Storytime with Amber

Part 2

This is Part 2 of the story. Part 1 can be found here: https://storytimewithamber.com/through-the-door/

It only took Elora a week to figure out that living in this new colorful world, called Orailde, was not any better than the place that she had left. The beautiful, glistening mother-of-pearl structure she had first spotted was called simply the citadel. It was a sprawling structure of ivory spires and silver-lined towers that housed the Enchantresses; those knowledgeable women who ruled over Orailde, dedicating their lives to studying old magic and creating new.  

Because this was a world where magic existed. It flowed in the rivers and shimmered in the air, filling every living creature with color and light. It was like something from a fairytale, better than Elora had ever dreamed of. Which, unfortunately, made it even worse when she realized that she could never be happy here, either. 

Every single person in Orailde was born with some amount of magic, and those who worked hardest to become great were chosen to rule from the citadel. Elora had first gone there upon her arrival, only to be denied entry for not having strong enough magic. Even the kitchen staff were required to have awe-inspiring abilities. It was only after those in charge had realized that she possessed zero magical ability that they had deigned to hear her out and allowed her to stay in order to be studied. Now she wasn’t allowed to leave and was working as a chambermaid until the Enchantresses could determine what to do with her. 

At first she had felt trapped and longed to travel and see more of Orailde. It only took a handful of stories of old, leaking huts or the smell of pig farms before Elora found herself grateful to be within the confines of the citadel—as well as a little apprehensive about the idea of leaving. There were no cafes here and serving ale in the taverns was not quite as reputable as her bartending job had been. 

Instead of worrying, Elora chose to focus on the Enchantresses. The women of the citadel were as much an oddity to Elora as she was to them. She couldn’t help but marvel, especially in the beginning, at the displays of magic that surrounded her. Everything from the walls gently glowing in the morning to wake her up to the soothing melodies emitted from her bed frame that lulled her to sleep. She didn’t understand at first why anybody would need a chambermaid, living as they did in a magical world such as this. But she did her job regardless, not wanting to get in trouble and, of course, needing a place to sleep and food to eat. She fell into a pattern not that different from her old life, except that the work she did day in and day out was interspersed with splashes of color instead of the mind-numbing grey.

She’d be caring for Seraphina today, the master of elemental manipulation. Each Enchantress of the citadel had a specialty and Seraphina held one of the highest ranking positions. She could summon flames to dance at her fingertips just as easily as she could bend the wind to carry her through the sky. Other Enchantresses could shape-shift, read thoughts, or teleport objects across vast distances without lifting a finger. It seemed there were hundreds of them, and Elora was to spend time caring for each one in turn, allowing each an entire week to study her as she performed menial tasks.

In some ways, Elora was grateful for the work that they provided. Taking pride in floral arranging or hairdressing or folding linens was her only way to keep herself from feeling like a lab rat as the Enchantresses poked and prodded her. And while she worked even harder than she had at the cafe, with tasks to do from sunup until sundown without ever getting a half-day off, at least the tasks were less monotonous. Today she was cleaning out Seraphina’s chambers, with the instruction to make them “sparkle like the morning dew.” Apparently the magic that kept the citadel dusted and free of pests didn’t actually scrub anything, just shook off the top layer of dust. 

Seraphina’s room, like all of those for the Enchantresses, was beautiful. Hers was elegant and understated, filled with a few practical pieces and simply, albeit expensively, decorated. Elora couldn’t help but think about how much one could find out about a person simply by looking at how they styled their bedroom. Her own room at the citadel was still bare, she hadn’t had the time to decorate anything yet. 

She was admiring an ornate mirror that she was supposed to be wiping clean when Elora heard Seraphina approaching, deep in conversation with another woman.

“Do you think she’s the one?” Elora didn’t recognize the voice.

“I don’t think you understand the prophecy,” Seraphina responded.

“I am the Enchantress of Divination!” the unknown woman said, her voice indignant.

“How can someone without magic stand against anything so drastic as impending darkness?” Seraphina asked. Elora did not like the sound of that.

“I forget that you don’t believe in the prophecy,” the Enchantress of Divination replied.

“A madman speaks of a cataclysmic event that will shatter the balance of all of our magic and everybody takes him seriously. Why? Because he also predicts the weather a few times? Surely we owe it to the people to look for more proof than that.”

“The common folk don’t need proof, they need hope. And this man provides that. Especially after a girl with no magic turns up.” 

