Fairydale: Part 2 – Chapter 12

An uneventful week passes.

No ghosts. No monsters. No erotic visions—to Caleb’s greatest disappointment.

After what happened that day, it’s like everything suddenly stopped.

I can’t say I’m mad about it, but there is one thing I miss.

Amon.

Since saving me from that monster, he hasn’t showed up again. No matter how much I call him at night, he never comes—nor do the dreams of the past where I am his Lizzie.

I’ve tried to bury my disappointment as much as possible by throwing myself into getting to know more about the town and the Hales. But, though I’m living in their house, it’s very rare that I interact with them.

In all this time, I’ve seen Katrina a handful of times, and her parents maybe once or twice. Rhiannon has kept herself aloof, for all her desire to get to know each other better.

In spite of that, Caleb has done his best to explain to me what he knows of the paranormal activities in Fairydale, though his knowledge is limited. He’s told me about the encounters he’s had since his childhood, giving me a short introduction to the resident ghosts of the house—all previous Hales who’d decided to stay on and look over the house.

If I’m honest to myself, if I hadn’t experienced all those odd interactions since I’ve stepped foot in Fairydale, I would have never believed that ghosts exist—or more.

Yet slowly, I seem to have accommodated to the idea.

That doesn’t change the fact that I’m still terrified of what that means for me, and the reason for my presence in Fairydale—because I am becoming increasingly convinced that nothing so far has been coincidental.

It’s just a matter of figuring out why.

But I’ve decided to take it one day at a time while enjoying my time with Caleb and our growing attachment.

Over the course of the week we’ve fallen into an easy courtship as we got to know each other better. Though a strong attraction between us simmers, he hasn’t tried to make a move on me—despite his usual innuendoes that have me blushing.

After our discussion about the paintings and the realization that maybe I am a little uptight, I’ve decided to give it more thought and see how I could change while still remaining myself. As I’d told Caleb, it’s not easy to give up on years of propriety that have been grilled into my head.

More than anything, the images I’d seen—whether real or not—had remained stuck in my brain. And though I’d been initially scandalized, now I can’t help but be a little…curious. For someone with little to no knowledge about the topic, I can’t deny they might have served as an…instruction manual of sorts. Before, I would have never imagined people could engage in such wicked behavior. But now…?

My cheeks heat up the moment one of the naughty images pops up in my mind.

‘I trust you’ve had no ghostly encounters last night?’ he jokes when I come down for breakfast.

‘Nor did I have any naughty dreams about you if that’s your next question,’ I add cheekily.

‘Pity. I would have loved to hear the details.’

‘Of course you would,’ I roll my eyes. ‘I might be uptight but your mind is completely in the gutter.’

He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively.

‘What about a compromise? We could meet halfway and…’

I slap him playfully across the shoulder.

‘And it’s time to eat,’ I declare, giggling at his grumpy expression.

We’re both at the kitchen table when Connor Hale suddenly comes inside.

He barely spares Caleb a glance as he greets me.

‘No more monsters, I hope?’ he asks as he takes something from the pantry.

‘No. It’s been rather quiet,’ I reply.

‘Good. My aunt’s been trying to cleanse the place. She’ll speak with you soon,’ Connor explains, telling me that Rhiannon has a bad habit of closing herself to the world when she does one of her rituals.

My ears perk up at the term ritual but he doesn’t explain further. He merely tells me to expect to see her soon.

I’m about to ask him more, but he’s already out the door.

And he didn’t even acknowledge his son.

Caleb’s been sitting quietly at the table, his expression full of intensity.

‘Rituals?’ I turn to him. ‘But wouldn’t that mean she’s some kind of…’

‘Witch,’ he casually states the word. ‘You would be correct,’ he forces a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.

‘A witch?’ I sputter.

Ghosts. Monsters. Now witches? What’s next?

‘Tell me more about this monster,’ he interrupts, his tone serious.

Though I’m still hung up on the witch term he so casually dropped into the conversation, after he hounds me for a few moments on end, I relent and tell him about my encounter with the monster. I leave out the details about Amon, not quite ready to share about our connection to the world. Instead, I tell him what I’d told his father—that he’d tried to attack me before he disappeared.

‘He looked like this?’ he asks as he picks up a sheet of paper, doing a quick sketch of the faceless creature that had attacked me—mangled flesh, no eyes or nose, just one huge mouth. The sketch captures its features perfectly.

