J. Ell Nightfall - Dark Fantasy Author

  Desire, Myth & Crown Series

Book One: The Forgotten Queen

Copyright © 2025 J. Ell Nightfall

J. Ell Nightfall

All Rights Reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews.

This is a work of fiction.

Names, characters, places, and events are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Content Warnings:violence, fantasy war themes, trauma, death, magical possession, romantic tension.

From the breath of the cosmos, the realms were born, woven from stardust and song.

The Dark Realm

The Realm of Desire

The Realm Light

The Gods etched their prophecies into the void, weaving threads of fate and bestowing free will to those who would walk beneath their stars.

Each life a strand, each choice a ripple in the tapestry.

The weave was meant to change, to grow, to evolve.

The Gods did not seek to rule, only to watch… and, on rare occasion, to nudge the stories that caught their eye.

But the weave has broken.
The fabric is torn, not by time, but by a God in search.

A God who grieves, and who will seek his solace through the fates themselves.

The seers speak in riddles, the oracles divine their truths, while the cosmos watches in silence, and the stars …

The stars remember everything.

  Hooves smashing into the mud as rain pours down. The clatter of galloping against the soft ground is a reminder that doom is closing in. 

Rosalyn and Stephen find themselves frantically fleeing from an unknown dark presence, pressing forward in a manic storm on horseback.  

Stephen lashes at the lead, begging the steed to push faster as the misty figure brings a dark fog to the woods behind them. 

The fog seems to separate itself from the rain and moves as though it is a sentient being, twisting and curling around each tree and rock as it slips through the trail after them at an incredible speed. 

Rosalyn’s arms wrap around Stephen’s waist. He digs his heels into the beast’s side, praying they will outrun this presence and reach the safety of their town. 

Suddenly, a shadow leaps into the sky and overtakes the road ahead. 

The horse rears to a halt, throwing both parties from its back and gallops off into the night.   

Without time to catch their breath, Stephen grabs Rosalyn’s muddy arm and pulls her to her feet. He uses his towering stature urging her forward, over the bank of the trail and into the forest. 

On foot, they trudge through the woods, knowing that if they push just a little further, they will see the lights of the town they have desperately been looking for. 

Their breaths come in ragged gasps, and their clothes cling to their bodies, drenched by the relentless rain, washing some of the mud from their fall. 

Stephen glances back at Rosalyn; his features soften as he meets her eyes. A small grin of assured victory traces his thin lips on his chiselled, stubbled jaw. His dark blond hair, matted from the rain, clings to his face, crossing his deep brown eyes. 

He knows that if they push just a little further, they will be safe, they will have won. 

Rosalyn feels a moment of relief creep up her spine, relaxing her grip on Stephen's large hand. 

Suddenly Stephen is lifted and thrown against a tree with a devastating crack. Rosalyn's screams slice through the storm like a knife as his body slumps lifeless to the ground, his arm twists behind him, his chest barely rising with breath.

Rushing over, Rosalyn falls to her knees and begs Stephen to wake up. Her tears stream down her cheeks, mixing with the rain and falling onto his chest, covered in blood soaking through his tattered tan linen shirt, the material acting as a gauze and sticking to the open wounds. His shoulder is dropped lower than it should be on the side where his arm has been twisted, she quickly assesses the damage done by the force of the attack. 

Cradling Stephen's head in her lap, Rosalyn looks up to the sky where the shadow circles, moving through the air delicately, but with radiating power. The motion of the shadow is mesmerizing, and Rosalyn struggles to pull her focus from it back to the man lying in her lap, his breath shallow, blood and bone where it shouldn’t be.

He held her whole heart tied up in his life. She knows she can’t let him die, and a new resolve builds up from a fire that ignited deep in her core. 

She screams for the shadow to leave, to let them go. Leaning down she brushes the hair, slick with dirt and blood from Stephen's face. She leans down and presses her trembling lips to his clammy, pale forehead whispering 

"Forgive me, my love, I must save you."   

