table with more than a dozen people. Her family. She was laughing over a feast of food foreign to me. They were a boisterous bunch, I noticed.