I quickly nod, impressed with his talent.

‘That’s it. Do you know what it could have been?’

He stares at it for a moment, his gaze boring into the paper just as his fingers wrinkle the edge of the paper.

‘It’s not a ghost,’ he says carefully, turning to look at me.

I roll my eyes at him.

‘I could have figured that one, too.’

‘What I mean is,’ he clears his throat. ‘This isn’t a sentient creature. If it came after you, then it wanted something for someone.‘

‘What are you trying to say? That someone sent it after me?’ I blink in confusion.

He nods grimly.

‘But wait, how do you know?’

If he has such limited knowledge, then how does he know about this unfortunate-looking monster?

‘There was a legend when I was a kid. About the monster with no eyes—the Kiaka. He only needs a name to go after his target. He appears in the night and he will not stop until he accomplishes his mission. Unless he is destroyed, of course.’

I bite my lip in apprehension as I take in the information.

‘He was destroyed,’ I confirm.

But not before he tried to perforate my stomach.

Was that it? Was he sent to kill me? But by whom and why?

‘That doesn’t mean that more won’t come. It’s good Rhiannon is adding more protective wards. That thing should have never passed through her protections in the first place.’

‘But why would someone send that thing after me?’

‘You’ll learn, Darcy,’ he smiles sadly. ‘That there are many factions in Fairydale. And each wants something. Some are willing to do anything to destroy, and others will do the same to protect. It’s only a matter of which camp you’re on.’

I blink in surprise at his words. Did he just say… Did he imply that there are people out there trying to destroy me? Once more, I cannot comprehend why.

I’m just a teacher from Boston.

Unless… Unless this has to do with my family—my mother.

And so far, only one person seems to have that information.

‘What about you?’ I whisper. ‘What about your family?’

He turns, pinning me with his gaze.

‘I will only ever want what’s best for you,’ he states emphatically. ‘I will always protect you, Darcy. From everyone. Sometimes maybe even myself,’ his lips twitch. ‘And my family?’ he releases a dry laugh. ‘You’re safest here. They won’t harm you.’

What an odd answer.

Yet the more I look at him, the more I get lost in his gaze.

Getting up from his seat at the table, he comes towards me.

‘It might not seem so at times, Darcy darlin’. But everything I do is for you,’ he murmurs. ‘Already having you here, in this house…’ he exhales sharply. ‘You’re safe here—the safest you could be in this town.’

‘Even with the ghosts?’ I crack a smile.

‘Those ghosts will be your biggest protectors,’ he tells me in a serious voice.

‘Well, enough with the morbid talk,’ I let out an awkward laugh, already feeling chills spreading down my spine. ‘Why don’t we go to the library? You promised to show me those rare books,’ I add enthusiastically.

Shaking his head at me, he smiles.

And for the rest of the day, we spend our time in the library, reading and chatting.

Caleb may scare me at times with his intensity—or it may scare that part of me that is unused to such attention—but the more time I spend with him, the more I fall for the person he is at his core.

He’s extremely smart and well-read, and his presence is simply mesmerizing.

And since he let out in passing that he has a degree in History from Harvard, I’ve been hounding him with all sorts of questions. There’s absolutely nothing he doesn’t have an answer to. He is like a human encyclopedia, the details so astounding it’s like he’s personally lived through everything.

Sometimes I wonder why even use the library when he can recite Homer by heart.

Who does that?

Despite becoming so close, though, he still changes the subject every time I ask about his time in the war. Recently I’ve taken the hint and I’ve stopped inquiring about it. Maybe his father is right and those events traumatized him. The last thing I’d want is to awaken painful memories for him.

‘There are so many books in here I don’t know how one person could ever read everything,’ I breathe out in awe as I browse some of the shelves.

‘What if someone could?’ he challenges.

Looking back, I spot him leaning against one of the shelves, his hands in the pockets of his trousers as he’s watching me in that usual manner of his—intensely and obsessively.

Sometimes I get the feeling that he never misses one thing I do, his eyes catching everything. From my covert glances to every little sigh that escapes my lips when he shuffles closer, Caleb is able to read me like an open book—ironically.

‘Only the immortal,’ I giggle, the topic fitting considering this house is teeming with ghosts…and other entities. ‘That reminds me,’ I turn, a mischievous grin on my face. ‘Can ghosts read? And do they?’

His eyes sparkle with amusement, his mouth tipping up.

