Page 1 of Lost to the Orcs

PROLOGUE: FEAR

Five Years Ago

Oyeon, Nithia

Jaedason

“Tell memeiksya, what weel you have me do?” My accent is heavy, it is cold, it is annoyed.

“Not this.” My brother, younger by five years, growls a' me. “Ach, ye understand my meanin’,meiksya. Yer no’ so young anymore.”

Ay roll my eyes with a scoff. “Ay’ve a successor. U’snar.” My brother growls again, much more viscous than ‘he last. Ay cut him off with ‘he wave o’ my hand, before he can continue an’ try t’ argue. “Ay would love t’ find a mate as youers.” Ay murmur softly in ‘he still air around us. “One t’ make a nest in my furs. T’ share with U’s. But they are so rare.” Ay sigh, feeling bone weary. Feeling 'he human equivalent t' my age. Ay look int' my brothers soft honeyed gaze, asking him again. “Tell memeiksya, what would you have me do?”

“No’ give up. She will find you.” H’nash sighs, his honey eyes looking a’ me with an emotion Ay donnaecare t’ analyze.

“Ach, H’nash, Ay hope youer correct.” But Ay fear youer wrong. Ay fear for my heart. Ay fear for my brothers. Ay have much fear.

CHAPTER ONE: I WANT

“If there is such a thing that could transport you to the world of a book, you certainly will never be seeing me again.”

The meme has popped up in my feed several times this month and it’s practically embedded in my brain. I mean if I could, I would. But I can’t. No magic or anything of the kind; science, voodoo, you name it! Can bring me into a book no matter how hard I look. I mean, technically, I haven’t actually looked. But if you consider the facts; I am a couch locked potato slash recluse who surfs the web, you’d think I would find it if it exists. Even if it were just by random chance, I’m pretty sure it’d have fallen in my lap by now.

Either which way, I’m still sitting around reading. I finished my commissions for the month. I got paid, so my bills are all taken care of. Now, I can be free for the rest of the day. That is, until I accept more commissions for next month. I add another sticky note to the sticky note board next to my desk. It reads the date and a little reminder, “5commissions minimum. 15 max.” Alongside other sticky notes. “call the plumber.” “need to buy milk” “Laura wants to go to dinner on Saturday” But the worst part about each one? Is that they’re all old. Forgotten. I never called Laura. So, we didn’t go to dinner. I didn’t buy milk any of the times I went to the store. And my toilet is constantly draining/filling by itself.

If auto pay and direct deposit hadn’t been a thing, I wouldn’t have a home and I wouldn’t have a job. If I didn’t go straight burnout and complete all my commission in one go, or theminuteI remembered them, they’d never get done. I often don’t remember what I’m doing in themiddleof whatever I’m doing! It’s shitty, but it’s my life.

“What to do? What to do?” I groan, scrolling. Scrolling. Scrolling.

My stomach growls and I recall that I should eat. If I don’t, I’ll probably get some horrible heartburn. For some reason, not eating means bile in the back of my throat and burning the pipe. Which is ridiculously annoying; but I digress.

I pick up some paper cups I’d strewn on the floor earlier to get to my desk this morning and toss them in the trash. When I arrive in the kitchen, I’m staring at the pile of dirty dishes in the sink and on the counters from yesterday’s fiasco in trying to create macaron cookies. They were all pretty bad. Well, not just pretty bad. They came out absolutely terrible and I don’t know when I’ll try to make them again because just NO. Apparently, I’m just not meant to bake, as last month’s banana bread debacle; nearly burnt my place to ash.

Well, if I want to eat, I’m gonna have to clear this sink.

A few hours later, I sit back on my desk with a bowl of rice, cheese, cut up hot dogs and hot sauce. Mmm-mm food of champions. I check my social media posts from this morning and take a sip of my fruity hydration drink because I honestly don’t remember to drink enough water to save my life.

Ah. One of my favorite authors is sharing a new book cover.A flush envelopes my cheeks.The male on the cover is quite… uh… oh boy.I’ll just preorder that and move on. I’ll find it in my reading app later this year hopefully.

Now this! This is a world I could fall into and never want to get out of.I grin and tweet just that. Because I know the author will appreciate it and I know that any of my followers would also find this funny.

I feel a tingle slither down my spine, causing me to shake like awet dog. Ick. A ringing fills my ears and I blink several times, my hand feeling numb on my mouse and eyes burning like I haven’t blinked in hours.

The room is noticeably darker and I squint at my screen to look at the time. It’s eight at night.

Wait. What? How?

I have 20 missed notifications on each of my social media posts and six messages for potential commissions. Where—? Where did the time go?

Maybe I just fell asleep. At least my arm did. I groan as I bend and then straighten the damned thing. Tingles dance up and down my flesh. I feel so sluggish. Making my way to my bed is the most difficult thing I’ve ever done. But I’m stopped midway.

The doorbell rings.The hell?? Who could that be?

I stumble to the door. “Who is it?”

“Please! Open the door! I need help!” It sounds like a teenager.

Surprise widens my eyes and shakes me awake a little bit with the tiny spike of adrenaline. I swing open the door to find a frantic looking teen. “What’s wrong??”

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