Rosalyn adjusts herself to stand and moves away from Stephen, praying he won’t wake up before she is able to confront this thing that has been chasing them since the waterfall, since the eerie encounter with the shadow hands, reaching for Rosalyn through the mist, and that low, demanding voice bellowing, leading to this devastating chase.

"MINE!" 

Lifting her dress to her knees, which was tattered and full of earth and mud, she trudges forward in hopes of luring the persistent shadow away from her beloved. 

Quickly she makes her way to a small clearing just north, drawing away from her town, but knowing she needs to lead the evil away, so Stephen has a chance. She just prays she can also find a way out of this with her life spared.  

Breaking through the forest edge into the clearing, Rosalyn sees the full moonlight shining brightly above, it looks as though she can reach out and touch it if she tries.

The moment of admiration is quick as she feels haunted by the shadow figure swirling and lurking over the trees in front of her; suddenly, the fog funneled down from the sky like a silent tornado, taking shape. No longer just the hands and eyes that pursued them, the shadows merge before her to form a man.

Stunned, Rosalyn stumbles backward, her dress catching on a fallen branch and ripping up the side, exposing her leg and tripping her as if using a magical force, attaching her to the earth, making her chance of escape a mere dream. 

She feels a cool mist as fog pools out from around the man who appeared from the shadows, the fog creeps across the clearing at a painfully slow speed, it envelops everything in its path. As the fog reaches her exposed skin it feels like sparks course through her body, causing her to pull back, only to be held tight by the tangling sticks. 

Struggling for freedom Rosalyn pulls at her dress but as the fog dances across her body her efforts become strained, her limbs feel like sand and her desire to run drifts away into the night with the rain that has become a little trickle, feeling more like damp morning dew. 

As the man approaches, Rosalyn meets his bright beaming green eyes feeling a familiarity she can't quite place. Captivated by his strong, handsome features. His long, dark lush hair and short beard that perfectly frames those piercing eyes that seem to stop time itself. The man is tall, well over 6 feet and he looks inhumanely strong from the scars visible on his arms and chest, his long, regal black robe is open exposing his physique and the power that radiates from him is unlike anything Rosalyn has ever seen, yet still somehow a familiarity lingers between them.

Rosalyn's frantic panic is replaced by a curious desire. Who is he? Why is he looking at her with that soul penetrative gaze?  

Standing now only about five feet away, the man stops, and the corners of his perfect mouth tilt up with amusement. 

"There you are … I've been looking everywhere for you, my Queen."  

His voice husky and deep but smooth like an aged whiskey, strong and demanding praise.

Rosalyn tilts her head slightly in confusion, 

"Queen?" 

Did she hear him, he must be mistaken. She is no Queen, and she has no idea who this man is, or … what he is. 

In a flash he kneels beside her, eye to eye, so close she can smell a sweet metallic on his breath, she trembles at the effect it has on her body, his stunning green eyes locked on her shocked expression as his hand gently moves the wild black hair from her face. 

He studies her like he is drinking in every last detail and searching for something, some treasure lost. His palm closes around the side of her pale cheek, and his fingers trace her pointed jaw line as his thumb moves across her dark pink lips, loosely his hand falls to his side as his gaze is pulled from Rosalyn to the woods behind her in a tumultuous manner. 

"THERE SHE IS!!" 

That is all Rosalyn hears before a flaming arrow whooshes past the man's head. Ducking down, he does not seem fazed but instead is studying Rosalyn for injury.

"Are you okay my rose?" 

His rose? Why is he caring for her? She looks at him as panic reinstates itself as the lead emotion and she fights her brain for the words to convey how confused she is. 

With the swift movement of his hand the next batch of arrows that were heading in their direction are halted and drop to the ground about twenty feet away, the branches untangle from her legs while the man tenderly holds Rosalyn’s hand and gently pulls it to his chest, sparks and tingles travel along her arm and through her body as if the connection to this mysterious man fuels her blood coursing through her veins. 