They were close enough that Elora could clearly make out what they were saying, despite their voices growing more hushed. She wondered if she should do something to announce herself, to let the women know that she was there, but just continued wiping the surface of the already gleaming and magically streak-free mirror.

Seraphina scoffed, her footsteps stopping right before the door. “Well, hope or no, there is not—” her voice cut off as the door swung open to reveal Elora, standing in the room trying very hard to look as though she hadn’t heard anything.

“What are you doing here?” asked the woman who accompanied Seraphina. 

“Cleaning,” Elora said defensively at the same time Seraphina said, “she cares for my room this week.”

The older woman, with wrinkled skin and silver hair, harrumphed and turned away.

“We’ll finish this conversation later,” she threw over her shoulder before retreating down the hall.

“That was Vera, Enchantress of Divination,” said Seraphina. “Now, would you be so kind as to help me with my coiffeur?” 

The next few weeks passed in much the same way. Elora couldn’t help but notice that although Vera seemed uniquely interested in her turn to work with Elora, she was skipped over in favor of the Enchantress of Flora, whose room resembled more of a terrarium than living quarters. She already had staff, as magic couldn’t be trusted to clean a bed made entirely of moss, so Elora spent most of the week simply marveling at the various flowers that sprouted from her walls and hung from vines tangled around her ceiling.

While she worked, Elora heard whispers of a prophecy. Although she was intrigued at first, it only took a few additional overheard conversations to realize she wanted nothing to do with it. Elora had pieced together that the magic of this world was behaving strangely and people were suffering. Although wealth disparity had always been a blight on the people of Orailde, even more were falling into poverty as the lack of magic caused famine and uncontrollable weather patterns. Try as they might, the Enchantresses couldn’t contain the damage and people were beginning to wonder if their leadership was truly beneficial. A prophet, who styled himself similarly to a monarch, spoke about a chosen one who would fight the coming darkness and prevent the loss of magic. It sounded like nothing more than a fairytale. And although the weariness that was creeping into her life was making her long for a story, Elora wasn’t wanting to hear one of suffering and politics. She wanted a story where people’s lives were better; where she could just find time to rest.

It wasn’t until Vera herself sought Elora out and summoned her to her private chamber that Elora started to realize the importance of the rumors.

“I’m sure you know why you’re here,” Vera said once the thick door had shut ominously behind them. 

“I’m sure I don’t,” Elora responded. 

“Don’t act coy, child,” the Enchantress said. “I know you’ve heard Seraphina and I discussing you. Discussing the prophecy.”

Elora curled in on herself, wishing very much to disappear. “I really don’t know much about the prophecy. It’s just a fairytale.”

“A what?” Vera asked. “What do you know of the fairies?”

“N—Nothing?”

“Right, well, I’ve come to the conclusion that you’re the Chosen One.” Vera said in a defeated voice. “There’s nothing else for it.”

Elora laughed. She couldn’t help herself. She had left the grey city in her own world behind through some fantastical door after speaking to a man she didn’t remember. Of course she was the Chosen One. It was just like the books she had read as a child. Maybe it was all a bad dream and she’d wake up soon. 

“Stop laughing!” Vera barked. 

Her tone caused Elora’s laughter to die in her throat.

“There’s something about you,” the Enchantress continued. “I haven’t had my turn to study, but you defy the natural order. You don’t possess the gift of magic. There is a chance that disease might spread. I believe that you are mentioned in the prophecy and if we don’t act quickly, our world will turn into something like the one you claim to be from.”

“It already is,” Elora said under her breath, unable to help herself. Vera looked up from the chest that she had begun rummaging through.

“What’s that?” Vera asked, but Elora merely shook her head. Vera continued, as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “I probably shouldn’t be divulging this information, but I’ve been reading, both from past prophecies and the histories of our country. There is a shadow that consumes the magic of our realm and siphons it away to others. If the texts are to be believed, this has happened to other worlds—they exist now completely drained of magic and color and life. We cannot see the same happen here.” 

