Meagan's lost, Requiem is close to mutiny, and Marian becomes ever more mysterious by the second. Poor Noah and Tristan are caught in the middle.

In chapter twelve, Visitor on the Windowsill, we briefly visit Carmen. I added it on because it's only about a page and a half in Word, short enough to piggyback on this post.

Sorry about the poor format; I didn't have time to go through and format the paragraphs properly. Hopefully it's still readable.

Dreamings

Meagan was in front of a door.
It was tightly closed, and there was nothing but her and that door. All around
her was darkness; she was alone in an empty world. Something was trying to
break through the door, but it wouldn't open for it. Meagan shivered.
There was a whoosh of wind, and
Meagan turned. There was another door behind her now, one made of glass, so
that she was equidistant from the two. Behind the second door's clear glass she
could see herself, but with both wings erect and majestic, whole, and eyes
purple and shining. The glass-Meagan whispered something the real-Meagan couldn't
hear. There was another burst of wind, and the glass door twirled. Suddenly she
was inside of it, confined by it, and the glass-Meagan was out. She pounded at
the door, yelling until she got hoarse, but the glass-Meagan only smiled and
then vanished.
The floor gave out beneath
Meagan and she fell, wings beating in vain to bring her body to a standstill.
The necklace clasp broke and it flew away, her hand reaching out to grab it,
but snatching only air. She kept falling, into the dark maw of the abyss below
her, and as the gravity of the situation dawned on her, Meagan began to scream.
There was a light, shining from
below here, and Meagan knew she was waking up. Then there was a screeching
noise, and somehow the light was above her and she was falling the other
direction. Meagan was going farther and farther, faster and faster, and she
screamed again. Something was wrong. She was supposed to go towards the end of
the dream, not deeper into it!
Then she ground to a standstill, suspended in the blackness
by a white light. It wasn't the yellow rays of waking, but a strange light that
she hadn't encountered on this side of the Threshold before. I crossed the
Threshold. I wasn't supposed to. The necklace should have stopped me! What's
going on?
            A figure whose eyes she couldn't see appeared
before her, a white-haired and androgynous character that she didn't recognize.
“Are you all right?” it asked, and Meagan instantly relaxed. It was the nice,
calm voice from her earlier dream.
The one Carmen had warned her
against.
When Meagan croaked out, “Yes,”
the person nodded.
“You need to be careful,” it
warned. “Crossing is very difficult.”
“You told me you wanted
something,” Meagan stated. The words seemed to echo, even though there were no
walls. She shivered again.
It nodded. “I did.”
“What do you want from me?”
It laughed and tapped her
lightly on her chest. “A heart. Several actually. Yours, and a few others'.”
“Won't that kill me?” Meagan
exclaimed, startled.
It laughed again, seeming to
find her fear amusing. “No, no, I need your heart in a different sense...
you'll find out when it's time. I'm afraid it's not ready for my taking yet.”
Meagan raised an eyebrow. It
continued, “There are some nasty people who want to hurt you, you know.” It
came closer. “Not me, though.” Its eyes became clear then, icy blue marbles,
and she realized “it” was a boy.
He stepped closer, and reached
out his hand. “Come with me, Meagan. I'll show you my Dreams.” Meagan took it
hesitantly, and then the scene changed.
They were standing in a grand ballroom with chandeliers
above them and tiled floor below them. Meagan wore the white dress she had at
Arya's party, and the boy had princely robes. His tunic had a symbol of a
Half-sun. Half-moon that she was certain she had seen before. A red cape was
draped over his shoulders. “You look beautiful,” he told her. “Like one of us.”

