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9.
Awakening
Curled up in a ball beneath the covers of the bed, Emily Bryden was
afraid to get up.
She hugged one of the three pillows resting on the canopy bed, clutching
it against her body like an anxious child would a teddy bear. In her mind,
disturbing imagery flashed on and on incessantly. Closing her eyes as hard as
she could, she tried thinking of something else. But the thoughts continued to
taunt her, and the heat radiating from her sensitive box served as a cruel
reminder of the very real hold they had on her. She felt tears of desperation
rise up, but she somehow could not bring herself to let it all out.
She eventually roused from the bed, walking about aimlessly on the
carpeted floor, her solitary sulking darkening her mood further. She spared a
glance at Liana’s undisturbed bed, and felt sudden pangs of worry and
confusion squeeze her heart. Emily had the strangest feeling, like something had
happened to her.
As much as she didn’t want to confront the strange dreams that had
haunted her throughout the night, she still very much wanted to make sure that
the central figure in all of them was safe and sound. Surely there were no
sexual implications in that, were there?
Emily left for the bathroom and showered very briefly, as if the mere
fact of her nakedness might spur more of the strange urges and feelings she was
attempting ignore. She made sure the water was cold, and fought to stay under
the icy stream as if it could wash away all of her dark, sensuous thoughts. Much
to her chagrin, she felt a brief rush of arousal as she caught a glimpse of
herself in the bathroom mirror, water dripping from her curvaceous body, nipples
stiff from the frigid temperature of the shower.
She instantly chastised herself, wresting with that elusive part of her
subconscious which had signaled her body to react with pleasure at the sight of
her nudity.
I must be loosing my mind, she thought.
Minutes later, Emily strode into the suite, and sat on her bed, wrapped
in a silk, navy-blue kimono. She stared blankly at the window and the green
hills beyond it. It was ten, perhaps eleven in the morning, and sounds from the
busy medieval town in the valley below reached the top of the cliff where
Streinhen castle rested. Emily carefully stepped into that dangerous part of her
mind which contained her memories of last night, thinking hard of that last
moment when she was fully aware and conscious.
Her eyes wandered to the desk beside the window where she remembered
reading the diary. And there did the old book, with its brownish, musty cover,
sit.
She shivered involuntarily, and fought the urge to panic. ‘Its only a
book’, she repeated in her mind over and over. Yet the memory of how it had
drawn her into the dreamtime was surfacing, and with it fear and
incomprehension.
The white candle which had burned next to it had melted down to a
fraction of an inch, a hardened puddle creamy wax now resting on the varnished
surface. Emily’s eyes shifted between it and the diary with mixture of dread
and frustration. She felt thorn between getting to the bottom of the mystery
which had so disrupted her life, and retreating to the safety of the castle
lobby, filled with plenty of modern-day, real-life tourists who had nothing to
do with ghosts and outrageously libidinous dreams.
Emily sighed heavily, trying to exorcise her fear in a single long
breath, assembled her courage, stood up and walked over the desk. She reached
for the diary hesitantly, opened it and began quickly flipping the pages. She
punctuated her glimpses through the worn yellowing pages with long glances
outside the window, hoping to shake any influence the book might have on her
frail psyche by concentrating on something else every couple of seconds. But it
quickly became evident that daylight chased away any such power the diary might
have, and Emily found she could easily look away from the ancient scribbling
whenever she wished. Furthermore, no strange apathy came over her. Moments
later, she began flipping frantically though the personal journal, desperately
searching for answers.
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