Elora merely shook her head. The grey city that she had come from sounded like what Vera was describing, but she hadn’t seen much in her time here that truly made this life different from the one that she had left. The Enchantresses lived a life of luxury, sure, but the commoners? If they were lucky, they were employed as housekeepers who worked nonstop for the wealthy. Most people were reduced to living in tiny mud huts, tilling land for those who owned it, and paying rent for the luxury of doing so. The unluckier still lived on the streets, begging or stealing whatever they could to survive. Hunger still ravaged the people, even in a world of magic. Everybody was tired and anxious and cold, except for those who went to work in the tallest buildings in the biggest cities. There were a few people in charge of making the decisions for the rest, and those decisions never benefited everybody equally. Somehow the rich always came up on top, in even better positions than they were before. This world was prettier than the one she had left, sure, but it was just as harsh. What would Elora be preventing?

“So now you understand, it needs to be you and you need to go,” Vera finished, standing with a pile of packages that she had assembled.

Elora blinked. She understood nothing. What else had Vera been saying to her?

“I—no,” Elora protested.

“Yes, yes, I know you know. I just told you. Let’s get you out of here,” Vera responded, shoving the lot into Elora’s arms. Stunned, she took the bags and followed after Vera like a lost duckling. 

They wound their way through countless hallways, traveling down old, worn staircases as they went. It was difficult to see around the bulky bags that she was carrying and Elora almost lost her footing a number of times on the uneven stairs, but Vera was always right there and Elora used the sight of her to steady herself. Through the paned windows, the ground rose ever higher to meet them as they descended until the windows stopped altogether and Elora knew they were underground. She was grateful for the light that Vera held aloft, floating its steady glow ahead of them and keeping the darkness at bay as they sunk lower and lower, making their way through cool food storage rooms and then what looked like a dungeon filled with cells. Even as used to hills and stairs as she was, Elora’s legs burned and her chest heaved as she panted. She wondered how Vera, who was much older and much rounder, wasn’t bent over gasping for air. Elora couldn’t even hear the other woman’s breaths over her own. 

The rooms grew cold and the air that filled them was stale, causing Elora to stop and couch, until Vera barked at her to keep going. The walls were made of old stone and their shoes clacked against the ground as they walked, echoing on the stone all around them. Elora saw all manner of strange magical artifacts that she could only guess the uses for—some she wasn’t even sure of the materials they were constructed from. Fear began to grip her, for what could Vera be taking her down here for, where there was no one else around? The thought of turning around and climbing all of those stairs, of running away from a woman who never seemed to tire, was too much for her right now. With sweat trailing down her neck, Elora made the sensible decision to continue downward—at least it was easier than up. 

Eventually, the walls changed from their sharp corners to a curved roundness. The stone that made up the floor ceased being cobbled together and looked as though it were hewn from one large piece. It felt much more like walking through a cave than a hallway, especially when small little stalagmites started forming at the edge of the floor. They became a tripping hazard and Elora was cursing both the lack of light and the aches in her legs when they turned a corner and there was a speck of brightness up ahead. The air was sweeter here. 

Vera continued, pulling her onward, until they were blessedly free from the caves and out in open air. Elora took in a deep breath and enjoyed the sun on her face. It had been a while since she had actually been outdoors, spending so much time in various Enchantress’s quarters and only seeing the sun through a window. This was what she craved, this beauty and freedom and simplicity. 

“Go,” Vera said. “Find the Prophesier. Fulfill your destiny, Chosen One.”

Elora turned to her, still unwilling to accept that she was some Chosen One, but Vera stepped away, back towards the tunnels, and disappeared into mist, as if she had never been there to begin with. Maybe she hadn’t.

Elora looked around at the endless expanse of green in front of her with nothing but dismay. In her world at least she knew what her next steps were. Here she knew nothing. As much as it pained her, she began to feel homesick for the grey city that she had left. More than that though, she felt homesick for her childhood. For a time that she was at peace and full of joy. She couldn’t have joy while searching for a Prophesier. Maybe if she were back home, she could leave the city and find a better life somewhere else. 

With her mind made up, Elora clutched her bags tightly to her chest and started on her way to the hill that she had first appeared months ago. Her fatigue disappeared as her body filled with purpose. She would go back through the door. She knew the exact spot where she had appeared, had described it to the Enchantresses over and over when she first arrived, hoping to help them figure out just exactly what the door was. 

But when Elora got to the top of the hill, the door was gone. She set her items down and began looking at other hills—for this wasn’t the only one in the area. Maybe she had made a mistake and climbed the wrong one. The path that Vera had taken her on had let out in an area that she’d never been to, after all. Frantically circling about, Elora looked in as many different directions as she could, as far as she could, but no matter how many new directions or angles she tried, she saw no door. 