          “Who?”
The boy shook his head,
grinning. “You'll find out.” He started humming, and the two began to dance to
his tune. Somehow a phantom orchestra picked it up and he stopped, but the
music continued as they waltzed. “Meagan,” he said after a while, “your left
wing...”
“It's crippled,” she replied. “I
was in an accident.”
“I was too,” he told her,
touching the area under his eyes with one hand, the other around Meagan's waist
as they continued to dance. “Outside of Dreams, I'm blind in one eye, and the
other blinks on and off. They weren't always blue, you know.”
“I'm sorry,” Meagan said lamely.
What else was she supposed to say. “In Dreams... can you do things... not
possible?”
“If you can dream it, you can do
it,” he said. “Although this world changes for every dreamer, that rule never
does.”
Meagan closed her eyes. “Who are
you?” She felt at ease with this boy, as she had never felt with another.
“I'm Malum,” he told her. “I
would so love to waltz with you in our world, but I can't. We're many thousands
of miles apart, Meagan, so this world is the only place I can meet you, but you
can't wear your necklace. It won't let me contact you.”
“It doesn't matter. I don't have
it anymore. Carmen told me you were dangerous.”
Malum chuckled. “Not me. The
other things people dream up, maybe, but Meagan, they can't touch you. I won't
let them. Here, I can do anything.”
Meagan opened her eyes. “Can you
show me my sister? Can you show me Jenni?”
“Yes, if you wish.”
Meagan pulled away, and the
music disappeared. “Please, show me.”
“All right then,” Malum said. He
spread his arms wide, whispering, and on his left hand a bubble appeared. As he
held it, it rippled and an image appeared on its silvery surface.
Jenni was speaking with someone. Meagan didn't see who, but his voice
bothered her for some reason. Do you have her?
“No,” Jenni replied. “I'm sorry.”
Someone slapped her, and Jenni cried out. Her wail of pain made Meagan
tense up in rage.
Well, what do you have?
“This,” Jenni replied, holding something out. Meagan held her breath.
Dangling from her fist was a necklace that looked just like hers. Maybe Carmen
had lost hers and Jenni had found it. No... that didn't make sense, but neither
did the other possiblity.
That's okay for now. I'll get it to him soon.
“Where is he?”
Dreaming. ...This is good, girl. It'll keep her vulnerable.
The bubble disappeared, and
Meagan turned to Malum. “What's going on?” she asked. “Is she working for
someone?”
“I don't know.”
Meagan burst into tears. “I'm so
worried...”
“Shhh,” Malum drew her close,
into a hug, and Meagan didn't resist. He whispered to her, “It'll be all right.
I promise.” Meagan nodded and lay her head on his shoulder while he gently
stroked her hair. “It's all right, Jemma. My Jemma.” Meagan didn't move, nor
did she react to the strange name he had called her. She just stood there close
to him until the golden light returned, and Meagan woke.
She lay there beneath the covers of
a bed in Sarah Anderson's house, wondering exactly how many thousands of miles
were between her and the boy of her dreams.
“See? She was here, and now she's
not.” Tristan's bleak voice took on tones of self-satisfaction and smugness.
“Great,” Requiem muttered. “Now
what?”
“I don't know,” sighed Noah. “I'm
cold, and I lost my shoe.” He shivered. “I want to eat something.”
Marian frowned. A fierce headache
had taken root, and she sat down on a stump as a spell of dizziness fell over
her. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. She was aware of being tired and
hurting on that stump in the woods, but at the same time she was a few hours in
the past, watching a winged silhouette race to the north while chasing a
strange wooly... dog?
Surprised, she sat up so quickly that her headache
intensified to an almost unbearable level, snapping her out of the past she
saw. “North!” Marian cried. “Meagan went north!”
Tristan stared at her. “Are you
okay?
Touching her hand to her temples, Marian shook
her head. “No. I... have a headache.” She sighed. “Meagan went north.”

“How do you know?” challenged Requiem.
“I... just know. Please stop being
so antagonistic.”
Requiem scowled. “Excuse me? Maybe
I'll start trusting you once you make sense!”
“I don't make sense?” Marian asked.
She seemed shocked at that, as if she had thought she was the most normal,
sense-making person on the continent of Htam.
“Yes! How did you even get in here?
Who are you?”
Marian frowned. “It's none of your
business. I don't have to explain everything to you. Is this what the elves are
like? I thought they taught respect to their young.”
“Who do you think you a-”
“Be quiet,” snapped Marian. “I am
offering you my help. Do you want it or not?”
Requiem said nothing, angry.
“She went north,” Marian repeated.
“That's where I'm going. You can come with or you can stay. It's your choice.”
Slowly, Requiem said, “...I'm...
sorry. I'll come with you.”
“Good. I'm glad that's settled.”

           Tristan sighed. “Some cat
fight. It didn't even get physical.”