‘Don’t laugh at me! It’s a genuine question. If I were trapped for an eternity with a library like this, I would devour every single book—every word written.’

‘I would never laugh,’ he puts his hands up in a mock peace gesture.

In no time, I feel him behind me, the heat radiating from his body enveloping me and making me tense—as is usually the case when I’m in his presence.

‘I think you have a wrong idea of what ghosts are,’ he chuckles in my ear.

I swivel to face him, narrowing my eyes at him.

‘Do tell then. What are ghosts?’

‘They are sources of energy, they are the pure intention that remains after passing—whether good or bad,’ he murmurs. ‘And though one might die with the express desire to read books for all eternity,’ he smiles at me, ‘it would lack the corporeality to do so.’

‘So what do ghosts do?’ I bite my lip in apprehension, suddenly thinking of Amon.

‘They haunt?’ he chuckles.

Shaking my head, I give him a playful swat.

‘Spirits remain where they do not belong for a few reasons, Darcy. Hate, resentment, or unfulfilled desire. They don’t just decide not to cross over. Something is keeping them here.’

His words give me pause.

If Amon is a ghost, then what keeps him here? What type of strong emotion or unfulfilled desire has impeded his peaceful passing?

A sad look crosses my face as I imagine him lonely for centuries, in search of something but never quite finding it.

Yet the question remains… Why is Amon here? Why is he in Fairydale when my dreams show me a previous life in England?

‘What do you think keeps the ghosts at the Hale manor here?’ I suddenly ask.

He’s silent for a moment as he mulls it over.

‘A common goal,’ he finally answers, his eyes flickering with foreign emotion. ‘And what most spirits have in common—vengeance.’

A shiver goes down my back.

Could that be the case with Amon, too?

Could he have been killed on these grounds, remaining here to search for his vengeance?

Yet I can’t imagine that, not when his presence is so soothing—so pure.

I’ve never once sensed malicious intent from him. Certainly not what I’d felt when the Kiaka had attacked me.

‘Can it not be something else?’ I ask in a small voice.

He raises his brows at me, and I gather the courage to ask.

‘Like…love?’

‘You’re quite the romantic, aren’t you, Darcy darlin’?’

I blush at his question, averting my eyes when his gaze seems to penetrate my every defense.

‘Isn’t love an unfulfilled desire, too?’ I whisper.

He tips my chin up, forcing me to look into his eyes.

‘Some might say it’s the most unfulfilled desire of all,’ he murmurs, his breath fanning my lips.

When had he gotten so close?

He leans in, and instinctively, I close my eyes and pucker my lips, waiting.

Just as I think he’s going to close the distance and give me my first kiss, he doesn’t.

One second passes. Two. On the third, I hear his deep rumble.

‘You can open your eyes, darlin’,’ he chuckles.

I creep my eyes open to note the amusement on his face. He’s still just as close, the contours of his body fitted to mine. Yet he doesn’t act on our proximity.

Instead, he lifts his arm, taking a book from behind me.

‘You’re a tease,’ I grumble under my breath.

All this time I’d been mentally preparing for the kiss and when I think he’s about to give it to me—when I want to welcome it with open arms—he teases me like this.

‘Here, I think you might like this,’ he says, his eyes crinkled at the corners.

Oh, the rogue! He knows exactly what he’s doing.

I grab the book from his hands—none too ladylike—and I open it to the title page.

The Monk by M.G. Lewis.

My brows scrunch in confusion. I’m not particularly familiar with this title.

But as I read further, I note the year in which it’s been printed.

1796.

‘It’s a first edition,’ I breathe out in awe.

Just how many priceless first editions can this library house?

Yet that’s not the most striking thing about the book.

Right under the print year, there’s a signature in bold, masculine script.

Jeremiah Creed.

‘This… This belonged to the original owner of the house, did it not?’ I whip my gaze up to meet Caleb’s intent one.

‘Indeed,’ he drawls.

‘His name was Jeremiah? It’s the first time I see his first name,’ I add pensively. ‘He and his wife died in the plague, did they not?’

‘Hmm, did they,’ he muses. ‘Some say they did. Others say they were murdered.’

‘Murdered?’ I frown. ‘How come?’

‘You’ll have to ask Rhiannon,’ he slowly smiles. ‘I’m sure she’ll be a better source than me.’

‘Does she know everything that happens in Fairydale? Everyone seems to defer to her as the authority around here.’

