°° The shadows Of Skotia°°

Chapter two

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Still clinging to Madeline's arm, we spun faster and faster. Disoriented, I could vaguely sense we were stopping as the insistent chiming of the clock, the soft rumble of thunder, and the comforting feel of my pillow faded away. Instead, I was met with biting cold, the wind nipping at every exposed patch of skin. I was grateful for my turtleneck cardigan.

Gradually, my vision returned. The spinning room had vanished, replaced by a bleak valley. The grass was dry, the trees bare, and gray clouds blocked out most of the sunlight. A few cottages dotted the landscape, some with smoke curling from their chimneys, others looking wrecked as if from a recent disaster.

“Are you alright, dear?” Madeline asked sweetly, her voice a little shaky.

“Where are we?” I asked, my voice quivering.

“I’ll explain everything soon, but we need to get to shelter,” she said, coaxing me toward one of the scattered cottages. As we moved, a cold chill ran down my spine. The trees seemed to close in, the clouds darkened further, and the wind howled louder, more aggressively. Shadows threatened to envelop me, suffocating in their intensity.

Madeline’s hand remained at the small of my back, and I heard her whispering, “Just a little bit farther.”

Despite feeling lightheaded, like I might pass out at any moment, I kept my legs moving. We rushed through a stony pathway and into the cottage. Inside, it was much warmer. I staggered a bit, and Madeline made me sit on a sofa. It was incredibly soft, and I leaned into it, my eyes gradually closing. I could hear Madeline shifting and rummaging, but I felt too tired to open my eyes or ask what she was doing.

“You can’t fall asleep right now, dear. There’s much to talk about,” she said, making me sit up and handing me a blue teacup filled with a swirling golden-brown liquid—too thick to be tea but not thick enough to be honey. It was warm and had a very sweet aroma.

Madeline had a cup in her hand as well. I watched as she took a sip, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, that’s good,” she moaned in delight before gulping the rest down at once.

Gingerly, I placed the cup to my lips and took a sip. It was like nothing I’d ever tasted before—a perfect balance of sweet and creamy. It made my taste buds tingle as I took another, then another, until I had finished it. Instantly, I felt energized, awake, and very much alert.

“What was that?” I asked.

“Just something I mixed up. Some honey, buttercup, malt, and my secret ingredient,” she said with an air of pride.

“It’s amazing,” I caught myself saying.

She blushed and chuckled. “Thank you, dear.” She took a teapot and refilled our cups.

I finished my cup before hers. Now that my senses had come back to me, I realized I had a thousand questions but kept them to myself as I scanned the cottage. It was quite a simple place with wooden floors and doors, a kitchen, a living room, and a staircase. There were a few potted plants, some peculiar trinkets, and odd glass objects around. The furniture was sparse—just a table and chair in the corner, two sofas, and a coffee table with our tea things. Books were scattered around, especially on the table. None looked familiar, though I wasn’t much of a reader. One had a beautiful blue cover with silver intricacies and a gold star, the title was too far away for me to read.

“We need to talk about something very important,” Madeline said, interrupting my thoughts.

I nodded, holding back my questions to listen first.

“I know what you’re thinking: ‘Where are we? What is this place? Who is this woman? Is this a dream?’” she said.

“If I’m not dreaming, then it’s either I’ve gone mad or something,” I replied.