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@DragonSong -----------------------------
With each creak of the wheel and lurch of the wagon, Quince Thames was miserable. He wasn't sure what parts of his body weren't heart, from the injury of his leg to the deep gash on his head. When he was found alive after the battle of Cofferd, he was pretty sure the black powder explosion tossed him bodily over every single rock on the field. He was certain some ribs were broken, and his right arm had been pushed out of it's socket- and damn it to hell did it hurt to set it right. Even after all he'd been through, he was still healing and the road- still tumultuous. They said there was still fighting, that his men had recuperated their losses and met up with their delayed reinforcements at the bank of the Southern Matron River. They had presumed him dead, and he just may have been, had someone not have found him the next day in the aftermath.
They said he was asleep for three days, and when he awoken- the nightmares had begun. Between the scars of war, and the idea it'd lamed him, Quince Thames wasted no time to find the means to travel back home. He was no more use as a soldier, and he wasn't sure the last time he'd contacted his mother. He had written her letters, but those deliveries were never certain. He could only hope she had received a good many of them. War news itself moved fast, and if she did...
She might have known he was at that battle.
And she'd be worried.
The wagon thumped off a rock, tipping the wagon some and as Quince swore between his teeth, gripped onto anything he could to avoid being tossed around where he lay in the wagon bed, and held onto his rib cage over a wound he was certain just reopened.
He heard the old man that drove the wagon apologize as the roads here were gutted from the summer rains, and that it would be like this for many more miles.
"Thanks for the warning!" he shouted back to the man, who waved it off and promised to do his best to avoid most of the rocks and pocked holes.
But it was torture, every bit of the way.
But he was alive, he had survived. And he'd be damned if he let that go to waste, even if he'd end up as a damn gimp for the rest of his days. Eventually the road had settled, and so had Quince. He was so exhausted he had fallen asleep, until the rains came and awoken him. The old man apologized that he had little for them both to protect from the weather, but Quince simply enjoyed the summer rain, as it lulled him back to sleep.
It was nearly midnight when they arrived at his home, and the old man helped him into his house. And although he wasn't expecting his mother to be awake to great him, when he arrived- he hadn't expected her to not be there at all.
The house was dark, empty and Quince pained himself as he attempted to walk through the first floor to find her, his voice echoing through the empty halls and rooms, when he paused at his mother's room and saw a bunch of letter's on her desk.
It didn't take long for Quince to read through some of the letters- some being his, some addressed to his mother. One, a most recent one, had been addressed from her brother- a man he knew by name, but had never met in person. His mother never talked much about his Uncle. Quince had always figured there was some kind of falling out. But from the letter...
It seemed that, because his mother believed her son to be dead, that she had returned home to see her brother, and wasn't sure she could bear to be at her home so empty, knowing her son was out there- a ghost of war.
Quince took his time to write a letter to his uncle, introducing himself and inquiring after his mother- to let him let her know that he was very much alive and wished to see her. That he had sustained injuries but is healing slowly.
He was surprised when, not even a week later, a reply had come and an invitation extended for Quince to join them all at
Riverspeak, his Uncle's family home.
The letter went on to explain his mother had in fact come, and they were all excited to meet him. So he spent the evening watching the sunset over the cliffsides nearest his own family home, that rested high above the sea. He watched as the waves came crashing onto the craggy shores, before attempting to retire for the night.
He couldn't have known that was his last time he might ever see his home again.
It had been nearly a year since she had left the Faerie Realm. Well, she thought a year. Time moved differently in her home, and she had never been particularly adept at tracking its passage anyway.
Still, she knew it was the longest stretch of time she'd spent away from the mortal world since her wings had been taken. She didn't like being on the other side of the Veil, not the way she used to. It was a necessity now; her wings were out there, somewhere. She had to find them.
But she could barely sense them anymore. Days, weeks, months would pass without even a flicker of awareness from that missing piece. The time was stretching longer and longer, and she felt it with every beat of her heart.
So when she did sense something--some magic, something innately faerie in the mortal world--she didn't wait long enough to examine the feeling, try to decide if it was truly her wings or simply a stray bit of magic floating where it didn't belong. She followed it, calling up a portal haphazardly and all but leaping through almost before the tear in the world had had time to truly form.
She landed in darkness. It was a jarring change from the blushing twilight of the fae glade where she had been just a moment ago, pitch black in the way that only caves and unoccupied human dwellings were--no light from sun or moon or stars permitted.