She looks behind her to see a small group of five men, with Stephen being helped along by two of them, one on either side, his arm wrapped against his chest, secured by what appears to be one of his pant legs, and clearly dishevelled from the encounter earlier. Her heart skips a beat as they make eye contact. 

Stephen looks at her with relief, as she sees his chest deflate from a breath he must have been holding, but it quickly changes to hurt and betrayal, as his eyes narrow in to focus just beyond her face. 

Realizing she is still holding the man's hand, Rosalyn pulls away. 

When contact is broken, she feels a pain in her chest, her hand feels cold and lonely. She touches her fingers together idly looking for the same sparks that were just coursing through her body only to feel damp and chilled. 

Hissing inaudible words under his breath, the man stands looking down at Rosalyn with a gleam of hope in his eyes. 

"I wish we had more time, my Queen, but we should really be heading back. " 

Lifting his hands in the air, conducting the elements, the man summons the fog into figures that stalk the townspeople. Rosalyn is horrified as the creatures lap at them like foam on ocean waves, keeping them back at the tree line.

There is a soft flutter sound as the shadow man lifts into the air, hovering above as he had before, but this time she isn’t scared. This time she feels a sense of calm and longing that she can't place. 

The peace is cut short as her head begins to ache, and her skin feels like it is on fire, she begins to shake but still can't take her gaze off the alluring shadow figure in the sky. 

Her ears ring so loudly she doesn't hear the men behind her until she feels strong hands on her arms lifting her from the brush and moving her hurriedly toward the forest where Stephen waits with open arms, and a pleading look.

She looks back, searching for those alluring green eyes, and hears a whisper dance on the wind. 

At first it is a language she doesn't understand, a chant that pierces her ears and makes her heart race. Then four words that feel like a spike driven into her heart. 

"Remember … who you … are"  

Suddenly she begins to feel dizzy, hot, her body feels numb and filled with more intense sparks and tingles than before, she abruptly pulls back from the men holding her arms leading her to the safety and warmth of Stephen, leading her to her love. 

Why does this feel so wrong? 

Panic sets in and she bolts back toward the clearing, toward the shadow figure, frantically she throws herself to her knees and outstretches her arms to the sky, a voice comes forth from her lips in that language she doesn’t understand, it feels familiar in her heart, but her ears are lost in the beautiful script.  

She can hear footsteps quickening behind her, no doubt the men who had been pulling her to safety before her grand escape. 

As she hears their footsteps close in behind her, the chant stops and her head falls forward in a state of rest.

Her lungs feel empty, the burning sensation gone from her body, but the tingles remain. 

Her limbs feel like they are filled with boulders, pushing her toward the damp ground.

Everything in nature is silent, not a cricket peeps as if anticipating what would happen next …

Just as she lifts her head to turn and look at the men, her eyes focus on the shocked expression of Stephen who is crossing the clearing at a running pace, eyes wide, his free arm is outstretched toward her, mouth gaping open in horror … 

She lets out a gut-wrenching scream. 

The tingles turn to full on fiery pain as she feels every bone in her body shatter and her form bursts into a swarm of bats, flying into the shadow, both disappearing into the night sky.

"Rosalyn!!!" 

Stephen screams into the night, as he falls to his knees in agony of his injuries and of watching the love of his life disappear in the most horrific manner. 

Clinging to a shred of hope that what he just witnessed was a terrible dream, he closes his eyes.

The cold ground beneath his hands as he slunk into sorrow was a harsh reminder that the woman he loves is no more …

Through his grief and last shred of consciousness, he vows to avenge her at any cost. 

Darkness consumes his vision and his tear-filled eyes close, his body slams into the mud once again from pain and heartbreak. 

As the men around him gather their thoughts about the events they just witnessed and prepare to carry Stephen back to the town, the swirling mass of Darkness and the shrieking sound of bats against the full moon light is not lost on them, and they share a knowing stare, wondering if the tales were true.

  She danced with stars and dared the flame,
A crownless queen without a name.
Stolen from time, from lore, from breath,
She weaves her fate in love and death.