With a sigh that felt more like a precursor to a sob, Elora collapsed onto the bags that she had lugged all the way up here. And for what purpose? She wasn’t going anywhere with them. This world had trapped her inside of it, and she would not be going home. She couldn’t return to the citadel, either; not with Vera there to push her right out again. Seraphina might argue and try to get Elora to stay, but she wasn’t in charge. Nobody there was in charge. The entire country in which Elora had found herself was in a state of unease. Was there anywhere that she could simply rest? Would she ever find peace?

A true sob did escape, then, and she let it. Elora dissolved into tears, just as her life had dissolved. Nothing of her world was solid. Going to the prophesier was a terrifying prospect, but was it worse than the perils that awaited her if she were out on a magical hillside at night? There was a reason so many people flocked to the safety of the city that surrounded the citadel. There were not even houses out in this area, despite the gently rolling hills being perfect for farming. With a hiccough, Elora imagined herself being hunted and torn to shreds by some magical predator. The thought should have terrified her, but instead all she felt was a hope of relief at her fear being over. This, of course, only served to make her cry harder. 

Midway through a truly self-pitying sob, Elora was startled by a strange caw-ing that almost sounded like her name. She looked up through teary eyes and saw a bit of blue. Blinking and wiping away some of the tears, she saw that it was another jay. Before realizing what she was doing, Elora had backed up away from the bird. The last one had brought her here, hadn’t it? Not exactly good luck. 

But the bird simply sat there, on the ground in front of her, its head cocked to the side as if the sight of Elora was easier for it to understand at 45 degrees. 

“Shoo,” she said to it, her voice hoarse from crying. 

“No,” it said back. 

Elora jumped. Then she chastised herself. She was in some magical fairytale world, of course the animals could talk. 

“Elora,” the bird cawed again. 

“You know my name?” she asked, intrigued despite herself. The bird only squawked in response, hopping away from Elora and then looking back. When she didn’t react, the bird hopped towards her again, squawking, and then hopped away in the same direction. 

“Did you want me to follow you?” she asked. Another squawk in response. Elora could not believe she was having such a one-sided conversation with a bird. The entire experience was overwhelming. At least the shock had stopped her crying. 

She might as well follow the bird—it wasn’t as if she had any other options out here. Standing, Elora made to walk towards the noisy little jay, but instead of waiting for her, he flew around to stand behind her. Elora twirled and saw him on her packs, his head tilted again. 

“Those are heavy,” she complained, the whine apparent even to her own ears. 

The bird did not respond. Of course he didn’t. Maybe Elora hadn’t actually heard him say anything after all. Birds didn’t talk, even in magical fairylands. But despite the bird not talking, she could tell that it wanted her to bring the packs. What was even in there, anyway?

Elora stooped down and started to unload the bags that Vera had given her. Inside she found some biscuits, dried meat, and dried fruits. There were some metal objects that she couldn’t make heads nor tails of, but that the bird seemed to think were really interesting. There were also some weathered stone carvings. When Elora held one in her hand, she felt the air whoosh around her, making her hair fly around her face. The jay flew away from her as fast as he could when she put it in her hand, but he was still battered about by the huge wind tunnel that had formed. Elora put it back down, gently, and the wind died as quickly as it had begun. The poor jay plummeted through the air, barely managing to right himself before hitting the ground below. Elora resolved not to pick that one up again. No wonder the packs were so heavy, if she were carrying around chunks of rock. She wondered what the rest could do, but was too afraid to test them.

Leaving the wind carving where it was, she re-packed the food. Elora wasn’t sure if she would need the metal objects, but the bird kept trying to drag them into her pack, so she decided to take them. She was afraid to move the stone carvings, and wondered if it wouldn’t be safer to simply keep them wrapped in her bag so she didn’t have to touch another one. But, ultimately, the lack of willingness to lug them to wherever it was she was going had her dumping them out onto the grassy hill. Everything she was taking now in one bag, Elora stood and put the much lighter pack on her back. She sighed at how much easier it was than carrying everything in her arms.

Then Elora looked around her, once more taking in the view of the citadel and the lake and forest surrounding the hill. The enormity of the task before gave her pause. What was she supposed to be doing? Finding a man she didn’t know to save a land that wasn’t her own? With no money and nothing but a small pack of food, that would be an impossible task. Besides, Elora didn’t owe anything to Vera. She didn’t even know the Enchantress. Seraphina was the one who had been kind to her, and she didn’t seem to agree with Vera’s assessment of the prophecy. 