...Perhaps she hadn't entirely thought this through.
She turned back toward the portal, considering leaving already--perhaps she should have better prepared, she hadn't meant to turn up here, faerie portals usually connected to places of nature and strong natural magic. Why on earth would--
The portal was gone.
Anoria stared at the space where it should be. She frowned. Summoning portals on this side of the Veil was no easy feat--another reason they typically formed best in places where natural magic coalesced--but she raised her hands and focuses every scrap of power she had, hoping to reopen the tear. She just needed a few moments, just enough to slip back through.
Nothing.
She blinked.
Well. That wasn't good.
Still Sometime before...
.........
It was a mistake for him to try to ride a horse to his Uncle's. He was in no condition to really walk, let alone ride, and found himself calling for a carriage. He would rather not have spent the money- not that he was poor, but his family wasn't entirely wealthy, either. He could tell his mother had been from good breeding and came from a family with a title and a name- it's how she inherited their land, but it was a poorer lot of land, and although she had nobility in a title, they were hardly up there with many of the other esteemed.
His father had been a hard worker, and tended to their mines, helping to revive them. There were good years and bad. Unfortunately, Quince had been called away during the bad. He had checked on the mines before leaving, staring at the wooden boards and the notice that the mine was closed. He bowed his head in silent reflection, before moving on. He wondered what had become of the workers and their families, but had to tend to his own, first. Surely his mother wouldn't just leave them in despair. He knew a lot of the families depended on the mine. If anything.. he just hoped that his mother was alright.
The carriage ride was long, and though he was tired, he was too restless throughout it- wishing to stretch his legs, even as they hurt to move. Eventually he had dozed off, when the driver gave a rap at his door with his riding cane to let him know they had arrived.
"Can't say I've ever been here, or much heard of this place. Rather secluded, ain't she?"
Quince wasn't looking at the driver when he spoke, his own eyes were taking in the large manor house- almost castle like in it's appearance, a bold structure, with exceptionally tall rooves and a forlorn elegance of a modest architecture style of the earlier times in Connlaoth.
"Also big too, for not being so well traveled," the drive then added. He turned to the young man, who now leaned on a cane and was half done up in bandages that made his fancy suit clothes bulge awkwardly. "You alright to get to the door on your own, lad?"
Quince hadn't turned to regard the man just yet, still studying the grand house.
"So there is nothing you know about my Uncle, Lord Aegis?"
"Well, aside from the fact the family is rather quiet, near recluse, can't say much."
Quince nodded and turned to the man, offering a tired smile.
"Thank you. And I shall be fine." He gestured towards his cane. "It's helped me get around thus far."
The driver eyed him before nodding.
"You need a ride back, you know what carriage to call." And he bowed before stepping away, leaving the gentleman to walk this path alone....
Well.
What now?
Anoria was in...a room, of some sort, that was was clear. A large room, ceiling sweeping high above her head, but not large enough to be anything important—or she didn't think, at least.
How did she get out?
There had to be a door. Every room had a door. Carefully, quiet as she could, Anoria began creeping around the edge of the room, one hand stretched out to touch the wall. It was strange—darkness was one thing, but this... Her eyes always adjusted quickly, and she could see in even the dimmest light as well as a cat.
Not in this. All she could make out were shapes, vague outlines. Was this what humans saw in the dark?
She hated it.
The driveway was a long path blocked out in stone nearest the manor, kept neat and clean, as if freshly attended to. Even the hedges, grasses and flower beds were all neatly trim, the house in impeccable condition.
Strangely, as he studied the height of the building, all of the windows either had the curtains drawn, or- somehow appeared dark, with little reflection of inside or out. Peculiar. But it was all a second thought as he approached the front doors, taking a hold of the knocker and beating on it.
There was a long silence before the door opened- and once invited inside, he couldn't have known his life was to change forever.....
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~Present Day~
The house was unusually quiet that night, set into blankets of shadows. Even the few sconces that burned were few and far between, and hardly seemed a beacon of hope in the cold, dark halls.
But light there was, a flicker of orange down the way, lit at the very tops of a curling broad staircase in a grand entrance room near fit for a king. The sconce burned near the massive framed painting of a man, whom no details could be discerned lest one approached the broad steps that carried one to the second floor.
Light. There was light.