Silk and bone her hatred grows, the prophecy speaks, the cosmos flows.

Whispers of music float through the night sky, carried on the wind, dancing in the rain, a rain laced with screams. 

While a shadow races through realms in search of desire, a smoky tavern stirs.

Lifted from its usual gloom, if only for a breath, the room is alive with drink and dice, laughter and light. It’s as though a weight has been lifted. At its heart, a Bard plays, weaving a tale older than the town itself.

A heavy pulse falls over the crowd. The townsfolk, dazed from the veil, murmur amongst themselves with uneasy curiosity. Some lean in close. Others retreat into silence. They all move as if commanded by a silent lead, no longer joyous, their features fall.

“A woman of the cosmos,
Stars and moon align,
Stolen by the shadows,
The dark queen is out of time.
The false facts of reality,
The mystery and the myth,
The Queen who never was,
Whose sorrow none could lift.”

A few weep… others sit too still. A tremor shudders through the tavern floor, not quite real, not quite imagined.

The glamour descends again, heavier than before. Magic thickens the air, disrupted just enough for trained eyes to know. A ripple in the weave. A moment out of step, and then the hush of silenced thought, bewilderment and despair.

Cries ring out as threads of magic spark and zap through the veil.

Five men rise. One by one, they move toward the door, toward their part in the prophecy. The cogs of fate are turning. Nothing will be the same.

The Bard pauses. His song complete, his fiddle tucked beneath one arm, he steps toward the door, gaze fixed on a stranger who scribbles at the edge of the firelight. The glamour does not touch him. 

Another, by the bar, has not moved at all. Unaffected.

And more still in the shadowed corner, cloaked in darkness, eyes burning through the veil, watching him with too much clarity.

Curious, thinks the Bard.
The storyteller walks untouched.
The Queen’s tale begins again.

 (Stephen’s POV)

I wake up in debilitating pain, my entire body aches and pulses with each beat of my broken heart. 

My Rosalyn is gone.

I am left here with the grim realization that I couldn't save her. 

Painfully, my eyes flutter as I sense someone nearby. Trying to focus my blurry vision, a warm hand touches my arm and a soothing, soft voice melodies a song that creates a familiar heat in my chest. 

Flashes of the events that took place before I passed out surged back all at once as my body tenses into a sharp pain.

“What Happened!?” 

My voice cracks with panic as a figure leans in, pressing a cup into my hands. 

“Drink, honey. Take this and calm down so we can figure it out,” comes the gentle reply.

Blinking away the blur, I realize the figure isn’t a threat. It is Esme. My dear friend, her delicate features lined with worry, her eyes wide with care. The brew in my hands smells of mint and sage.

I raise myself enough from my lying position to sip at the steaming beverage. It has a distinct smell of home. Esme has always had a natural talent for mixing herbs and teas, no doubt this brew has been infused with her healing.

The wind howls through the trees outside, its melody low and ragged, rattling the windowpanes like bones in a jar. The scent of damp leaves and distant fire creep through the cabin’s cracks, as if the forest itself is trying to penetrate inside, like a warning.

As I drink down the thick liquid, the warmth in my chest grows and my muscle aches seem to all but disappear. I swing my feet over the edge of the cozy bed; in the cabin I know as my home and look at Esme’s solemn expression.

“Is … Is she really gone?” 

My voice barely rises above a whisper. But I already know the answer. 

Esme’s face answers before her words hit.

“What happened out there Ten?”

She uses my childhood name “Ten” and in that moment, it all comes rushing back. 

“She just … The Waterfall … That DEMON! … So many bats, she just … gone …”

Knowing my string of words won’t paint a clear picture of the events that lead to this moment, I sigh, and close my eyes. I need to pull myself together and make sense of what happened to my wife.

Esme sits on the bed next to me and puts her hand on my shoulder. Her touch is chilled, the bracelets on her wrists create a familiar jingle that tells me I am here, living this nightmare.