‘She’s…something,’ Caleb replies. ‘She’s seen a lot in her lifetime,’ he says as he takes another book for himself.

‘How old is she?’ I ask as I follow him to the reading space.

He plops himself on the sofa, patting the seat next to him for me.

‘In her late nineties,’ he answers.

My eyes widen.

‘In her nineties?’ I sputter.

Rhiannon looks to be in her fifties at best, yet she is in her nineties?

‘Tell me she isn’t some sort of vampire too,’ I mumble.

At this point would I be surprised if she were?

Caleb throws his head back and laughs.

‘You should tell her that. I’m sure she would love to hear she’s been compared to a vampire.’

My lips twitch.

‘Well, at least you didn’t say vampires exist too,’ I add drily.

‘Who said they don’t exist?’ he raises a brow. ‘They might even come and suck on your pretty neck at night,’ he leans in to whisper, his finger trailing down the column of my neck. ‘Feed on your life essence,’ he continues in a raspy whisper, the light touches sending a shiver down my back.

My lips part as a gasp escapes me, flashes of the previous odd encounters flooding my mind and making my pulse speed up.

‘You’re trying to scare me,’ I accuse. ‘Again,’ I say pointedly, giving him a look that says I don’t appreciate this type of humor—certainly not after thinking I was losing my mind.

And to show him my displeasure, I open the book, making myself more comfortable on my side of the sofa and ignoring him in favor of the story.

Minutes pass, and I can tell he’s getting increasingly annoyed with the lack of attention. Especially as he keeps brushing his shoulder against mine, or bumping his knee into mine.

Every time I catch him doing it, he gives me a sheepish smile.

He’s almost like a lazy cat demanding attention.

‘Stop that! You’re distracting,’ I use my teacher voice on him, hoping he would feel duly reprimanded.

He doesn’t.

He only gives me another smile, blatantly fluttering his lashes at me as he scoots closer.

‘I won’t try to scare you again,’ he murmurs huskily. ‘In fact, I’ll keep you very, very safe,’ he declares as he clasps his hands around my shoulders. ‘I’ll be your knight in shining armor. Would you like that, Darcy darlin’?’ he speaks low in my ear, his tone a combination of needy playfulness and lethal intensity.

I still as my heart drums in my chest.

How is it that he can melt my defenses with only a few words, disarm me with the barest of touches?

‘I reckon you quite enjoy it when I’m scared,’ I whisper as I slowly turn towards him.

‘Me?’ he shakes his head. ‘Never, darlin’.’

‘Oh, but you do,’ I continue, meeting his gaze head on. ‘Because then I’m at your mercy, isn’t that so?’

I don’t know where the words come from, but the moment I utter them aloud I know them to be true. He likes to see me on the edge, too close to the precipice. Because then he’ll be the one to pull me back to safety.

Caleb doesn’t deny it.

He continues to watch me closely, his eyes boring into me.

‘I’d be lying if I denied it,’ he says in a low, even tone.

All the while, his gaze is still on mine, holding me captive.

‘Your emotions are a feast in themselves. But your fear… Your fear, Darcy darlin’,’ he releases a deep groan. ‘It would keep me sated for an eternity.’

‘Why?’ I whisper.

‘Because it’s so intimately linked with your desire—with everything that still holds you back,’ he says as he brushes the back of his hand against my cheek.

I swallow hard, unable to look away from him.

In a way, he is right.

About everything.

I am afraid—just as I am uptight. I am all that because something within me keeps me from fully letting go.

And I still do not know what.

‘You would make quite the psychoanalyst,’ I note with a dry, awkward laugh.

His eyes flicker with awareness as he recognizes he touched a sore spot.

Slowly, he pulls back, letting his lips curl up into a comforting smile.

And instead of a sarcastic reply, he promptly switches the topic.

Still holding my hand in his, he opens his book—A collection of plays by Bernard Shaw—and starts reading one of them to me.

Soon, his voice lulls me into a state of total comfort—despite the previous uneasy conversation. It’s just another facet of Caleb that fascinates me.

He can read my moods so well, he knows exactly how to react each time. He knows when to tease and when to pull back, when to challenge me and when to soothe me.

Every now and then, he pauses to recount an anecdote, telling me a humorous historical tale, or tell me the origin of a certain term used by Shaw.

I listen raptly, his intelligence more than matching his outer looks. His words are carefully chosen, his oratorical skills unmatched as he becomes the center of my attention—of my very world.

