The library's musty scent, usually a comfort, now felt suffocating. Jenny's heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird, her breath hitching with each shaky inhale. The antique journal, its pages brittle with age, lay open on the table, its faded script seeming to writhe with the ghosts of the past. The words blurred, the ink running together in a kaleidoscope of swirling emotions. Fear, anger, longing – all echoed from the parchment, whispering of a love lost and a legacy erased.
As Jenny delved deeper into Jenevieve's story, a sense of urgency gripped her. The journal revealed a kingdom bathed in magic, where mythical creatures roamed freely, and where the first female knight, her ancestor, had carved a path of courage and strength. But it was the betrayal that stole her breath, the chilling truth of a king consumed by power who had erased Jenevieve's name from history.
A sudden chill swept through the library, the air thickening with a palpable energy. The faint smell of ozone, a metallic tang, replaced the familiar scent of old paper and wood. The journal in her hands pulsed with an unseen force, its pages crackling with a light that seemed to emanate from within. The flickering lights overhead danced erratically, casting distorted shadows that stretched and contorted, taking on the shapes of writhing serpents.
A blinding flash of light erupted from the journal, engulfing Jenny in its brilliance. Her vision blurred, the world around her dissolving into a dizzying vortex of colour and sound. The sensation of being pulled, of falling through a chasm of darkness, left her breathless and disoriented.
When her vision cleared, she found herself standing amidst a breath taking vista. Towering, ancient trees draped in moss and vines stood like sentinels, their branches reaching towards the heavens like gnarled fingers. Sunlight filtered through a canopy of emerald leaves, painting the forest floor in a mosaic of light and shadow. The air hummed with an unseen energy, the whisper of magic swirling through the rustling leaves and the babbling brook.
The ground beneath her feet was soft, damp, and yielding, a rich tapestry of earth and fallen leaves. She realized with a jolt that she was no longer wearing her jeans and t-shirt; she was clad in a supple leather tunic and trousers, the fabric cool against her skin. She reached up to touch her hair, finding it loose and flowing, strands of dark brown cascading down her back.
The scene around her was a breath taking panorama, but it was the imposing structure at the edge of the clearing that stole her breath. A magnificent castle, its stone walls weathered and worn, stood like a sentinel against the backdrop of the forest. Its towers, reaching for the sky, were adorned with gargoyles and spires, each a silent sentinel guarding a legacy of forgotten stories. A wave of awe and trepidation washed over her. This was Raia. A sudden rustle behind her startled her. She whirled around, her hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of a sword she realized she was carrying, the weight of it reassuringly heavy in her grip. There, standing in the dappled light of the forest, was a figure she could only describe as breath taking.
He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face etched with the passage of time, his eyes a piercing blue that held a hint of sorrow. His dark hair, threaded with streaks of silver, was pulled back in a tight braid, revealing a strong jawline and a profile that was both handsome and regal. He wore a dark tunic and trousers, the fabric rich and luxurious, and a silver sword hung from his belt, its handle adorned with an intricate carving of a dragon.
He was the King. The very same King who had betrayed Jenevieve, the king she had only known from the faded journal's pages.
Her hand tightened on the hilt of her sword, a tremor running through her. She felt a surge of anger, of betrayal, of a fierce need to understand. Her ancestor's story was now tangible, a living, breathing world that encompassed both beauty and heartbreak. She was no longer a simple librarian, lost in a world of words and forgotten tales. She was now part of that world, her own destiny interwoven with the echoes of the past.
The king's gaze held hers, his expression a mixture of surprise and something akin to awe. He stepped forward, his gaze lingering on her sword. "You carry Jenevieve's weapon," he said, his voice a deep baritone that echoed with the weight of time and regret.
Her heart pounded in her chest, a drumbeat of fear and defiance. She had been transported to a world of magic, of mythical creatures, and of a love story that had left an indelible mark on her very blood. She was no longer just Jenny. She was Jenevieve's descendant, a woman who had inherited not just her ancestor's blood, but also her strength and her spirit. And she was ready to reclaim her legacy.
YOU ARE READING
Erased by time
Fantasiaa modern day women realises that one of her ancestors held such a big secret that it could reshape the history books as we know it