           Noah nodded his assent.
“They're not good unless the chicks start slapping each other.”
Requiem turned red, and Marian shot
them a venomous glare. The boys understood her meaning and clammed up
immediately.
After several minutes of walking,
Marian called for a rest. Command had passed from Requiem to her, and if the
elf had any complaints, she wisely didn't voice them.
“I'm hungry,” Noah moaned. “My
foot's all damp.”
“We could build a fire,” Tristan
suggested, “to keep warm, and some of us can look for food.”

          “I will!” Requiem volunteered,
eager to escape and be alone. Without checking for confirmation, she dashed off
in a northwesterly direction, taking her pack with her. A little ways away, she
pulled some ropes from the leather pack at her hip and quickly make a trap,
disguising it with the surrounding flora. Hoping that some unfortunate- and
preferably rather tasty- creature would get stuck in it, she continued on her
way.
She found some blackberries, which
she picked and put in her pack. She pricked her fingers several times, but she
wasn't alarmed. She could tell the difference between the truly living plants
of the forest- those with intentions, either good or bad- and those who just
existed and did nothing but grow and die. This was one of these, and she blamed
her clumsiness for the pain in her fingers. Requiem ate a few that were still
on the bushes until she grew so fed up with the thorns that she gave up. She
was still hungry, and contemplated eating the berries in the pack, but pushed
the thought away. It wouldn't have been fair to the others.
Though I honestly don't care
about Marian, she thought. Who does she think she is?
Her mood soured. I never asked for any of this. She
walked forward and kicked a few twigs or stones lying around. Darn Lynn.
Crazy old bat. After about ten minutes, she saw smoke, drifting towards
her, its course bent by the light breeze. It was light, white smoke- the kind
that comes out of chimneys. Curious, Requiem inched forward.
A sound behind her made her jump,
and her hand flew to the small sheathed dagger buckled to her belt, lying
against her hip.
Nothing was there. Drawing the
dagger anyway for reassurance, she continued forward. The smoke was gone now. A
little farther, she entered a glen with a dilapidated old shack smack in the
middle. It was rotten and falling apart, and looked as if no one had been near
it for centuries. There wasn't even a chimney.
Confused, Requiem went closer to
investigate. She shivered. The temperature had dropped significantly, going
from average-Dryadales-summer-day to frigid-Dryadales-winter-evening. Her
breath hung in wisps of white cloud about her.
Requiem reached the shack. Peeling
paint and hanging signs adorned it. Posters advertising long-forgotten products
and bounties for outlaws with words too worn to read were plastered to them in
a lackadaisical, slovenly manner. The door itself had a sign reading Pancake
House on it, and beneath the word “house” there was a scrawled message.
Leaning closer, Requiem squinted to read the small words. Little Lark
Requiem, we welcome you. What a surprise, minstrel! Year 1713.
For a second her breath caught in
her throat, she was so surprised. It's 1913, not 1713... and how did they
know my name and nickname two hundred years ago, as well as my occupation...?
Something's not right here. She turned and started run, certain she'd made
a grave mistake. What is this place? Haunted? Halfway across the glen,
her legs gave away and she fell. Panting heavily, she propped herself up on one
elbow and attempted to get back to her feet, but to no avail.
She felt a cold blast of breath on
her neck, and then a pain erupted behind her eyes. She saw stars and dropped
the dagger, hands cradling her head. She dropped down, and was still. There was
a whoosh of wind, and then the pancake house and its unconscious snoop
disappeared.
“It's been an hour,” Noah stated,
“and it'd getting dark. She should have been back by now.”
“Go look for her,” Tristan
suggested.
“I would, but seeing as I'm missing
one shoe...”
Marian sighed. “Well, I doubt she's
lost. She had the map.”
“What are we going to do?”
Marian stood. In the firelight, her
red hair seemed ablaze, and her silvery scar shone. “Look for her. What else?
Come on- you too, Noah.”
“Should we douse the fire?” he
asked.
“No, leave it. It's contained well
enough, and we might need the light and smoke to find our way back.”
They trekked northwest, in
Requiem's footsteps. Noah had his pistol at the ready just in case they saw
something worth eating. Tristan attempted to look tough- which wasn't really
working, since he also had a permanent look of depression glued to his face-
and Marian called out softly for the elf. It wasn't very far along when they
were suddenly yanked into the air and found themselves suspended twenty feet
above the ground.
“A trap,” muttered Marian.
“Do you think Requiem put this
here?” Tristan asked.
Marian closed her eyes. The
headache returned, and a vision came with it. She saw Requiem carefully prepare
the trap and smile, proud of her handiwork. Grimacing, Marian nodded. “Requiem
made this. For food.”  The pain vanished,
snatching the vision away too.
“Tristan,” Marian said, “Do you
think you can get out and free us? You're an obambo- can't you go through
walls?” She could barely move, and her childhood claustrophobia was kicking in.
Marian had to breathe deeply to keep from panicking. This is so ridiculous.
You survived the siege of Alenn. You can handle a few minutes in a net!
           “I can't,” Tristan said
solemnly. “Sorry. Nets contain ghosts.”
“Perfect!” exclaimed Noah. “We're
stuck in a net, Requiem and Meagan are missing, and my other shoe is on the
forest floor. Now I'm completely shoeless.”
Tristan sighed. “Things can't get
much worse.”
“Meagan might get us,” Marian
pointed out. “Or Requiem, if we're lucky.”
“But we aren't,” Tristan said. “The
chances of that happening are so bleak they're practically nonexistent. We'll
probably die of starvation or thirst up here.”
Or claustrophobia, Marian
thought. Oh, cheer up. Things aren't that bad... Obambos always exaggerate.
When Requiem opened her eyes, she
was standing outside the pancake house, but now it looked brand-new and
functioning. Snow covered the ground in majestic sweeps, and lights and
laughter poured out from the window. Requiem closed her eyes. She was warm,
which was surprising, considering how thin her tunic was.
Tunic... looking down, Requiem saw
that her red tunic had been replaced by an eighteenth-century red dress, one
obviously meant for colder climes. What...?
Sighing, she knocked on the door of
the pancake house, then stepped inside. The place was packed with elves. There
was a counter along the south wall, and the floor was tiled. Lanterns gave the
diner a festive glow, and tables were ordered in such a way as to be elegant
and functional at once.
The noise and hubbub gave her
headache, and she leaned against the wall.
“Oh, I'm so glad you made it!” An
elf resembling Vesper almost uncannily- as if he was a very good imitation that
didn't quite match the original- ran to her. “You won't believe how worried
I've been!”
“Um...” she began. “Where am I?”
“The Pancake House. Where else? Do
you want one?”
“What? No!” She eyed him warily.
“What's going on here? This place is supposed to be run down. It's 1913, for
elf's sake!”
Vesper sighed. “Are you all right?
1913... that's a whole two hundred years into the future, m'dear.”