Not for the first time, I have to wonder why he’s wasting his time in Fairydale when he could embark on any career he could wish for. He could become a lawyer, or a politician. He could do anything he wished, yet he stayed here. In a small town with no prospects and nothing to recommend it except some errant ghosts.

I know he has his business and he makes great money with his work, yet I can’t help but wonder if he’s truly fulfilled by what he does.

He’s such a passionate man, a fire burning deep inside of him that he attempts to stifle at every turn. I cannot comprehend how or why he limits himself.

As he embarks on a history lesson, my interest is piqued as I draw closer to him, almost as if by being glued to his side I could absorb all his knowledge and everything that he is—awe striking and inspiring.

Damn, but he doesn’t even need his looks to seduce me. He can do it by merely speaking so articulately and by transposing me to another time with his mere words.

‘Tell me more,’ I say dreamily as I place a pillow on his lap before laying my head down.

He gazes indulgently at me, his hand on my head as he softly strokes my hair.

‘What do you want to know exactly?’

‘Hmm,’ I think for a moment. ‘What do you know about 18th century England?’

He raises his brows at me.

‘How come?’

‘I’ve read books set during Regency. I’m interested in what happened before,’ I turn to lay on my back so I can watch him.

‘Depending on what decade of the eighteen hundreds you’re talking about. A lot of things have changed. The end of the century was very similar to what you know as the Regency.’

He goes on to give me a quick political and societal guide to the seventeen hundreds.

I merely listen, my lips tipped up in a perpetual smile as I let his deep rumble wash through me, every vibration making me feel unnaturally alive and yearning for…something.

‘Caleb?’ I interrupt after what seems like an eternity.

He’s on the subject of George the Third, making parallels between England and the colonies, and how people had fared under his rule.

‘Huh?’ he suddenly stops, tilting his head and turning those captivating eyes to me.

Rising from my—very—comfortable spot, I bring myself into a sitting position, sliding next to him as I cup both his cheeks with my hands. A sliver of fear blooms inside of me, but for the first time I squash it down, choosing to take matters in my own hands.

He blinks, and for the first time I note he is flustered—a fact that only makes him more endearing.

This handsome man who’s been trying to seduce me at every turn is now being the one seduced. And instead of the expected resolute assertiveness, I’m met with tentative uncertainty.

His skin is soft where my fingers touch him and I caress him gently before I lean in.

My heart is thundering in my chest, but as I close the distance between us, my lips meeting his, I find that nothing else matters.

Nothing but that brief connection as I inhale the very essence he breathes.

I give him a quick kiss on the lips before I draw back, my eyes wide, my cheeks red.

To my surprise, his cheeks have a similar hue.

Unable to face him, I swing my legs off the sofa and I dash out of the library.

‘See you later,’ I squeak.

I giggle to myself as I run up the stairs, ready to close myself in my room and replay everything in my head.

But just as I’m about to turn to our wing, I come face to face with Rhiannon.

‘There you are, Darcy,’ she smiles at me. ‘My son told me about your misfortune, and I must offer you my deepest apologies.’

I frown.

‘You shouldn’t encounter any more such…’ she purses her lips, ‘creatures.’

‘That is reassuring,’ I give her a tight smile.

‘Of course, you must have questions. I’d like to extend an invitation to dine with the family at the end of the week. We’ve all been rather absent and we’ve unfortunately neglected you as our guest.’

‘Oh, no, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to impose. You’ve already received me into your home for which I am incredibly grateful.’

‘It is your home, too, Darcy,’ she comes forward, taking my hands in hers.

For a moment, I could swear her eyes glow just as a smile slowly spreads on her lips.

‘Oh, my. You are, indeed, everything I expected you to be,’ she tells me, giving me a warm look. ‘We will talk more soon, and I will give you answers to some questions you may have.’

And with that, she’s gone.

Heading to my room, I note how late it is and I get ready for bed, taking a shower and washing my hair.

All the while, I can’t stop smiling while thinking of Caleb.

While thinking of…the kiss.

Already, my cheeks heat up as I remember the feel of his lips on mine. It had only been for a second, but it had been glorious.

So much so that I can’t wait to repeat it.

Brushing my hair and braiding it, I put on my nightgown before I go to bed.

As I lay in bed, doing my best to fall asleep, I can’t help but compare the sweet kiss I’d shared with Caleb with the one I am almost certain Amon gave me.

I shake myself. I shouldn’t even try to compare. One man is dead, the other is alive.

