Jean lingered, looking back at the doors. He was this close to running over the Edge. What were you thinking?
Daniel trudged towards the door leading back in, every muscle in his body aching. The interior of the library looked more welcoming than it ever had before. But as he reached for the handle, something caught his eye. He glanced back, peering through the windows of the door he’d been fighting with.
For the first time, he realized that the courtyard outside only extended for a few hundred feet before....stopping. A blurry wall of nothingness twinkled merrily back at him.
He shivered, and hurried back inside.
* * * * *
The sitting room was too hot. Daniel sat hunched over in his chair, glaring at the fire that still burned low in the brazier. A sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead, and his shirt was soaked through from his run. He cast a look back towards where Jean worked at a counter. As much as he hated to admit it, he was thirsty.
She looked back in the same instant, catching his eye. “I assume you like chocolate milk?” she said, reaching into a wooden cabinet set into the wall.
On any other day, that question would have put a smile on his face. Daniel just nodded. His eyelids drooped, sagging lower. The sitting room was stuffy, and now that he was sitting, his body was demanding payment for the run.
Jean let her gaze linger on him. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe she could still fix it. A tiny click drew her attention back to the counter.
A panel had flipped up from within the surface of the wood. She stared. The delicate vial tucked inside the cubby stared back.
I know. I get it.
A log in the fire popped. It was a tiny sound, soft and reassuring. Jean closed her eyes.
I’m sorry. Thanks for letting me try things my way.
She turned, the full glass in one hand, but Daniel was already half-asleep. He sat in a huddled mass on the chair, bleary eyes facing the fire.
He stirred at the sound of her moving closer, but just enough to take the glass when she offered it to him. She watched, easing herself into a chair and prying her shoes off, as he downed it in one gulp. Blood dripped to the carpet from her slashed-up heel. She didn’t take her eyes off him.
Forgive me.
Daniel looked up, his eyes widening in horror as Jean started digging shards of broken glass and pottery out of her foot. She threw them into the fire one by one. The steady clink of it echoed in his ears. It bounced off the walls, swirling around and around until his head spun.
He’d thought the drink would help wake him up, but it wasn’t. The smoke and the heat from the fire pressed in on him, giving the air a cloying, stifling quality. Every breath he took was a labor, consuming all of his energy.
His eyes were so heavy. The fire danced in front of him, a blur of red and gold.
Dimly, he saw a figure moving, approaching him from one side. Something took his arm, holding him up. The ground loomed underneath him, pulling him in. His lips parted, but no words came.
The fog was too thick. He couldn’t see who it was.
His eyes slid shut.
Jean caught the glass before it hit the floor.
* * * * *
His eyes slid open.
At first all he could see was darkness, wrapped in around him like a blanket. He gasped - and much to his surprise, the breath came as easily as ever. His brow furrowed. Why was that surprising?
He didn’t know.
He twisted, throwing off the covers and sitting bolt upright. Slowly, he turned, taking in the marvelous room. The elegant wood panels. The stone floors, stacked high with their rugs. Something was wrong - Déjà vu rose around him, nearly overwhelming in its intensity. But when he tried to think back, a wall of fog stood in his way.
In a moment of sheer panic, he realized he couldn’t remember his name.
He threw himself from the bed, icy adrenaline filling his veins, and stumbled towards the heavy door in the corner of the room. It took all his strength, but after a few tries he managed to lift the handle and throw the door open. He fell through the gap in a tumbling mess of limbs and fabric.
Soft carpet crumpled under his fingers. The boy stopped.
He’d fallen into another room, he saw - a sitting room of sorts, with a row of overstuffed chairs laid out in front of another, even larger fireplace. When he looked to either side, his unease building, hallways lined with doors stretched out as far as he could see.
A woman sat in one of the chairs, he saw, sipping from a mug of something hot and steaming. She stared into the flames, her eyes dark and deeply unhappy. Her lips moved, but only the faintest whisper reached him.
“No. One isn’t enough. I need at least five. He’s too young to make do otherwise.”
Her words made no sense. He stood frozen in place, one hand still clutching the heavy iron handle.
The woman sighed. “I understand. I’ll accept the consequences. I-”
The hinges groaned, beginning to grind as his arm tired.
She turned to face him. Green eyes stared back at him from under a neatly-trimmed head of soft, brown hair.
He should know who she was. He knew her from somewhere. But every time he reached for the answer, it slipped further and further from his grasp.
She smiled. “You’re awake. Good. I thought you might sleep all day, at this rate.” She rose, accompanied by a creak from the chair. Slowly, as