         “Are you all right? You
were in Tykehaven with Lynn last I checked!'
“I've never been there in my life,”
he replied. For some reason, he looked confused, as if Requiem were messing
with him and not the other way around. “Neither have you. That place is so
sophisticated... the likes of us will never fit in.”
“What are you talking about? You
grew up in the orphanage there, and I did too once I got transferred from
Agnam. I spent a year there, remember?”

           “No, I grew up near the
lakes,” he said. “Are you okay, Arya?”
“Arya? Who are you-” Requiem paused
and glanced at a mirror hanging on the wall. Funny- she did look like
her. There were the solemn eyes, albeit a different color, the same cheekbones,
and the same... look of reflectiveness. The only real traits that distinguished
her from Arya were her lighter eyes, brighter hair, and difference in height.
Requiem wondered why she had never noticed before.
“Oh, you thought... I'm sorry.
There's been a confusion. I'm Requiem, a minstrel. Are you... Vesper?”
The elf shook his head. “No, I'm Jaren.
I do apologize, m'dear. I mistook you for someone else.” With a nod, Jaren
walked past her and gazed out of a window, no doubt looking for Arya.
1713... Arya became queen in
1903, when I was a toddler, but I can't remember how old the previous monarch
was... That means no one knows Arya was Chosen by the elders to replace the dead
sovereign, and that means...

