The Lost city of Atlantis

Chapter 3

Alice hears a distant yapping and her head shoots up.

“What?” She snaps at the two staring women, who averted their eyes hastily.

“Check your hair, child.” The witch mutters, her eyes closed. Alice does so, and screams in shock. Instead of her long blonde, curled locks, waist length, flaming red hair fell down her back, not a curl or kink in sight.

“Wha- my hair!” Alice screams in horror. She finds herself glaring at the witch, who looked away calmly. “What did you do!”

“Removed the glammer. Whoever placed it upon you is going to come looking for you, and we must know who could’ve possibly placed it upon you. And why you are here. It is not safe child, not for you. We must get you away from here.” The witch gets up and searches for a book on the many shelves in the room. Kerry glances at Alice, who was trying to calm her breathing and flies over to the witch.

“No.” she says, laying a hand on the shoulder of the woman. The witch stops and stares at Kerry intently. “We cannot send her back. Whoever placed it on her, is in England, and sending her back is just going to get her killed. Or do you forget that the princess had powers stronger than any before her, powerful enough to kill her? Whoever placed the glammer, was not only repressing her true identity, but her powers, too.”

“But-”

“But nothing.” Kerry flies over to Alice and lifts her chin with her index finger. “Well we know that the glammer was what kept us from touching you. Now,” Kerry’s voice dropped a tone, and her expression turned serious. “What do you remember.”

“I had a brother, and a family. I had a black pug and my name was – my name … it was … my name was …”

“Lily?” Kerry suggests helpfully. Alice nods enthusiastically.

“Yes! Yes, my name was Lily James something.”

“Clarissa Fray.” The witch tells “Alice” as she sank into her armchair once more. “That is your name, child. By birth right, your name is Clarissa Fray. Your brothers’ name is Finnik Christopher Fray. You have a brother, who, I must say, got his looks from your father. Brunette and obnoxious. While, I do believe, you take after your mother, an artists’ eye, attitude, determination … yes. You even have her doe eyes.”

“Alice – erm, Clarissa – we must go back to your room. That dress seems to be a tad too small now.” Kerry pulls Alice to her feet and ushers her out of the room, down corridors and up stairs, until they reach the room the girl stayed in the previous night. “Here,” Kerry passes the now red-haired girl a pale blue dress, as long as the first was, and a set of white ribbons, which Kerry artfully weaved into the girls hair once she was changed, and fitted in a pair of white dollies.

“Kerry,” Clarissa whispers, “what are we doing?”

“We are going up to the nursery. The family are usually in there at this time of year. Especially since its October 11th.” Once finished with the girls’ hair, Kerry pulls Clarissa from the room and up more stairs, until they reached a hall decorated with child’s paintings and pictures, where they slow and come to a stop outside a double door.

“Kerry?” Clarissa breaths. “What – I don’t think you understand that – this isn’t my family. My parents are dead, and I want to go home.”

“But, you are home. Your parents are through there, with your brother.”

“No!” Clarissa exclaims. “Enough. Stop messing with my head, and theirs! Their daughter is dead, and so is my patience. Send me home, Kerry. Send me home right now.” In answering, Kerry knocks on the door once, and opens it.