“Come with me, I have something to show you.”

She gets up and all but floats toward the door, her grace even in this dire time is dominant. 

Esme was my first friend in this village after my parents had died when I was just eleven years old. Followed by Rosalyn who moved here soon after, we were inseparable. They were the light in the darkest time, and even when I fell truly in love with Rosalyn, Esme’s friendship did not falter. 

As the events of that night play repeatedly in my mind, I slowly urge my legs to move to the side of the bed and stand on unstable feet. It feels like my joints are made of stone and every step feels like an eternity towards the bedroom door that leads to the quaint living room and kitchen of the small cabin. 

The touches remain that Rosalyn insisted made the space homier like the blankets on the benches, flowers and herbs on the windowsills and her book collection on the shelves flanking the fireplace. 

Everywhere I look reminds me of her and it feels like my heart is being ripped from my chest. 

That image of Rosalyn bursting into shadows and bats, flying off into the night sky was playing repeatedly in my mind, her screams just as loud as they had been when I lost sight of her in the darkness. 

She had such panic but acceptance in her eyes when I found her in that field, my heart hammered in my chest, stewing in the betrayal of her gaze. She connected with that demon who pursued her, but why? 

The silence breaks when Esme hands me three large books. They looked very old, ancient even. They are beautiful but feel heavy and haunted. 

I admired the wooden covers, carved with symbols unknown to me and the seals that create the bindings, so beautiful, intricate and cared for. I am mesmerized for a moment staring into the shiny metal that looked forged from gold and silver, the pages hummed with something I couldn’t name.

“You were unconscious for three days,” Esme whispered.
“I tried everything to wake you, but you wouldn’t rise. The screams you let out …”
She looked away. “Bone-chilling.” Esme shivered, averting her gaze to the fireplace across the room.

Spinning the band to adjust it on my ring finger, a habit I couldn’t break. It had been six months since Rosalyn and I decided to become husband and wife, after a lifetime of love and quiet devotion. Childhood sweethearts, yes, but more than that. We grew up in the same fields, shared the same muddy boots and firefly jars, made wishes on the same constellations and shooting stars. She was the only woman I've ever truly loved.

We made our vows under the old willow tree, the one that drooped low beside the waterfall, its branches like a cathedral of green amidst the rush of water. It was our secret place, hidden from the world, a pocket of time where we were just Rosalyn and Stephen, no worries, no responsibilities, just … us. 

The air was thick with midsummer blooms that day. She wore no crown, no veil, just a sprig of wildflowers in her braid, a plain dress and bare feet, and I remember thinking, Gods help me, if I forget this moment … if I do anything to harm this beautiful woman … strike me down, because I still can’t believe she chose me.

We carved our initials into the bark and whispered our promises like spells: not bound by paper or priest, but by the river, the wind, the root. And it was there, only months later, that the shadow found us. The ground cracked with that sickening hum of presence and fear. That once-sacred place became a hunting ground.

My heart races now just thinking of it. My fingers clench around the ring before I let it fall, clattering softly to the floorboards. The rush of memory leaving me breathless, like I’d inhaled smoke instead of air. My chest rises and falls in uneven bursts. I can still see her hand in mine under that willow tree, the way she looked at me when she said yes. 

Now it was gone. All of it. The ring gleams at me from the floor, as if the metal itself remembers.

I open the top book.
The Dark Realm and Desire.

“What? Where did you get this?”

Looking up in shock, Esme reads the terror and shock on my face. 

“How did you get this book, Esme?”

Frantically, I open the next one
History of The Realms, and the last in the pile, Prophecy of the Fates.

These weren’t just stories. These were tomes of power.
Knowledge the common world should never have.

Information about the other realms was guarded, not something you could just procure. Although the knowledge that Earth was not the only realm in existence was vast, Humans were not privy to the details. The only information we had was the tales passed down from generations before, and these tomes felt otherworldly.

“Where did you get these, Esme?”