With no other sense of direction available to her, Anoria made her way cautiously toward the flicker of orangish light. Her eyes darted warily from side to side as she made her way down the hall, but she still couldn't make much out.
What was this place.
She stopped at the bottom of the wide stairs, unsure. She could continue to follow the light--but that had a better chance of revealing her presence to whoever lived here. And with her portal magic evidently on the fritz, she didn't know if she'd be able to make a quick escape.
The house was silent, except the ticking of a nearby clock, the occasional fluttering of candle flame, and then the occasional, distant moaning of a man's voice coming from up the hall at the end of the stairs. It wasn't a constant noise, and rather faint. Were one more prone to fearing the paranormal, they might believe it the wailing of a ghost. By the noise was evident- and true. And although the place fell into silence again...
the noise started, anew.
Well.
No thank you.
Anoria turned on her heel and started moving in the opposite direction from the sound--whatever that was, she wanted no part of it. She just wanted to get out. Surely, surely she was in the main hall, now--it shouldn't be too difficult to find the entrance...
Nearly half an hour of wandering aimlessly through halls proved that it was, in fact, going to be quite difficult to find the entrance of this increasingly strange manor. She took another turn, sure that she must at least be reaching the servant's quarters, and--
There was the stairwell. Again.
Anoria glowered as though the stairs had personally insulted her. "Fine," she muttered to herself. "Fine." And she began climbing, moving toward the odd, haunting sound.
The sound was coming from quite a ways down the otherwise silent hall. At this point, it was almost inaudible. But it was certainly there- and thirteen doors down the hall, if she were to find it's exact location. And although the door was locked, like most doors in the old, large home- there were large keyholes in which to peek.
And inside this particular keyhole would offer the strangest of sights- perhaps ones not meant for such innocent of eyes- however, at first it might appear as if two male lovers were taking a share of one another upon the bed...
But further study and things were clearly... off. It was almost as if... one man were 'drinking' at the air above the other. Barely touching the other, but hoovering just so. And the way he 'drank' of this air showed great pleasure within him as the blonde man shivered and allowed himself to take down his last 'drink'.
Nope.
Anoria backed away from the room, then turned and took off back down the hall, silent as a whisper despite her racing heart.
Nope nope nope.
She had to get out of here—whatever was going on, whatever she'd sensed...it must of been some kind of trick. A trap.
This whole damned house felt like a trap!
"Who's there?" Barked a voice, somehow booming down the hall after her, despite it obviously carrying from behind the heavy door. And not even a moment later, the door was thrown open, the blonde man emerging , light on foot but heavy in stride.
Abandoning stealth in favor of speed, Anoria started sprinting down the hall, hoping to reach the stairs before whoever was chasing her could catch her.
As she ran, her eyes flickered desperately from side to side, trying to find some way, any way she might be able to lose her pursuer.
A flicker in the shadows seemed to pass her by, somehow both over head and below.. almost as if something were coaxing her towards the balcony surrounding the stairs rather than pulling her interests downward.
The shadow wavered, pooling down an open hall on the western side that turned sharply into an alcove and then..
If it had even existed, the moving glimpse of shadow was gone.
Anoria had survived as long as she had in the human world by trusting her instincts—and despite the strangeness of everything around her, her instincts said, Follow.
She veered along the balcony, chasing after the shadow...but then it was gone. It was gone, but she saw the alcove, the hall. She turned down it, trying to keep her steps light even as she increased her speed. Maybe if she could hide, just find a place to hide...
By the time he reached the stairs the figure, whatever it was... was gone. He stood, one hand against the railing, eyes piercing.
Then a voice came from behind. A woman's.
"What is it?" She asked, approaching with slow but purposeful steps. "Is your father home?"
He raised a hand to hush her, eyes turning as he looked... right at her.
Except he saw nothing...
But she? She'd see a translucent wavering blanket of darkness. It was like a living shadow, moving only faintly as if breathing....
But on the other side...
The man turned.
"I thought I saw someone. "
His mother raised a brow.
"Oh? Are you sure it wasn't your cousin? Perhaps he's finally awake. "
The blonde man simply eyed her.
"I am certain," he said, each word with a purpose. "Quince has yet to awaken."
She raised her head, inquisitive, but then gave a nod.
After a moment she raised a hand to command silence.
"I smell magic," She said. Her son bowed.
"I too."
"Well... it's been ages since one dare trespass. Come.. let's prepare for the hunt."