Yet why does it hurt so much thinking of Amon dead?

I have Caleb and that should be enough. So why can’t I stop my heart from yearning for Amon?

If my intuition is right, the dreams aren’t just dreams—not after Amon spoke to me. They are a window to the past. One where I was his Lizzie. One where we were…in love.

But what happened? Why is he here, in Fairydale? Why is he a ghost?

The questions are endless, and I feel more conflicted than ever.

I like Caleb. I am attracted to him. And I know I’m well on my way to falling for him if I haven’t already done so. But then there’s Amon and the echo of feelings I had for him as Lizzie—feelings that still plague me, a gaping hole in my heart whenever I think about him.

He’s the only person whose presence has ever reminded me of home.

‘God,’ I groan as I twist and turn.

I’m falling for Caleb. But I’m also in love with a…ghost?

What in God’s name is wrong with me?

Before, I’d never looked twice at a man, and now I’m having this infuriating conundrum.

Anywhere other than Fairydale and I’m sure I would be shipped to a mental institution. After all, who develops feelings for a ghost?

It takes me a while to fall asleep, but at some point, a loud banging noise startles me awake.

My first inclination is to get out of bed and turn on the light, already feeling myself develop goosebumps over the surface of my entire body.

Please not another ghost…

Maybe I’ve let myself be spoiled in the last week, but the quiet had been invaluable.

Another bang, and I jump, looking right and left.

The issue with ghosts is that you cannot just punch them and run for your life. They’re not exactly…punchable.

The noise becomes increasingly louder, and just as I am about to go find Caleb, I hear the voice—his voice.

Lizzie…

It’s faint, but I can hear it.

‘Amon?’ I ask, hating the hopeful tone of my voice.

Lizzie…

The air shimmers in front of me, and somehow I know it’s him.

‘Amon,’ I whisper softly, his name on my lips almost making me cry since I know he’s…dead.

The shimmery mist moves, going towards the door.

I frown for a second until I realize he’s trying to tell me something—lead me somewhere.

Before I can think anything through, I light a candle, taking it with me and following Amon’s ghost—or essence, or whatever it is. At this point, the last thing I need is to argue semantics over a ghost’s form. Not when the only thing that matters to me is to be able to communicate with him. I have so many questions I want to ask him—so many things I want to tell him.

Lizzie…

The voice becomes louder as I move down the corridor, taking the stairs to the ground floor before being lead to an area I hadn’t to been before—but one Caleb had told me had been the servants quarters in the past.

The moment I enter it, the mist directs me to a door at the far end of the room. As I open it, shining light inside, I’m surprised to see a set of stairs that lead to an even lower level.

For a second I balk at going into such a dark place, but as the mist intensifies, I take the plunge, putting one foot in front of the other and hoping I’m not going to encounter God knows what down there.

I go down two flights of stairs before I reach another door. This one locked. I’m about to tell him that when I hear a light snapping sound before the door creaks open.

As I cross the threshold, I use the candle to see what’s around me, somehow not surprised to see it’s a tunnel. The ground is rocky and uneven, and I think I can hear the sound of the ocean, which suggests this is close to sea-level.

I take a few steps, but I can’t feel him around me anymore.

‘Amon?’

‘Come to me,’ the voice is fully audible now, raspy, full and thick. There’s almost like an echo as it fills the length of the tunnel.

‘Amon, is that you?’

‘Come to me, Lizzie mine,’ he drawls, the voice unmistakably his. I would recognize it anywhere.

Tears gather at the corners of my eyes as I hurry forward.

‘It’s really you,’ I whisper, true joy overtaking me. ‘It’s really you, my Amon.’

I don’t know how far I’ve walked, but suddenly I hit something like a wall, the impact making me reel.

Swinging the candle in front of me, I note there’s no barrier—nothing.

‘What…’

‘Come, Lizzie,’ Amon repeats, his voice deeply anguished.

So much so, it pulls at my soul, a melody that calls to something deep within me.

Getting up, I try to move forward again. Only to be thrust backward once more.

But I don’t give up.

Moving back a few paces, I gather momentum before I run at full speed towards the invisible barrier, only to be thrown back in the air with the same force.

I hit the ground instantaneously. My head connects with a sharp rock, the pain immediate, as is the blurring of my vision and the loss of my consciousness.

But it’s not before I hear a mighty roar. One that makes the entire structure around me quake.

‘Lizzie!’