          I
haven't been born yet.
Strangely, the idea seemed humorous
instead of frightening. I haven't been born, yet here I am!
She was not bothered by the
realization. All she really was, she decided, was hungry. Reaching her hand
into a pocket, she pulled out three outdated coins that she was unaware of
having and hoped would be enough to buy something.
If I'm in a pancake house, I
might as well eat. Walking up to the counter, Requiem waited for someone to
notice her so she could place her order and then... eat, pay, and leave. I
don't want to spend too long here.
Someone did notice her, but not who
she was expecting.
A peculiar elf with deep, dark eyes
tapped her lightly on the shoulder. She turned. He wore a hat that sent shadows
trickling down his face and a bandana covered his nose and mouth. He had a
high-collared trench coat, and his appearance, demeanor, and posture all seemed
to whisper, “Dangerous! Suspicious! Dangerous! Suspicious!” His black hair
rippled down his back, straight and shining.
“Excuse me, dear,” he said, his
voice low and baritone, melodious. “Would you like to buy something?”
“A pancake.”
The elf laughed. “That's not what I
meant. I have potions, charms, anything your little heart might desire.”

         “Magic is useless behind the
Singing Birds,” Requiem retorted. “You'd only rip me off. And don't call me
small.”
“Nonsense. This isn't magic, it's
herbs. Nature's powers in a bottle, if you will. I can make that special
someone be infatuated with you. I can make you beautiful beyond belief,
I can make you ravishing. I even have what everyone's looking for.”

         “Oh, really?” Requiem raised an
eyebrow, ever the skeptic.
“Yes. I can make you blissful. I
can make you forget all your woes and relax in a sea of ecstasy.”
Requiem scowled. “Go sell your
drugs somewhere else.”
“They're not drugs. Try one,” he
urged. “Sampling is free.” He held up a glass vial containing a black liquid.
It didn't look disgusting, but it wasn't the most palatable drink Requiem had
ever seen either. “One meager sip and you'll feel a taste of what eternity
would feel like; you'll have so much happiness your dreams won't seem as
pleasurable.”
Requiem was about to refuse when he
continued, “Of course, you could be unhappy. You could be that too. I
heard you speak with that gentleman Jaren. You grew up in an orphanage.” He
leaned in closer, a look of sympathy on his face. “That must have been
terrible.”
“Well, quite frankly, yes. It was.”
“And then transferred to another
one! Unwanted twice- by your parents and the orphanage directors. Oh
dear, that'd make anyone feel upset. After all that, you'd think you'd deserve
a little happiness, a little bliss, a little euphoria.” He proffered the
vial again.
Memories came back. The teasing,
the beatings, the time she ran away. The anger at being abandoned by parents
she barely knew. The hate at the children who knew theirs. He was right. She
deserved happiness.
Requiem took it, staring at it
dubiously. The blackness reflected her untrusting face, so that she was staring
at herself. She sighed. “I dunno. It sounds like alcohol.”
“It isn't. It's Azia. Try it.”
“’Try it,’” she mocked. “Is that
all you can say?” she asked, but she unscrewed the cap anyway. She brought it
halfway to her lips before she stopped. “Hold on. What's your price?”
“One sip is free. More will cost
you.”

Requiem nodded, closed her eyes, and took a sip.
“Well?”
“In the end, she took it.”
“Good. Only one sip, I presume.
We don't want her to die on us.”
“Only one. She's out cold now,
sleeping like a baby.”
“Perfect.”

“One of them is enough?”
“No, one will not be sufficient.
I’ve got plans for the second. But this one...! What a find! Perfect. You did
well. Fantastic idea, by the way. Snatching her while she was stuck in a
past-dream.”
“Any news on Annalise's body? Have
they recovered it yet?”
“No. They've cleared the whole
thing and it isn't there. Can't imagine why.”
“Do you think she Crossed at the
last second?”
“No, she'd have had to leave her
body behind.”
“There's no way she survived that. You
made sure that plenty would fall right where she was standing. No ordinary
wizard cou-”
“ARRGH! You fool! HOW MANY TIMES
MUST I STRESS THIS? She ISN'T an ordinary wizard. …But it doesn't matter. She's
out of the picture whether she's dead or alive, so things are going as planned.
If she magically shows up again- her kind have an annoying habit of doing that-
I'll take care of it personally. We go way back, you know, Annalise and I.
Would you believe we dated once?”
“Really now?”
“Yes. Anyway, we did get the
Dark Tomes. Useless pieces of garbage, but we had to get them onto the wrong
track.”
“Shall I deliver the report to her?”
“No, I need you here. She can do
without a report; she’s below me anyway. Who does she think she is, asking that
I send her reports? She’s a fool.”
“You need me?”
“I need you to track someone
down for me.”

