The Secret Land of Otrâlmondé [1 | The Other Realms Series]

Prologue

It was a cold and dim November evening, somewhere in Southern Italy. The colored leaves were rustling; rainwater was dripping from the roofs; the autumn breeze was blowing its cold breath onto the world. In the old town of Oppidula, a dark-haired woman of her mid-30s hastily made her way to an abandoned building near the town's outskirts. She stopped in front of the building, eerily quiet and empty, noticing the words written above the great pillars.

Old Port Warehouse

She crept beyond the pillars and halted in front of a metal door. The entrance. She pulled out a key from her leather bag and unlocked the metal door. Closing it behind her, she turned on the lights and the room came to life. The room was undead, rather. With her dark hazel eyes she saw metal crates and boxes, draped in white sheets and never to be opened nor shipped; dull grey walls with numerous cracks, with chips of paint falling off; an uneven, concrete floor; and the flickering, yellow lightbulbs, hanging from the weary ceiling. She took a white cloth from her bag. She then carried it in her arms, strolling past the rusting cuboids.

She descended to the basement. She searched for the great door, eyes darting ceiling-to-floor, and stood in front of it. A wooden door. It had exaggerated symbols carved intricately into it and had a black handprint pressed into the center. What was most remarkable was the odd alphabet that was written on it. Only the selected few could understand what was written.

Otrâlmondé

She covered the door with the white sheet and attached it to the ceiling with the aid of hooks and strings. She had screwed the hooks into the ceiling a few days before, and so she could finally put it to use. Then there was no more door; just a plain white sheet hanging in front of the wall. She walked away quickly and turned off the lights. She then closed the metal door behind her. Just one small problem, one small mistake she made.

She left the metal door unlocked.

The woman hurried out of the building. She looked at her silver charm bracelet, admiring it. The chain was very strong and was quite loose on her small wrist. In the middle of the silver bracelet was a single charm shaped like a four-pointed star, just the size of a child's thumbnail. It was hers then, but not anymore. She admired it one last time before placing it in a red velvet box, keeping it in her leather bag.

She promised them that she would give it to her daughter if she had one. But she never had children, even more a husband! But she did have a niece. Her sister's daughter. She had no choice but to pass it on to her. But could she trust her to keep it? It was probable. But her niece lived too far away from her home, and she could not just mail it in a package. She could give it to her later, during summer, a few years from now. Yes, she could.

The woman opened the door to her car, got in, and drove home.