Tess

She opened her eyes expecting to be in her room, a pounding headache washed over her. Groaning, she shifted to her side.

She was not in her room. Instead she was in a medium sized stone chamber with pillars supporting the roof. Firelight flickered from torches in sconces, throwing shadows this way and that. There were several cots against the walls, injured people lying on them.

In the center of the room was a table cluttered with jars, medical equipment and papers. A few chairs scattered around. A bear-like beastman sat in one of the chairs, looking comically too small for his massive hulking figure. He was covered in a thick layer of fur, with massive arms and legs. He was built sturdy and his hands were big and paw-like. Though one might find him intimidating, the small pair of wire frame glasses perched on his nose made him look less frightening. He had large, kind brown eyes, and was wearing large wool clothes and no boots.

Tess felt around her head, her hand ran over a large bump in the back, causing her to wince in pain.

Where was she?

The bear beastman noticed she was awake. He got out of the small chair and pounded his way over to her. He crouched down in front of Tess’ bed.

“Can you tell me your name?” He rumbled.

“Where am I?” Tess asked instead with a commanding tone.

“I’m not at liberty to tell you that. Can you tell me your name?” He responded, looking down at her through his small glasses.

“I am Princess Tessa Hasrio Sander, now I demand you tell me where I am,” Tess said, sitting up with a wince as the world started spinning.

The bear beast man grunted, then he pushed her back onto the cot, “You should rest. Can you tell me what you remember?”

Tess glared at him. She couldn't stay here, wherever here was. She needed to find her father…

Memories came rushing back. Lost. The execution. The attackers. The royal guard captain.

She tried to get up again, but the bear-man held her down with one of his tree trunk sized arms. “Calm yourself. You won't be harmed.”

Tess, after a few minutes of struggling, relaxed back into the cot. Giving up hope of trying to overpower him. She then reached for her magic pool but as soon as she made the connection and tried to create a blast of wind, pain sliced through her arms and mind. It wasn't like a physical pain, more like a intense ache. Gasping at the sudden white hot pain, Tess lost all her fight.

The bear beast man grunted, taking his hand off her chest. “From what I can tell, you don't have a major concussion. That ? is good.”

“If you release me now, I'll make sure my father doesn't have you killed,” Tess said, desperately grasping for any way out of this place.

The bear man ignored her. He walked over to the table, shuffling around in the mounds of paper and medicines.

Tess tried to sit back up, but the bear beastman just glared at her. Then saying, “You need rest. Even if you could get past me, then you'd have to contend with the guards.”

Sitting back into the cot, Tess let out a huff of air. Knowing he was right.

The bear man walked back over to her, holding a jar of dried plant leaves. He unscrewed it, tentatively fitting his thumb and forefinger in. Withdrawing a small amount of crumpling leaves, he motioned for her to open her mouth.

Tess stubbornly kept it shut.

The bear beastman just shook his head. “It will help with the pain. Doesn't matter to me whether you take it or not.”

“What if you poisoned it?” Tess said, sure that he was going to kill her.

“Use your head. There were plenty of opportunities to kill you while you were unconscious.”

Tess couldn't argue with that. They didn't want her dead. They wanted her for a prisoner. Reluctantly, she opened her mouth and the bear man gently dropped them into her mouth.

She nearly spat it out at the bitter taste. She chewed it quickly and gulped it down, Wrinkling her nose at the taste.

The beastman nodded, screwing the lid of the jar back on and setting it back on the table. “I'll get you some fresh water,” He rumbled before leaving the room through a heavy wooden door.

Tess sat there, in the flickering light. Listening to the other injured people’s groans of pain and breathing.

She contemplated trying to escape but she couldn't seem to use her magic and there was no telling how many guards there were.

There was some shuffling on the other side of the room, where the light didn't reach. Then an elf hobbled out of the shadows, clutching his bandaged side and wincing. He had greenish-blonde hair. It was the glaive wielder who had attacked her.

Tess scrambled back, pressing herself as close to the wall as she could.

The elf elf shuffled over to her bedside, then collapsed on the floor. He got into a kneeling position, bowing his head. “Please, forgive me, your highness.”

Tess gaped at him. She didn't know exactly why, she had been expecting him to hurt her or say something else.

“I had no intention of hurting you,” he said, almost pleading.

Not knowing what to say, Tess blurted out the only thing she could think of, “I forgive you.”

That's when the bear beastman decided to come back into the room. He held a rusted bucket in one hand, and a wooden mug in the other.

When he saw the glaive wielder still bowed in front of Tess, he raised a bushy eyebrow.

Thumping over to the kneeling and injured elf he set the bucket down. “Renhold, you need to rest. You have three bruised ribs and a concussion.”

Renhold looked up at the bear beastman. The beastman helped him to his feet and led him back to the cot on the other side of the room. Coming back, he scooped some water from the bucket and gave Tess the wooden mug.

She took a tentative sip of it. It had a mild undertone of iron, but she drank it anyway.

Tess grumbled thank you to the bearman. Then asked a question that was now on her mind, “Who was that?”