I keep repeating myself, my voice cold and stern. Watching my old friend, studying her every move and gesture, she turns back to me from the fire, and a bright smile dawns her rosy lips. 

Esme, always so full of life, and this time is no exception, even with the tragedy that took place, she radiated hope and a strange aura of comfort.

“You have some reading to do my friend; I will let you rest.”

She walks softly towards the front door, questions unanswered. Turning at the threshold to pause and look back …

“Rosalyn is not dead … We will find her and bring her home.

There is a war coming, dear friend. Remember whose side you are on, and everything you have ever wanted will be yours … Remember …”

The door closes with a gentle clack of the metal handle under the weight of wood.

I was alone …

Just the crackling fire, three ancient books from another time and place … and too many unanswered questions.

Where did these books come from?
Whose side was I truly on?

My loyalties had never been questioned before.
But now, with her gone … nothing felt certain.

 Tales and lore weave the game,
The Queen of Bone ends flower’s reign.
Secrets kept, the masks held tight,
Strangers come, on a fateful night.

Deep in a town of mystery and woe, the bustle of daily life carries on. A gloom looms over the inhabitants, mist and rain are a curse that seldom seem to lift.

In the market, folks stand at their carts to sell their wares. They deal in trades and gold. Laughter is loud, and whispers are concealed in the winks and nods. The goblin townsfolk love to gamble and barter; it’s survival, their entertainment. It’s the way they’ve always known.

The slosh of horse hooves striking cobblestone echoes like a foreign sound.

The veil is thick in this town. The gates have long been closed. Newcomers are rare, and every eye, ear, and sixth sense hones on the carriage drawn by four heavy-hooved beasts.

Stopping at the tavern, cloaked figures emerge and pass through the firelit archway, carrying an aura of authority.

A goblin mother catches her daughter weaving a moss crown in the town square. Tiny flowers adorn the child’s creation.

“Don’t play at queens,” she scolds, snatching the crown from her daughter and tearing it apart, moss, petals, and twigs falling to the dirt.
“The veil nearly tore once, child. It would do you good to remember, child, the power of the tales we weave.”

The little girl smiles, clutching the remains of her crown, letting the pieces fall from her fingers to the ground below. 

“But we’re still playing the game, Mother. Someday, can I be the Queen?”

Tears shimmer in the girl’s wide eyes, a stranger’s face really, as the mother cups her cheek in a rough, worn hand. 

“You don’t want to be Queen, my child. There is no peace in that role …”

She pushes a basket filled with fresh loaves of rye and herb into the young girl’s hands.

“Come along. Help me with the bread.” 

“But Mother, The Queen …”

“Shhhh … child.” The mother’s eyes dart across the square. No one seems to notice the girl playing, or their conversation, but she knows, ears have legs in these parts. And the wrong words, spoken aloud, could render a quick death.

She waves to a man filling his bucket at the well, smiles at another seated beneath the citadel bell, the small monument at the square’s center. More children squeal and dash through a game of tag.

“Remember the veil, dear. We know only one Queen, and the floral crown is no one’s to wear.”

With a sigh, she places a firm hand on the girl’s slumped shoulder.

“Come along. Let’s deliver our orders and return to the shop.”

They walk down the street, unaware of the watchful eyes trained on the tavern.
The cloaked figures had brought more than whispers.

The game was almost over.

  (Rosalyn’s POV)

Pain … every inch of my body feels like it was torn apart. As I open my eyes, I try to recount what happened. 

I remembered running from something, being thrown … from a horse. There was blood, and … something came out of the sky …

I was taken … All my memories seem to mesh in a blurry slurry of pictures, sounds, and emotions. I miss someone, my heart hurts. A single tear crests the corner of my eye and slides down my cheek.

As I look around the room, I take in all the beautiful details. The bed, soft and lined with a dense red silk sheet. Animal hides make for a regal and plush nest where I have been obviously cared for and placed gently. 