The jay in front of her squawked again and Elora looked up, towards the forest. She shook her head. 

“I don’t want to go to the Prophesier,” she said. 

The jay flew down and perched on a rock in front of her. 

“OK,” it replied. 

Elora jumped again. It was eerie, hearing a human, or near-human, voice come out of a bird. 

“Where are you taking me to, if not the prophesier?” she asked.

“Mar,” the bird responded, as if that should answer all of her questions. Elora had no idea where Mar was, but it couldn’t be worse than this hilltop, so she decided to follow the bird towards the copse of trees that marked the entrance to the forest. Maybe Mar was Orailde’s version of la mer and they’d go to the sea. Her grey city, which she was starting to miss, had been on the ocean. She always meant to go visit the piers, but had never been able to find the time. 

As they walked through the trees, Elora couldn’t help but listen to the wind as it rustled the leaves and the branches around her. She thought that she could make out words as the wind tore through, but when she focused the sounds jumbled in her mind, returning to the whirring of the wind once again. As they went deeper, the murmurs on the wind grew louder and more distinct, but still they disappeared when Elora stopped to listen to them. 

Eventually, when the trees were so dense they blocked out the sun and the voices on the wind were threatening her sanity, the jay in front of her began to sing. He chirped out a tune that was haunting and sorrowful, and Elora’s attention was drawn to it. When she wasn’t focused on making sense of the words in the wind, they simply came to her, as if singing the lyrics to the melody that the bird was chirping. 

The wind spoke of greed and power and evil. Its harrowing melody told of monotony and complacency and a struggle to survive. There was good in the world, so much of it, Elora had seen it, but the wind only told stories of the few who took advantage and snatched the joy right out from life itself. Their whims were more important than others’ comfort, or even lives. As she listened, Elora began to wish that she couldn’t hear anything else. The stories resonated too deeply with her own, both working at the cafe in the grey city and working as a chambermaid in the citadel. No matter where she was, she was always forced into a life of constant work so that those around her could find comfort. And while Elora didn’t mind work, in fact she truly enjoyed the accomplished feeling of completing some of her chores, she only wished for some freedom to have time to herself and rest now and then. She didn’t need the luxury that those she worked for seemed to have, she simply needed time to make herself food or get enough rest and ensure that her needs were taken care of. Knowing that so many people struggled alongside her only made these feelings worse.

The jay kept on, soaring from one branch to another, always ahead, with Elora following. There were times that she had tears streaming down her face from the stories in the wind, and there were times that she was so broken, hollow, and numb that she worried she’d never cry again. There was no joy in their journey, even when a drop of dappled sunlight fell on a blossom or the jay disturbed the lace of moss that clung to a branch, causing it to dance. Even the most beautiful of scenes could not end the crush of despair that came with the knowledge of such greed.

It was a relief then when they arrived at a cave. Normally Elora would have balked at the idea of entering someplace so dark, but the cave was blessedly free of the voices on the wind, so she entered quickly. Collapsing onto a ledge of rock, she heaved in deep, calming breaths as she attempted to shake all of the stories and voices and suffering and evil that had gone through her. She knew she’d never be able to truly forget, but hoped she could at least find a way to cope with the memories long enough to maintain her sanity while she continued to follow this damned bird.

As if in response to the thought of him, the jay chirped. Elora sat up and, with a crash, bumped her head into a stalactite.

“Owwww,” she moaned, clutching her head in her hands. The bird didn’t respond, except to tilt his head again. He was waiting for her. 

The ledge that she sat on was damp and the drip of water along the walls, although much better than the voices from outside of the cave, was not a comforting sound. It was dark and cold and damp in here, with the jagged rock formations casting threatening shadows in the little light that came in from the mouth of the cave. 

“Do we go back into the forest, then?” Elora asked the bird, fearing the answer. 

But the jay did not take wing and fly back out of the cave. Instead, he began to hop deeper into it. With a chirp, he looked back to see if she was following. Elora didn’t like the dark, but she liked the forest even less, so she grabbed her pack and stood up, being careful this time to avoid any protruding rocks. Her head ached.

