Curse of the 15th

mo cheannaire

In the last chapter...

As she turned her head in order to get an idea of her surroundings, she almost jumped when she saw that every wall was covered with black paint, saying "15" over and over again.

Just to be sure, Emlyn closed her eyes and waited for a while until she opened them again. She had hoped for the writing on the wall to vanish, but it was still there.

At this point, Lyn thought she was losing her mind, she even considered that all of this had to be a really bad dream; until she felt a presence in the room with her.

It was... calming. She felt warm and comfortable all of a sudden. It was the feeling of coming home which she'd felt before, when she had entered the cold sea of Dalkey Island.

With her hand still resting on one of the many black 15s on the wall, she felt the temperature drop at least fifteen degrees. Ice crystals spread out with abnormal speed on the small hospital windows, yet Lyn still felt warm.

She slowly turned her head to look over her shoulder and recognized the silhouette of a man.

Emlyn decided not to spin around. Instead, she focused her eyes on the window that was now mainly consisting of ice. Her mind was spinning at 100 miles per hour, not able to progress what was going on.

And when she felt a hand on her right shoulder, squeezing it gently, her mind turned dead silent, as if someone had flipped the switch to 'off'.

When she blinked once and then stared at the window of ice again, she saw the man behind her so clearly that she could make out his features.

He had remarkable eyebrows that seemed to be the frame of his sculpted face.

His eyes looked young and ice-blue, like the clearest, shiniest water you only have in the blue lagoon. They had a dark circle around the iris and a yellow ring directly around the pupil.

Moving down, she saw a thin upper lip and a lower lip double the size, colored a burgundy red.

The mans hair was curly and brown, styled and messy at the same time, just like his beard.

The moment she needed to take in the details of his face seemed to last forever, when it actually lasted about ten seconds.

When her eyes fixated on his wedding tux, Emlyn jumped. It was the man she'd seen in the water, the one that seemed to have saved her from drowning in the turbulent waves.

His hand slipped down from her shoulder and she finally turned around.

She expected him to be gone, like the picture of a fleeing daydream; therefore, she crashed into his cold hard chest.

Then she looked up at him with caution after taking a step back.

"My beloved Cathleen; mo cheannaire," he says with a thick irish accent and places one of his cold hands on Emlyns cheek.

"I have found you again."