Julie M Anderson

I curled up on the plush couch that was set across from the raging fire. It felt warm. Given the location, it also felt safe. Sleep wasn’t going to come though, not easily. I was too nervous. Too giddy.

I was here! I was actually, truly here!

But those weren’t the thoughts that kept me awake, falling in and out of partial sleep until the sun slowly began his ascent over the mountain lines. It was the question that kept me awake.

Would he come?

As I drifted in and out, I took in my surroundings. Everything was exactly as I had expected and hoped. It was dark here on the main level, but regal. Beautiful. He wasn’t sloppy with placement of furniture, decorations, anything. He was everything the prince. Sure, he probably was the blood thirsty, murderous bastard that all of the history books and ledgends made him out to be. But was he tacky? Nope.

The rug below my socked-feet (I wasn’t going to put my dirty boots on his couch) was plush and threadbear from the years, but clean. The couch my tired and aching body on couldn’t be original. Could it? It was impossibly soft and plush. No..,

I startled. I’d fallen asleep.

I looked at my watch. Only a few minutes had passed. I couldn’t quite tell exactly how tired I was. Okay. Back to it., There was dust and cobwebs on almost everything. Almost. I reached up to brush my shoulder. It was sore. I must have bumped it on the train ride or something. It was starting to become a little foggy. As I was looking at my shoulder, confused, I noticed that the couch I was sitting on was meticioulsly clean. No dust. No webbing. It didn’t seem just ready for company, it seemed…. Used.

I startled awake again. I palmed my exhausted eye-sockets. So this sleep thing was going to be happening until I just gave in, huh?

The skin on my arms prickled as the air in the room shifted. I was suddenly cold. Not winter cold. Death cold. I reached for my discarded jacked that was folded and set on a pillow. It was like a dream as I reached forward for the denim. My fingers reached but couldn’t quite touch it. My jacket. My, for some reason, evenly coated in a fine layer of soft, downy dust, jacket.

“Jenna.”

I heard him in my thoughts. Gently caressing my mind with his velvet voice. I didn’t even have to voluntarily let him in. He was just there,

“You shouldn’t have come. I cannot protect you.”

I sighed. “I am safe here with you. I have searched so long,” I mumbled. Did I think it? Or did I really say it?

“Not from me, my Jenna. Safe from her.”