The cavern went on and on, deeper into the earth. The blackness around her was darker than anything she had ever experienced. It was so much more intense than the shadows of the citadel caves had been. Before she knew it, they had gone so far that no light could be seen at all. Elora picked her way carefully through the dark, hearing the jay chirping in front of her every so often, keeping her on course. With each step, she felt a thrill of fear that she would fall into the nothingness until her foot finally caught on the ground. Then she lifted her other to repeat the process. A sensation of someone watching her shivered up her spine, but looking around was useless. The cave was darker than closing her eyes with a blindfold on. If somebody, or something, was going to attack, she’d have no warning. 

It was slow progress, fumbling her way in the dark. It would have been bad enough walking in a straight line, but there were twists along the way. Elora wondered if the bird knew where it was going, or if it was leading her in circles. Completely blind as she was, she would not have known the difference. 

After about an hour of such careful movement, Elora began to see light. Blessed light. Even this little glimmer, not even enough to see her way along the rocky floor, felt so bright after the darkness of the last hour. Moving was still slow, but she tried to hurry, tried to bring herself closer to the safety and warmth of what she knew must be ahead. Anything would be better than the blackness that encompassed her now, even the maddening wind of the forest that they had left behind.

A few more steps and the jay took to flight again, soaring ahead above the rocks that littered the floor. He continued to chirp, guiding the way for her. 

“Nevarro, is that you?” a familiar male voice called into the dark. 

The jay chirruped in response. 

“Oh good, I’ve been wondering where you were. You mustn’t stay away for so long!”

Elora continued to walk forward, stumbling less as the room brightened. She noticed that the walls of the cave were less wet than they had been before and everything felt a bit warmer. If she hadn’t known she was underground, she might even describe the feeling as cozy.

The light grew blindingly bright as she continued, with floating lights flickering merrily, like little floating candles without wax or wick. After an hour in the dark, her vision danced with floating spots from where the light had pierced her eyes. She blinked rapidly, tears streaming in her eyes, as they adjusted to the lights. 

It was while she was blindly blinking that the man who had spoken to the jay walked up to her. Elora put her bag in front of her, trying to separate her from the stranger. She was unsure of what she had gotten herself into. The man just stopped and waited, giving her time for her eyesight to adjust. 

“Here,” he said, and Elora felt the lights dim all around her. Opening her eyes again, she saw in her peripheral vision that a fire roaring in a hearth was now the only source of light in the room. It was perfect, as long as she didn’t look directly at it. 

Turning to get a proper look, she saw the man from months ago—the one who had come to her cafe in a blue coat instead of a black suit. He was the reason she was here, for she had gone through the door on her way to meet him. No matter how much she tried though, she could not remember his name. What had he told her to put on his cup when he ordered? Why couldn’t she remember?

“Elora,” he said warmly, holding out his hands towards her as if to hug her. Elora clutched her bag even tighter. Was she supposed to hug him? She couldn’t even remember where she knew him from. Exhaustion gripped her and she felt her patience dwindling.

“Who are you?” she asked bluntly, too tired to care about the lack of manners.

The man in the blue coat looked hurt. Elora struggled to care.

“That’s not how I had hoped to be greeted,” he responded, dropping his arms to his sides. Then he leaned forward, looking more deeply into Elora’s blank gaze. 

“You really don’t remember me,” he whispered. “I thought you would.”

Elora thought back to when she had first seen him in the cafe. She hadn’t remembered his name, she didn’t think she knew him, but his face had seemed familiar. Now, looking at him, she still couldn’t place him. As a matter of fact, the more she studied his face, the more she was sure she hadn’t actually seen it at all before that day he ordered a latte. 

“I came to you in your dreams.” 

His voice was gentle, but its effect was anything but. It was as if a wave crashed into her mind, wiping everything else away. Marcus. Marcus Darkwood. She had dreamed of him every night for months in her studio apartment. Each night, after struggling to finish everything she needed to before bed, she’d stumble into a deep sleep and he’d be waiting. And then in the morning, after far too little sleep, her alarm would blare and jolt her awake, causing her to forget him entirely as she remembered all that she needed to do in the hour before she left for work. 

The memory of him and their hours spent talking, arguing, and flirting came flooding back now. She knew the sound of his laugh and the feel of his lips against hers. She remembered the cause that he fought for and how ardently he had tried to convince her to join him, and she wondered again if she had made a mistake in coming here.

“Ah,” Marcus said, “there you are.”