“Who?”
“His name is Nikolas. If you
can't find him, track down his mercenaries, Jessica and Joel.”
“He's still alive?”
“Apparently, you weren't as
thorough as you thought all those years ago. Yes, he hasn't kicked the bucket
yet. Go get him.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Solve the problem with the
woman soon as we have spare people. She’s not a priority at the moment, but she
is a threat.”
“Of course. What about the sheriff?”
“Don't worry about her. I've got
her on a tight leash, and I'm pulling her towards the slaughter. We also go way
back.”
“No way.”
“I swear it's true. Oh, but did
she love me! She was soooo jealous of Annalise. They had quite a few fights
over me, I'm sure. I'm telling you, girls' hearts melt like butter. A little
heat, my friend, and they're all yours.”
“You dated the one and flirted with
the best friend? You naughty thing!”
“What can I say? I'm a raging
fire.”
                                   
Visitor on the Windowsill

Carmen reviewed the case files and
sipped at the cup of coffee in her hands. She hated the taste of coffee, but
she needed the boost to make up for all the nights she skipped sleeping to
work. Vaguely she remembered saying, Night is for sleeping, not killing oneself.
…Unless you have no choice, she
thought bitterly. I should definitely get
paid more for overtime- and what I do
at home, too. Sipping at the vile concoction, Carmen went over the files
yet again, but they offered no new information. She already knew everything in
them. No leads on Bella but the piece of fabric she managed to rip off. No
leads on Jenni but that one nurse's account- and that was about as helpful as a
hamster. No leads on the Meeting Hall and who would knock it down either. Not
even a single appearance of shadow-beings beyond Dietum. Carmen was frustrated.
She wasn't used to such challenges. She thought life had given her all of the
ones it could when she was just a kid and had run out. She’d thought the
hardest challenge life had left in its arsenal was getting over guy trouble,
and even that had been a cinch- eventually.
No one had noticed the change in
her. Not only were there those four cases, but there was daily crime as well,
and that kept her busier than a bee. She was soul-sick. Few knew it, but
Annalise and Carmen were best friends in the world, growing up together and
spending every spare moment wasting time with each other. She missed her family
too. Eight is too young to have them all ripped away, she thought. They
were dead, and she was reminded of that every time she looked down at her
hands.
Her gloves were off now, so her
steel prosthetic on the left hand was clearly showing. Only Annalise had known
about it. Carmen rubbed her steel hand with her hand of flesh, groaning. When
it rained, like it was now, the steel was slower and clumsy. No one knew but
Annalise, and that one boy who had helped them five years after the death of
her family- unfortunately, he had died. Once, there had been someone to ease
that pain, who Carmen had viewed in even a romantic way, but he had been
nothing but lies. He almost drove the two of them apart. She wished he wasn't
at large now, but he was, and he was still making her miserable every single
day.
Every single stinking day.
Carmen stood to refill her cup of
coffee. She shivered, the thin nightgown she wore not much protection against
the frigid night air. Why did she leave the window open? She was certain she
hadn't, but it was open now...
Sighing, she moved to close it, and
stifled a scream as a purple-eyed elven face dropped down onto her sill.
“Found you,” Arya whispered, and
passed out.

Dragonlord Stephi : Nice work as usual . And nice Backstory for Carmen  . Yeah . The tough characters always have the best backstories , normally stating how and or why they became tough . A guy . Who would of thought if that . Not me thats for sure . Good job .  

Mr. Zed : That's just a preview to the backstory. There's more... I have backstory for every character that has a name. Even Merlin who sells candy has a backstory. Heck, remember that idiot Jayna from chapter two who did nothing but refuse to let Meagan into the Meeting Hall? SHE has a backstory.

Dragonlord Stephi : Ok . I guess that is nice . I have nothing else to say so ..... yeah

A user of this : Again, I'm glad you liked it! Carmen's hand is a major part of her backstory, and IT IS SO HARD TO WRITE. I have to be careful to release just enough that people don't get frustrated and want to read more, but not so much that they'll see it coming from a mile away. Come to think of it, the entire plot is like that... I have a huge climax planned.