Lost in Worlds

Brian

Betrayal and incredulity briefly washed over Connor's normally unfathomable features. He shook his head and any level of revelation vanished.

"I should have known," he said, his lips were in a thin line and he was frowning slightly. The group assumed Brian would assist in their goal of killing the queen. Making assumptions has dug a hole far beyond their reach for Brian was the enemy.

"Yeah, you should have," replied Brian, "but too late now," he smirked vaguely and nodded his head to the guards waiting outside the cell, "the queen wants you now."

The unfamiliar guards unlocked the cell and cantered in. There were six of them—one for each of the group to pull to the queen. Strong, calloused hands wrapped around her armpits and held her up, hauling her out of the darkness.

She hadn't observed how vulnerable she had become. Her limbs were nimble and dangled loosely as if to exacerbate her helplessness. If a mirror was placed in front of her, Avery knew she would see a pale face, deprived of sunlight and deep, lifeless pupils as eyes.

How long had they been in the prison for?

Avery's vision hazed and her lack of energy disenabled the ability to glance behind herself and see her, hopefully, following friends, as they were dragged through the dark walls of the castle. Avery's shuddering hand reached out to slide along the slimy walls and the scent of fresh blood met her nose. The thin substance dripped from her fingers and Avery heaved a shaky breath, quivering faintly as she shut her eyes firmly.

Soon, a red shadow crept across her once dark eyelids and Avery opened her sore eyes to be met with an obsolete courtyard, covered half in a thick gloom and half in dim light. She almost sighed with relief when registering her friends were right by her side and Clyde gave her a slight smile. The rest of the group was looking feeble too, their hair messed up, looking like they hadn't slept in years. At least Connor and Clyde, who had both munched on scraps of stale bread and cheese, looked somewhat half-alive.

Avery's head straightened up and her eyes met a clear, glass throne with weaved golden threads running through it, reflecting the small light in the space.

The Queen, dressed in a plain, satin dress and covered in an intolerable amount of make-up, sat on her royal chair, surrounded by dead flowers, also known as the guards.

Three of them flanked either side of the Queen's chair, faces set in a neutral tone. Besides the group being dragged by several guards and seven guards flanking the Queen's throne, not one other soul was in their attendance.

The group was led onto a stone platform and their heads were lowered onto individual guillotines.

At least we get privacy on our deathbed with our very own axes to be beheaded under, Avery scoffed, although this way of dying is completely outdated.

That is exactly why it is unpredictable and, therefore, lethal, said a familiar voice mind-linking Avery.

Fireball, Avery said, lips quivering. Oh, how she had missed his soothing presence.

Avery, wake up, look around you, focus, replied a desperate Fireball.

Avery blinked twice as she recalled what Connor had said to her only moments before meeting Brian, 'Wake up.'
She shook out any pessimistic views on the subject, now was not the time to let her overwhelming life take hold of herself.

Despite being in her weakest state, Avery forced herself to concentrate and she blocked out her mind to anyone nearby. She briefly caught Connor blow his shaggy hair out of his sapphire eyes, his eyes full of aspiration and resolution and his hands fisted in soon not-to-be-controlled fury.