Page 46 of Dark Fate

Axilya pulls back the heavy brocade drapes, the moonlight caressing her refined features. "A wheel has been lost to us. We shall take respite here for the night and resume our journey come morning." She glides effortlessly outside before I can process her stiff words through my mental fog.

As I step from the carriage, one of the guards extends his hand, offering support just in time as my legs buckle beneath me, unsteady from the long ride. Thankfully, the ground here in the clearing is solid and even, which is a small mercy compared to the carriage's unforgiving seat.

Suppressing the urge to cry out, I find myself hopping awkwardly, trying to wake my feet from their pin-prick slumber—a physical echo of my frayed nerves.

Once I regain some balance, I take a moment to get my bearings, rubbing life back into my asleep limbs. All around, moss-covered stones outline a softly gurgling spring, casting a serene ambiance as firelight flickers and dances across the makeshift campsite. I see Fae soldiers quietly exchanging provisions, their movements almost reverent under the calming spell of the surrounding forest. It's a scene of unexpected tranquility amidst the pressures of our quest.

My numb legs demand walking around, so I wander quietly into the magical woods to clear my thoughts. Though Overthinker's Paradise offers little peace, furball Syla draped across my shoulders soothes the anxieties churning inside. I trail one hand through her soft fur, my frazzled mood stabilizing, feeling each slow heartbeat against my palm.

We meander silently through alien trees and glowing plants. Luminous vines snake up massive trunks, pulsing hypnotically with ghostly green light. Even the moths have butterfly wings that shimmer with trippy rainbow prints.

I trail questing fingers over velvety petals soft as plush carpet and strangely warm. The alien blooms lean subtly into my touch. Double-take—they move, responding to stimulation against my skin! Syla trills contentedly as this freaky energy passes between us all.

We emerge into a sheltered glen so absurdly picturesque it looks staged—towering crystals and prisms fracture the soft lunar glow into sheer art gallery ambiance, glancing off trickling creeks.

I stretch out atop a smooth gemstone boulder and stare up at the littered heavens of stars, feet dangling to absorb the temporary peace this realm's hectic timing has stolen lately. Syla curls on my chest, steam from the freshwater pools coaxing out healing scents of cedar and wildflowers. I inhale deeply.

As I run my fingers through the Coatl's fur, Syla's peaceful breathing swells a wave of emotion within me. I whisper softly, "Wish you could see my world while it's still innocent and beautiful..." She may be a creature of this realm, but at this moment, I feel a deep desire to share my world's fragile splendor with her.

The thought lingers that when—or if—I return home, my perception of 'normal' might be irrevocably altered. Syla shifts slightly, pressing closer. She emits a soft rumble, a sound woven with strange musical notes that resonate with encouragement. Although the language of this realm is foreign, I find myself understanding the sentiment behind Syla's melodic purrs.

Starlight glitters beautifully above this sheltered grotto, the reflective crystals and trickling water casting everything in a hypnotic, dream-like softness. As Syla begins drifting off into contentment, it proves contagious.

For a hot second, it's like the entire multiverse decides to throw us a bone, putting the cosmic chaos on "pause."

I am sinking into this blissful silence when suddenly I'm pulled in a direction that is as foreign as it is deja vu. My body goes full marionette, and out pops a yelp that sends Syla bouncing off me as if I'm her personal moonbounce.

"Syla, wait." I don't want her to get hurt.

Pulse drumming wildly, I'm scoping out the now menacing glen. Those blue lights cast serious shadows, transforming my chill spot into a creepy scene where every shrub and ripple morph into a boogeyman.

But plot twist—there's no boogeyman, no beasties. The gut-punch of truth lands—it's not an external attack; it's my own personal panic button in a magical chokehold. That gut-wrenching homesickness comes from too much time away from Rhyland. Our soul-tying tantrum is kicking up a storm, and those high-drama waves are imported from his emotional seascape.

"R-Rhyland...?" His name is a half-prayer, half-curse as I toss it out, like a gambler rolling dice and praying for double-sixes in the ultimate game of existential craps.

What are the odds my crummy luck could flip to a fairy tale ending, with all this boogeyman nonsense stretching time thinner than my patience on this wild ride since day one?

Danica

20

Hugging the idea to my chest feels like trying to cuddle a porcupine—prickly and kinda insane. Is it really possible to snatch back my vampire knight in less-than-shiny armor?

But here I am, my heart daring to leap out of my chest, betting all my chips on the chance to win back my brooding, solitary Viking stud.

No verbal answer reaches this vacant, glowing garden. But some invisible force yanks my chin toward the sinister north. I can’t see or hear him, but I sense the big idiot’s grumpy essence heading bullheadedly toward me across leagues deemed impassable 'til now!

I bolt off the glittering boulder, warm, soft grass molding underfoot, as my internal GPS locks unerringly onto his signature. I spin in circles, trying to glimpse him for the first time in… forever.

I’m spinning like a makeshift ballerina when—wham! I’m suddenly eating turf like it’s my last meal, courtesy of an out-of-nowhere, linebacker-style tackle from the rear. We slam into the green beneath us—my breath leaves me faster than common sense at a clearance sale, but at least the arms wrapped around me are cozier than the collision suggests.

A gulp of air brings a familiar scent that kicks my heart rate up a few more notches—it’s spiked with danger but still undeniably Rhyland. The aroma has a sweet undertone with a spicy edge and a hint of ‘wrong side of the tracks’—totally intoxicating, totally him.

We're a chaotic mess on the ground, all limbs and adrenaline. His hands find me a bit roughly, clamping down on my face with a grip that borders on frantic. And then there it is—his gaze, intense enough to knock my thoughts clear out of my head, leaving nothing but tumbling dominoes in its wake.

I gawk stupidly, anxiety rising. My vampire wears recent bullshit badly—harsh new lines bracketing his mouth and haunted hollows around those now almost black eyes. Dark scruff shadows his rugged jawline, upping the ominous danger vibes. He scans my face with blistering hunger, barely leashed, sending warning prickles along my spine.

"Rhyland..." I breathe prayerfully, confused, moved by his ravaged state. But only remote void stares back down behind devouring eyes and a painful grip locking us together. Worry spikes when his hold tightens further until breathing grows labored.

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