"And father?"
"He will be home soon enough "
And the two disappeared down the stairs.
Anoria stood back behind the strange shadowy shield, one hand pressed over her mouth and her own heartbeat pounding in her ears as she listened to the two strangers' conversation.
A hunt? Someone else still asleep in the house? Smelling magic?
Oh stars, what in all the realms had she gotten herself into?
The moment the pair had gone, the shadowy essence melted away. And although it wasn't visible, there seemed to be a presence.
Anoria held her breath until she could no longer hear their footsteps, then released it in a quiet rush. As the shadow around her disappeared, she glanced around warily before murmuring a cautious, "...thank you..."
She looked around again. "So. Ahhh...any idea how to get out of this place?"
As if it understood....
The shadow moved like a serpent, creeping along tall cracks and corner shadows high up on the wall before moving down the hall the other man had come.
Well. That was an answer, she supposed, after a fashion.
"I hope you know where you're going. Whatever you are," the faerie murmured as she began following after the snake-like thread of shadow.
Like a gentle rolling wave the shadow moved before pausing, it's form rippling like water as it moved infront of the now half open door where the blonde man had been..
And inside..
Where a dark haired man lay.
"What?" Anoria peered into the room, saw the sleeping man, and immediately started to skitter back. But...her strange protector had brought her here...surely for a reason?
"What do you want me to do?" she hissed at the shadow creature. "I don't trust these people."
Of course...the man and woman had said something about a sleeping cousin... Maybe he was some sort of victim of this place as well?
It seemed that the shadowy form, whatever it was was gone, all that remained was it 'felt' as though it were near.
Which left just her alone in the room with him.
The man lay, breathing a little ragged, skin pale and sickly. It seemed he might be with fever, except he looked cold rather than hot and lips blue near like death.
Had the sickness, or whatever ailed him, not made him so- he had the promise of being a very handsome man- strong of jaw and back and body- that much still remained, his undershirt half button exposing his chest and the rising and falling of it as he breathed.
And then he spoke, murmuring through a whimper.
"Mother.. I will find you..." before he shook and trembled back into a fit full sleep..
Then was silent, a pained expression on his face where he lay.
Uhg. Humans. Distasteful at the best of times.
But...the shadow had helped her. So it must have brought her to this room for a reason. And...an instinct that she thought she had shut away a long time ago rose up in her chest.
Cautiously, she approached the sleeping human, and reached out to touch his shoulder lightly.
The man jerked lightly at her touch. Groaning he moved fitfully before slowly opening his eyes.
"Mother..?" His voice weakly trailed off before he closed his eyes, wincing.
"Not quite," Anoria muttered, leaning in to shake his shoulder a little more firmly. "So sorry to disappoint."
He groaned again, closing his eyes and clutching his head. It took him some time before he moved again, eyes bleary as he looked upon her.
Something.. was not right...
His brows furrowed as he tried to focus, tried to study her...
"Who.. who are you?"
She did not look like his cousin nor aunt nor..
Where was he?
He began to look around, confused by the room.
"That doesn't actually matter at this juncture," the faerie told him briskly as he started to come around. "What matters is that you and I are rather trapped. And—" She gritted her teeth. "I—apparently—can't get out of here on my own."
At least, she had to assume that was why the shadow had brought her here.
The man tries to sit up, blankets falling off his bare chested form as a weak hand moved to brush brown locks of wild hair from his face.
His form still held the strength of a man who worked hard and earned muscle, with gnarled scars rippling through the hairs of his chest and on the muscles of his neck, face and arm. And he was slicked with sweat, long, unruly curly dark hair plastered to his face- a face that had dark shadows from being well past the time for a shave and despite she finding him asleep, he looked haggard- as if he had not slept in weeks.
"Who... what..?" He didn't quite get what she was saying and moved to reach for a nearby candle, only to knock it over as it clamored to the ground.
A moment later, a voice came down the hall, "Quince?"
The man in the bed seemed to perk up at his name, he now half sitting up, a strong arm supporting his weight against the beds post.
Anoria moved on instinct, darting to the human's side and clapping her hand over his mouth.
"I'm not here," she hissed in his ear, her whole body shivering with tension. "Don't tell them I'm here."
The man tensed at the sudden invasion of his space, not certain on how to react except to yank the hand clean from his mouth.
But that seemed to be about all the strength he had, and suddenly he collapsed into a heap against her form- taking both of them down off the side of the bed in the process and making a loud ruckus in the process.
