Broken Ever Afters

Part 1 - Chapter 3

When I regain my consciousness, I'm lying supine on the bank. Turning around, I cough out some water I must have gulped while floating unconscious in the river. My clothes are soaked and my hair drips water. As I feel out for the satchel, I panic when I don't find it and take a look around me. It also washed up a few paces away from where I lay. Walking, and slightly sinking on the muddy grass, I pick the drenched satchel and take out the manuscript I fear to be all smeared. Both the book and the map within its pages, for some odd reason, are dry as a bone.

I look at my surroundings, trying to identify something which can pinpoint my location but all I see are trees, grass, water and sky. Nothing is particularly familiar but like every other place in this world, everywhere is familiar. I have no way to match my current location to the map and I have no quill and ink to add to it. Folding the map, I place it back into the manuscript and into the satchel. I have no particular heading so I pick a direction and start walking into the forest. My first priority is to find food and shelter, as the night trickles in.

Along the way, I cannot help but wonder what has become of my brother. Why did he choose to part ways? Did he think I was following when I wasn't? I hope for both of our own sakes he doesn't do anything foolish. My brother has always been a good soul but his compulsiveness is his greatest flaw.

Stars carpet the sky and I failed to achieve my goals. Hungry and tried, I stop and rest for the night and continue my journey in the morning. My devious mind won't let me rest if I don't take a couple of precautions before sleeping. First, I forgo the idea of sleeping on the ground – yes it would provide additional warmth but if wolves where to find me during the night, I would be easy prey. I find a tree with low hanging branches and settle in one, resting my back against the trunk. Then I make sure the satchel is secured safely in case someone stumbling upon me decides to take it away.

I don't fall asleep easily. In my life this is the first time I've had to sleep out in the open. I admit my sense of adventure isn't one of my best characteristics. William is more adventurous than me. That's why we make a good writing duo – he's good at describing scenes while I'm better at plotting. As I reminisce some of writing moments I shared with William, I drift into a dreamless sleep.

In the morning, when I wake, my empty stomach hurts and grumbles, haven't eaten anything in a day. Had I grown an interest in botany, I could have distinguished the safe berries from the poisoned ones. My ignorance led me to remain hungry.

Climbing off the branch, I straighten up my clothes and head across a path between the trees. Birds chirp in their nests and flowers open as the first rays of sunlight touch them. Further up, the trees are sparse and seem to be growing farther apart. A clearing, maybe? Most of the safest cottages I found were in a clearing. Hopefully the owners, given that it's not abandoned, can accommodate me for a day or two before I carry on with my journey. A couple of days should be enough for me to recover.

The cottage comes into view as soon as I pass by the last tree at the edge of the clearing. The walls are white as snow and the slanting roof is made from hay with a stone chimney popping out round back. The window shutters and the main door are wide open.

A slender young woman is close by. Next to her feet she has a wicker basket with white linen sheets. In her hands she's holding another white sheet which she places over the clothes line, strung between a tree and the cottage. With both hands, she smoothens out the sheet before bending to pick up the next. A series of angelic notes float out of her, attracting some birds to the tree nearest to her, whistling in tune with her. Then it happens.

For a brief moment, our eyes meet as she's picking up a new sheet. My eyes remain fixed on her green ones, more vivacious than the grass itself, as I continue to approach the cottage. Brier-Rose, the sleeping girl who once pricked her finger on a spindle, stops singing but doesn't move. With next step I take, before I have a chance to introduce myself, my legs become jelly underneath me. I feel lightheaded, the world around me goes dark and my head collides to the lush green grass as I pass out.