Another World

Chapter 3

Charlotte chewed on her bottom lip, indecisiveness warring within her. There was no way she could believe him. He was crazy, that much was obvious. Fictional characters from books simply didn't come to life and appear in the real world. It just wasn't conceivable. But what if he's telling the truth? A sneaky little voice whispered in her mind. Charlotte shook her head, unwilling to even entertain the possibility.

Thranduil watched her, his gaze unblinking and penetrative. When Charlotte shook her head, obviously refusing to accept his words and his plea, something inside of him snapped. What kind of place was this where the inhabitants refused to aid a stranger that was clearly in peril? Thranduil stood in a swift and smooth motion and vaguely noted that Charlotte stilled instantly, her eyes growing large as fear stole back into those hazel depths.

"If you insist on proof, then I have no choice but to give you this one shred of evidence I hold," he stated, his voice icy cold as he glared down his nose at her. Thranduil was livid that he was being forced to reveal something like this. Something personal that served as a painful reminder of what he had endured.

Charlotte swallowed hard. Her palms (suddenly clammy) lay flat against the sofa on either side of her and her jiggling feet stilled as she prepared to make a dash for it. And then in a blink of an eye, Thranduil was suddenly in front of her, bent at the waist and his face mere millimeters from her own. His hands were clasped behind his back and his hair fell forward like silky silver strands of spider webs.

"You demand proof? Here is your proof," he spat, his deep voice low in octave. His electric blue eyes shimmered with fury, making Charlotte lean back in the couch in alarm.

Thranduil closed his eyes and took a deep breath as he concentrated. And then the left side of his face started to contort, the clear, unmarred skin warping and twisting to reveal a grotesque and open wound in its place. Sinuous tendons and raw meaty muscle glistened, as though the wound was recent and unhealed. Thranduil slowly opened his eyes and the once clear blue of his left eye was now smoky grey and blind.

Charlotte cringed and could not help the horrified gasp that escaped her lips. She could not tear her gaze away from the abhorrent sight. Thranduil abruptly straightened and she watched in morbid fascination as the flesh knitted back until it smoothed over and was perfect again. Color bled back into his eye, and Thranduil stared down at her, his face once again the mask of perfection.

Charlotte swallowed hard and turned her gaze away, closing her eyes as though she were in pain. She was obviously disgusted by this, by him, Thranduil thought. How could she not be? He was but a monster in her eyes now. The irony was not lost on him: the one piece of proof he had to get her to help was also the thing that would drive her away.

Thranduil let out a heavy sigh and turned his back on the woman, ashamed at his rash behaviour. But he had had no choice but to reveal this grave wound to her.

"What happened?" she asked from behind him, her voice hoarse and thick with emotion.

Thranduil hung his head as the memory came swirling back. "A dragon."

Silence stretched out as Thranduil became lost in his dark and morbid memories of the event that had caused this infliction. He could still smell the rancid smoke, thick enough to choke on as it polluted the air all around him. Screams and cries of pain echoed cruelly to his ears, but wherever he looked, his vision was obscured by the smoke that made it impossible to see anything. Suddenly, there was a swooshing noise from above, like a blade cutting through the air, and soon a shadow emerged from the swirling black and grey: a dragon. Thranduil instinctively made a move, but was not quick enough as the dragon opened its jaws in a gaping roar and let loose a stream of molten fire.