And the foot steps grew closer.
Anoria cursed silently and--for lack of any better ideas--rolled under the bed. She had no idea who this man was or why her shadowy helper had brought her to him, but she was not interested in anyone else in this mousetrap of a house knowing that she was here.
She glared at the man--"Quince", she assumed--from the darkness under the bed, the gold flecks in her eyes suddenly luminous in the lack of light. With a proper look at her, and no magic to properly glamour herself, she knew he would see her as she was: snow pale, glowing eyes, too beautiful, not human.
Quince cursed, his heart racing and beating oddly inside his chest. He grunted, doubled over, clutching at it as he tried to control how he breathed. He didn't seem to notice her under the bed, at least not directly in that moment- and a moment later- the door creaked open.
"Ah.. Cousin Quince.. you're.... awake," came the voice, not sounded as elated as one might think. It was curt and tart, and heavy foot falls moved inside the room.
"And what earth are you doing on the floor? Tut, Tut," he moved towards the other man, but Quince waved him off, jerking his head away as if in pain.
The other man frowned.
"You wantme to just leave you here on the floor, cousin?" he forced a laugh. "What kind of host would I be to let you suffer so? No, no.. it's back to bed with you. And I'll get you that tea that seems to help you very much. Come now.. one, two, three-" And with a grunt, the other man was able to help Quince up off the floor and into the bed.
She'd be able to hear the man deposited heavily onto the bed as he groaned above her.
"Now, now, rest- please. I will hurry and fetch you the tea myself. But it's good to see you.. awake," he went on, tightly before taking a step away from the bed. He eyed the other man for a good long while, calculating before deciding it was safe enough to let him return to solitude as he made his way towards the door.
"Don't forget to ring the bell if you need anything. I shan't be more than a few moments, Quince." And with that, the door clicked closed behind him and his foot falls fell away.
Anoria held her breath, keeping herself unnaturally still until the sound of footsteps began to fade down the hallway.
Moving cautiously, she crawled back out from under the bed and uncurled to her feet, then looked down at the strange occupant of the room.
She looked around for that strange shadow that led her here, but there was no sign of it.
Just what was she meant to do?!
The dark haired man still remained, breathing laboredly from the bed. When she returned from under the bed, his eyes slowly opened to look at her. Puzzled, he began to realize he did not recognize her.
"Who... who are you?"
He rubbed at his face, wincing as he closed his eyes as a spell of pain over took him and he doubled over, clutching his head.
"That is my question for you," the faerie snapped back in a harsh whisper. "What is this place? Who was that man? What do you people do here?!"
The man grunted as he tried to stave off the throbbing in his head, and grit his teeth as he looked at her.
"I don't know.. what you mean," he told her, confused. "I.. this place.." he felt something strike inside his head as he tried to remember... but something kept pushing those thoughts away from him.
"We're in my Uncle's house. I had come here.." he paused, frowning as the memories eluded him. "I.. can't rightly remember. I came here... "
Images flashed inside his head.. a sickness... his fall....
"I must have arrived and taken ill... I apologize I..." he felt so weak, deflated. But.. why couldn't he remember getting sick.
He recalled being invited to dinner and dining with his Uncle's family...
And not much after that. He raked a hand through his dark locks. Maybe the tea would help him once his cousin returned.
"Are.. you a friend of the family?" He found himself asking, closing his eyes as another wave of illness fell over him.
Anoria bared her teeth. "Stars and tides forbid. I am trying to get out of here."
She glanced at the door and hissed quietly in frustration, her eyes flashing in the darkness of the room. "It seems you know even less about this place than I do, now," she muttered, giving up the idea that the human might be of some use in guiding her out of this place.
Typical.
"You aim to.. leave?" Quince looked obviously confused. But he was weary to the bone and took a moment to study her.
"You're... a fae, aren't you?" That much he could deduce, even in his state. But did that matter? He closed his eyes, feeling dizzy again.
"The.. front door is on the main floor..." Surely she could use that to leave.
He licked his lips. He was so thirsty, and wondered if his cousin would be back soon with his tea.
Anoria glared at him. "And if it was so easy to reach, don't you think I would have done so by now?"
"What I am is of no importance to you," she added with a small huff. Her eyes kept cutting toward the door, waiting anxiously for the sounds of his returning "cousin". "What is of importance is just what your...family is doing in this place."