The walls a dark stone, and candles on small cliffs line the room, casting a gentle glow. The glass decor on shelves and furniture sparkle in the flickering light. A beautiful stone fireplace dominates the wall directly across from the bed, with a massive mantle that looks like an entire tree had been used in its construction. 

A large painting of red roses, surrounded by the most ornate golden frame I have ever seen adorns the wall above the mantle. To the left, giant windows feel like portals, looming with mystery, with heavy velvet drapes and a beautiful archway that appears to lead to a balcony. 

It was night; starlight illuminated the edges of the architecture leaving soft darkness where it can not reach. To the right, a large wooden door flanked with beautifully detailed dressers sits quietly, I am alone but feel safe and secure, not imprisoned or in danger at all. Shouldn’t I be scared? Why does this place feel so familiar?

Sitting up, my head pounds, and my ears ring with what sounds like calls from bats. As I placed my hands over my ears and close my eyes, the sounds muffle, they feel softer and the pain in my head subsides.

I look around this luxury prison cell, expecting a guard to come in at any moment and realize I am here in error, dragging me to a dungeon. But everything is quiet except for the crackle of the fire across the room. 

Standing to better assess where I can possibly be, I moved toward the open archway, the balcony seems like a good place to start my escape.

Cautiously, I quietly move toward the darkness, when I reached the opening, I look out over the most breathtaking view.

There are two moons in the sky, a waning crescent and a full orb, the silhouette of the mountain range in the distance is very telling that I am no longer in Asterois. The night sky casts the softest glow onto a town situated just at the mountain foot, the lights in the windows look so tiny from the balcony. I know I’m much higher up than I originally thought. 

A wide, moonlit lake divides the glowing town from the castle that now holds me, too beautiful to feel like a prison, but a prison still. The moons cast a reflection on the water surface. Trees filling the space on either side of the lake, trailing into darkness.

The balcony is no easy escape; I guess that's why it is unguarded. But curiosity gets the better of me, and I step onto the stone to take in the night air. 

Suddenly I am jolted with a shock as a force pushes me back from the opening.

Apparently, I’m not as trusted as I originally thought. Why have guards when a magical forcefield could keep me here.

"Great," I scoff, pulling my hand back and rubbing it along my dress to aid the sharp needle feelings from my fingertips, the smell of singed flesh fresh from the contact.

Touching the soft fabric, realizing I was in an unfamiliar dress brought back a memory flash. 

"Stephen!" 

Suddenly I remember the pained look on his face as I burst into a cloud of … bats? Wait … what happened? Certainly not what I am seeing in my head.

I shake my head trying to clear the illusions and find what memories are locked inside. Clearly, I didn't turn into bats and then reconstitute myself in this grand castle. None of this makes sense.

As I lose myself staring out at the lake, trying to force my memory to bring me the truth, I don’t hear the door open behind me.

A rattling sound brings my attention back and I turn to see a young girl standing there with a tray in her hands.

She looks so youthful, beautiful, her eyes, one a striking green, the other a lavender hue, they complement her dark hair. She moves very timid, cautious even.

"Hello," she says with some confidence behind it. Sitting the tray down on the table that frames the foot of the bed. 

There were two beautifully carved chairs on either side of the table, she quickly sits, disassembling her tray and exposing a tea pot with two cups. 

The aroma of the tea is sweet and tart like citrus, undertones of lavender, and I feel my eyes close, drawn shut by the mysterious blend, relishing in the notes that danced through my memories.

I open my eyes and the realization hits; I've had this tea before. 

Flashes of my friend Esme taunt my vision, but no … this tea was not from my herbalist friend, but somewhere else, some time else.

I stay my distance from the girl who seems intent on setting the small table with beautiful cups, little crystals, decadent looking sweets and that heavenly smelling tea.

"Who are you and why are you here?" cautiously I watch her expression and guard myself, silly as I feel fearing a child.

"My name is Willow, and I am here to have tea with you," she replies, oddly direct and to the point.

Maybe I can get some answers … after all, this tea smells amazing and what harm can this girl really do?