The bearman looked down at her, bemusement in his eyes. “That was Renhold. A idiot and clumsy elf. But his heart is in the right place.”

The beastman turned away, telling Tess to rest. Then he moved back to the table in the center of the room, scanning over the papers.

“Why am I here?” Tess asked after a bit.

The bear beastman looked over at her. “We want you to overthrow the King.”

“You want me to kill my father!?” Tess yelled, shifting back in the cot.

The bearman held her gaze, “Not kill, to take him off the throne.”

He turned back to his papers and herbs, ignoring her.

The scary part about his statement wasn't that they wanted Nerofix off the throne; no, it was that Tess agreed with them.

Lost

Lost was back in the world of smokey shadows. The Wraith was there, as always. Not for the first time, he noticed the lack of ambient sound. It was deathly silent. Like a void consuming all sound.

He stretched his arms and sat down. Ready for another conversation meant to undermine his will and confidence.

“You should give up now. It will be less painful when you fall,” The Wraith clicked from under the hood, shifting around and disturbing the gray smoke that clinged to the ground.

“You know, I think you should be a therapist. All your patients would be gone within the first day because all of them would have killed themselves,” Lost said, resting his chin on his fist.

“You will lose, it's just a matter of time,” hissed the Wraith, clicking.

“I’m sure it is. You have always been right. Well, most of the time at least,” Lost said sarcastically. But he knew it was right. No matter how much he tried to deny it, he could feel the madness slowly taking him. It was slow, and he had just noticed little things here and there. The most prominent of them, these dreams with the Wraith. Then the urge to kill, to hurt and bring misery to those that bugged him.

The black abyss rumbled.

The Wraith, unfazed, moved closer to Lost, within 4 feet of where he now stood and looked around. Then it lunged forward, gripping his arm.

Lost looked down, it was a hand, but with all the flesh stripped away, leaving only bony. The bony fingers dug with his flesh, spreading a deathly cold.

The Wraith clicked a few times, “You are mine.”

The world was taken away in a massive earthquake, launching Lost from the world of shadows.

********

He was sitting at a table. A modern table. A god damn modern table. Not the medieval kind; no, this was one from earth.

Light streamed in through a sliding glass door, so bright you couldn't see the other side. He was in a kitchen. With granite counter tops, a stove and microwave. Lights over head, turned off during the day. Not torches, but light bulbs.

A ceramic bowl of cereal sat in front of him. Oddly, there was no milk. Just a bowl of Cheerios. That was the first sign something wasn't exactly right.

Lost lifted the utensil he was eating with; that was the second. He was eating with a fork and not a spoon.

The third; the light spilling in from the window wasn't warm. It was freezing cold; so cold, that it burned. Lost immediately stepped out of it and into the shadows of the kitchen. Unlike the light, the darkness was warm and comforting. Like it always was for him.

The Fourth was that he wasn't a thin, pale kid anymore. He had more weight on his bones, not fat or anything, but enough to look healthy. His skin was a dark tan.

The Fifth was the corpse.

It crashed through the white door on the other side of the kitchen. Shrivelled and rotting. It was missing teeth and its eye sockets were filled with black flickering flames. It was covered in a layer of mud and its neck was grotesquely twisted. It had stringy red hair that had clumps missing. The clothes it wore were ripped and covered in mud. Its dried lips parted and a leathery tongue stuck out and rubbed around on them. Trying to bring some moisture into them. It had missing teeth and the ones that where in its mouth where rotting. It was a woman of about 40. She may have once been beautiful. Before she died.

Lost pressed himself as far as he could into the shadows, his heartbeat racing. His breath became erratic with fear.

Shame.

Horror.

Disgust.

Sorrow.

Regret.

The corpse let out a dry hissing sound, preparing to use its dried throat. “Wh-y…?” It asked, taking a step forward. The flames in its eye sockets burrowed into Lost, seeing into his soul like no other’s eyes.

His throat clenched up, he couldn't utter a word. It wasn't from fear of it, but of fear of what it would say.

“Why..? Why… didn't you… s-ave me... S...on?” It croaked, shifting another step closer.

Lost said the only thing he could. By now, the words were meaningless, but it was the only thing he knew to say. “I’M SORRY!” He screamed.

The corpse lunged forward, aiming for his throat. Lost was frozen, his mind blank.

The corpse of his mother grabbed him by his throat and lifted him up with immense strength, pinning him against the wall. It screeched. Not in anger. But in pain, the screams of pain that was unimaginable. Of loss, of fear… Of death.

Lost choked out another sorry, not even resisting the corpse. He couldn't. How could you attack your own mother, even when she was attacking you?

The corpse screamed again. Then it threw Lost into the light streaming in from the window. He screamed as it burned his skin, freezing it. Lost looked on in horror as his limbs slowly shriveled and blackened, then his chest, then his neck. Then his head.The last thing to go was his eyes.

The corpse of his mother leered over him, crying a tearless cry. The sound of screams and manic laughter filled his ears.

Then his eyes were gone and the nightmare ended.