He was struggling to stay lucid.
"What?" His voice came out as a croak. "My.. family? This.. is my Uncle's home.."
He didn't understand, but how could he? And the footfalls of his returning cousin could be heard down the hall.
"Hush." Her eyes darted to the door, pointed ears actually twitching slightly as she picked up the sounds of footsteps. "I'm not here," she warned the man before practically leaping into the room's wardrobe.
Not exactly the most elegant hiding place, but she was rather limited on options.
Quince wasn't sure what to make of it all. The woman bounded away- he wasn't even sure where in such a state. And then the door opened and his cousin returned.
"Ah, Quince, you should be laying back. But now that you're sitting up, you'll be able to drink the tea with less concern for spilling."
Quince accepted the tea, still feeling feint and his throat was scratchy and raw. The tea went down easily.
Then he began to feel.. heavy.
"Ah, that's a good cousin of mine. You drank.. much more than I expected," Terrence nearly purred.
Quince placed a hand to his head, feeling the world pulling away from him.
"Don't worry dear cousin of mine.. let yourself sleep away.. your body needs it." He purred.
I need it- it seemed to imply.
And then Quince fell into darkness.
Hiding in the wardrobe, Anoria could see very little through the crack in the door.
She saw enough. Enough to suspect that this Quince was just as much a prison in this house as her.
A drugged one, which would make him less useful in escaping. Oh joy.
She had to wait until the "cousin" left...
It seemed this cousin was lingering, much as he had before. When she had peered through the key hole before entering the room...
And it looked as if he were drinking of the air over Quince's form.
This again.
Just what went on in this place?
Anoria kept herself bent to the keyhole, not even daring to breathe as she waited for this "cousin" to finish...whatever it was he was doing.
The man it had happened to before—he'd been alive. So it didn't kill them, whatever this was. But it clearly wasn't good, so...
Hoping against hope that she could pull this off, Anoria cracked the wardrobe door open just barely less than an inch, and flicked her fingers toward the bedroom door.
Silver sparks flew from her fingertips—just the barest trickle of magic, all that she could currently manage—and then there was a loud crashing sound down the hall, like one of the decorative suits of armor had toppled over.
A woman's voice cried in alarm down the hall. And this man was cursing. He pulled away, crawling off of his cousin and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand.
He rushed outside of the room, slamming the door closed and leaving Quince alone once more.
She waited until she was sure he'd gone before slipping back out of her hiding place and darting over to the side of the bed.
"Psst. Hey. Mortal." She shook Quince's shoulder. "You alive?"
The dark haired man didn't respond. His skin looked paler, almost more ashen then before. And he was still sweat slicked from fever, the hairs on his chest plastered against his body and his mop of curly dark hair fell in untamed ringlets about his face. He needed a shave. He looked like a veritable wild man.
But atleast he was breathing.
"Wonderful," Anoria hissed, shaking him again. When that didn't get a response, she cursed and paced away from the bed.
Looking around as though her shadowy guide might suddenly reappear, she demanded in a harsh whisper, "Why did you bring me here? What am I meant to do with him? How is he useful?"
Surely she wasn't expected to just save the silly mortal...right?
As it was before, the shadow did not reveal itself. Atleast not obviously, but there was a strangeness in the shadows near the man...
Almost like .. were his fingers moving near the pillows or ..
Were the shadows moving by his head? From where ahead stood it wouldn't have been obvious but...were she to get close.. very close to where Quince lay...
She'd see the shadow moving within his hair- and it would seem almost like a comforting gesture as it moved like a breeze through his untamed locks of hair.
"...You have got to be kidding me."
Gritting her teeth, the fae woman drew closer until she could reach out and--keeping the man at arm's length--she cautiously patted the top of his head. "Err...there there?"
And...
Nothing happened.
The shadow still mingled with his own before a noise down the hall had the shadow suddenly leaping out from the dark, Whirling up and around Anoria's arms to her shoulder where it zipped wildly about her face.
Someone was coming.
"I--ack!"
She reeled backward, swatting at the air in front of her face, but that didn't seem to do anything. "What do you want me to do?!" she whisper-shouted at the shadow, though she knew by now she wasn't going to get a clear answer.
If she'd had her own magic, her proper magic, maybe she could have hidden them, somehow. As it was, she'd be lucky if she made it back to the wardrobe in time to avoid being spotted.