Compos Mentis [Rávamë's Bane: Book 2]

Part I : Chapter I ~ The Curious Case of Eleanor Dace

"The next train is approaching the station. Please stand back from the platform," a monotonous, female voice announced over the Oxford Circus tube station tannoy.

In usual London fashion, every person on the platform completely ignored the safety advice of the 'friendly' robot lady. They all seemed to simultaneously get up from their various seats, or from leaning against the station wall, and move forward over the yellow safety line as the train rumbled and clattered to a stop beside the platform in a gust of displaced air.

I was the only one in the station who didn't hurry to get up.

Instead, I remained where I was, sat right in the centre of the platform on one of the uncomfortable metal benches, a thick book open in my lap, and my hair still whipping in the tunnel breeze. There was no point, after all — the train wasn't going anywhere without me. It never did, not here. Though the robot lady on the other end of the loudspeaker did tend to get a little grumpy if I procrastinated for too long.

The doors swished open and, once again in true Londoner fashion, everyone waiting to get on somehow managed to make space for everyone getting off whilst remaining clustered around the doors like bees around a honey pot.

I sat there and watched as the commuters disembarked and swarmed past me, one after another.

None of them had faces.

Each man and woman that passed me, all dressed head to toe in business wear or everyday work getup, had only a blank blur where their features should have been. It wasn't nearly as unsettling as the first time I'd seen it, especially now that I'd had time to understand the logic behind it. This was a dream, and everything around me — from the station, to the people, to the annoying robot woman on the other end of the tannoy — were constructs of my subconscious. All placeholders for the real thing that was so far away from me now.

It still didn't numb the pang of homesickness that welled up in me though, as I sat there in such a familiar place with such a familiar scene playing out all around.

"Please stand clear of the doors," the robot lady chimed as the doors slid shut, but as predicted, the train didn't move.

I still didn't get up. Instead, I looked down at the thick book nestled in hands, hooking my thumb into the pages to keep my place while turning it over to see the cover.

The Two Towers. Cute.

I found myself chuckling through a thin smile, turned it back over and opened it to the page I'd apparently been on, and started to read. Or, at least, I tried to. The second my eyes had focused on the first word, the rest began to blur and shift on the page, as if I was looking at them through flowing water. The more I tried to focus on each sentence, the more the words began to jumble together, until there was nothing left on the page that made sense. I turned to the next page, and the next, and got the same reaction every time before my ethereal head began to throb and I had to shut my eyes.

The sound of the still motionless tube doors swishing open again echoed through the station, and the robot lady's voice filled the tunnel once more.

"Please stand clear of the doors, my lady."

She sounded distinctly more irritable than before, despite the monotone.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming," I grumbled, closing the book and getting up off the bench.

I didn't bother to shove my way onto the crowded train — each construct I came near automatically shifted to make room as I moved inside. A tall man in a crisp black business suit immediately got up from a seat near the door, and I sat down in his place, setting the book in my lap. I didn't open it again. Instead I just stared vacantly down at the dark cover with its gold lettering and intricate swirl patterns as the train began to move from the station.