I walk over and take the empty seat at the table, adjusting my dress and allowing my guard down slightly. I take the time to admire the spread in front of us and realize my stomach is quite ready for this offering.

Looking over Willow’s face, she seems to relax a bit now having set out her display and she pours two cups of the aromatic nectar, before bringing her gaze to meet mine. 

I look into my cup and the golden tones swirl to mix with buds of lavender, the steam divine, as it caresses my face while I hold the detailed porcelain cup to my chin.

Willow watches me with a small smile on her lips as she sips her own tea.

"Is it to your liking?" she inquires. "Two honey and a dash of lemon, right?”

With my memory slipping, details of my preferred tea are not present, but I smile at the girl anyway, sipping the tea. 

The flavors burst over my taste buds, a warmth travels up my spine and through my face, my eyes close, skin tickles in sheer delight as pictures, details and memories flood my brain, so much, so fast, everything becomes a blur and suddenly the room feels unsteady. 

Looking across the table, Willow looks uneasy, eyes wide with anticipation, her cup shakes slightly in her hand as she awaits a response.

Did she poison me?

I open my mouth to speak but the words stick in my throat, closing my eyes to focus I feel my body slump from the table to the floor. 

The little patter of Willow’s graceful feet shuffling and the sound of exasperation as she leans over me sound incredibly loud, her dainty hand cupping my face as I lay there feels soft and caring. 

She watches as memories flood my vision, these memories … so vastly different from what had originally lived in my mind. 

As timelines clash and my soul feels like it is ripping into pieces, I struggled to make sense of who I actually am.

There is a chilled breeze followed by a warm embrace, I feel strong arms pull me from the floor and lay me tenderly on the bed. A hand grazes my forehead and intertwines in my hair just slightly before pulling back. 

My vision returns to see vibrant green eyes studying my face. His hand slips under my chin to bring my eyes to meet his. His scent like the forest, deep and earthy, it draws me to him immediately. My cheeks flushed as I feel his body lean against mine, when suddenly my heart flutters, and sparks ignited across my core.

"James …" I manage to speak, with a breathy whisper.

The smile that spreads across his lips couldn't have been larger. His entire expression shifts, worry melting into relief, then joy and lust, as he leans in and touched his warm, tender lips to mine.

My body remembers him before my mind could. My lips move on their own, devouring the kiss they had been starved for. Sensual, aching, and thick with emotion. His lip’s part, and mine follow, as if reciting a dance we'd performed a thousand times.

Our tongues meet, entwining and exploring like old lovers reunited in secret. It is hungry and sacred all at once.

He pulls away slowly, breathless, resting his forehead against mine, and in that stillness, the world outside us ceases to matter.

"You remember," he pleaded, tears hiding in the corners of his eyes

"I do … but I also remember so much more, I'm confused …" I admitted with hesitation and fear. 

"We are going to get to the bottom of this," he coos, squeezing my hands as if I will float away "you are home now"

"But what about the home I left? What about …" I swallow hard not wanting to say his name, but his wellbeing plays on my mind.

Letting out a defeated sigh, James seems to struggle with what he wants to say before gruffly explaining "The human you were with is alive, my sources tell me he is still in the town of goblins where we found you" he said, sounding a little frustrated with a hint of pain.

"Goblins?" My face furrowed in disgust, "No, that can't be right …" My fingers massaging my head as if the motion will solve the issue at hand.

"Yes … it appears you were there for six months my Rose" James reaches out and moves a piece of hair from in front of my eyes to behind my ear, his eyes not hiding his obvious pain.

"I … I remember living there most of my life" I broke down in tears, "but I remember a life with you as well; how can this be?" Desperate for answers I look to the familiar face in front of me.

"We need to speak with Vyata my love, she will explain everything we know so far. I fear there is a lot more at play here than we originally thought." still holding my hand, he moved his thumb over my knuckles with gentle care.

"Yes, my Oracle Vyata. She will know" I dip my feet off the of the bed. "But first, where did my daughter go?"