Our W.I.C.K.E.D Fate (The W.I.C.K.E.D Girl sequel)

2

Emily and Isabelle moved forward. Sometimes, they broke into a sprint, desperate to escape the white maze they were trapped in.

The beginnings of a bad headache were like hot coils tightening around Emily's temples. Her mind was hazy, and she felt as though her memories of the past were trying to fight with the utterly empty mind she had now. Before she could realise it, her knees gave way—she crashed to the pristine floor with a thud, sharp pain shooting up her leg. Isabelle spun around, her brow furrowed. "Em, are you alright?" she asked, concern imbuing her words, and extended her hands towards Emily. 

Something clicked. Emily's head snapped up. "What did you just call me?"

Isabelle's frown deepened. "Uh, Em? I thought that, since it's shorter—"

Emily's eyes widened. The nickname had stirred up a flash, a fragment of colour and sound. "Say it again."

Isabelle pulled back again, looking utterly bewildered. "Em?" 

Emily was plunged into darkness, a memory enveloping her vision. 

"Yeah, if you wanna be on good terms, no shank, or shuck-face, or anything like that. Something related to my name's good."

"Em it is, then."

"What?"

"You said somethin' related to your name. I'm calling you Em, and you can't change that."

Emily came back to her senses with a sharp inhale. Isabelle had been calling out her name—her full name, now. 

Who had spoken those words? she thought, dazed. There had been no image to the exchange, just a soothing, heavily-accented male voice.

"What happened?" Isabelle asked. 

Emily only shook her head. "I don't know. I heard something. Two voices. I think it was a boy and I talking?"

Isabelle's eyebrows quirked upwards. "Hearing voices is usually not a good sign."

Emily didn't answer, bringing herself to stand. She wished they would've found some water—her throat was parched, head throbbing dully, and a glance at her hands revealed that she'd scratched her palms. 

Without any further pause, the two girls started running again, picking up the pace. The rhythmic slap of her soles against the floor sent Emily spiralling among her disoriented thoughts. She wondered what the dialogue meant. She wondered who the other speaker was. She wondered when they'd spoken, and many other things that lacked an answer. Nothing made sense, contributing to the pain crushing her skull. 

The girls took a sharp turn, but were compelled to stop as soon as they rounded the corner. An impossibly bright light shone at the end of the wide corridor, blinding them both. Emily brought her hand up, picking up the scent of copper from the shallow gash on her palm, to shield her eyes.

"What is that?" Isabelle pondered out loud.

Emily urged herself to adjust to the light. When she dared to crack an eye open, she was greeted by a sight she couldn't have expected—dunes of golden sand, stretching on into the horizon, and a cloudless sky. 

Emily was unable to contain the smile that twisted the corner of her lips up. "The way out," she said with a shocked laugh. 

They advanced. The immaculate, white hall ended abruptly, not even the remnants of a door standing at the end of it. There was a small, wooden crate where sand and metal blended together. Isabelle bent down and opened its latch, only to let out an excited squeal as she took in its contents—dry food and water. 

Emily approached, bending to inspect the interior of the box more carefully. To her surprise, she discovered a folded piece of paper tucked underneath the packages of food. She picked it up, unfolded it, read the words aloud, "Good luck."

And then the realisation that getting out might've been a bad decision struck.