Madeline

A dream, or is it? Will there be more to come?

The woman awakens from her deep slumber to the aroma of some sort of culinary work wafting up from downstairs, tantalising her tastebuds and causing her stomach to protest in hunger.

The bedroom seems dull and heavy in presence, and as she awakens further to her surroundings, she is immediately confused and somewhat alarmed. As the woman raises herself to sit, she feels the hardness of the mattress beneath her. The bed is a four-poster, dark in timber and the curtains tied at the corners a deep burgundy and dusty from underuse. The blankets are heavy and smell stale. There is an amoire in the corner, timber matching the bed, one of the doors slightly ajar. A duchess stands across from the bed, completing the matching set, the mirror above pitted from age. She looks across to the only window in the room, lace curtains hanging limp against the pale light from outside and more burgundy curtains are tied back to the sides.

The room is cold, and the woman shivers. She hefts the heavy blanket from atop her, sweeping it aside with some effort and sneezing from the dust motes the disturbance has left in its wake. This dream is perturbing, as a dream it can only be, considering she has woken in a place she has never seen before. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, it is immediately apparent she will need to slide down to reach the floor. The bed is set high, and a footstool would have been appreciated. Her feet hit the floor, which is like ice to the touch and takes her breath away in an instant. Shuffling slightly forward, her foot connects sharply with a hard, solid object that bites into her toes and sets them to stinging, soon followed by a feeling of dampness. To her horror and disgust, the smell of urine hits her nose, and the poe someone has used through the night stands insulted from this disturbance.

Making her way to the bedroom door, hoping she will awaken at any minute, the woman steps into the corridor and into the same dank, dark environment she is leaving behind her. The floorboards creak and groan beneath her footfalls, and the iciness from the bedroom follows at her back. Descending the stairway, lit only by candlelight in their sconces, the woman hopes that when reaching the very bottom, she will be transported back to her own bedroom, in her own home, leaving this strange, unpleasant dream behind her.

But this is not to be, and so she continues her journey through the bleakness, following her nose to what can only be the kitchen, where faint light touches the doorway. Hesitantly, she enters the room, taking in that which surrounds her. More candles in sconces on the walls, flickering with a slight breeze created by the man standing at the stove, his back to her, not yet aware of her presence. The kitchen table is set for two, a pitcher of fresh milk stands in the centre, accompanied by a small vase of freshly picked daisies. A fire dances in the open oven, creating a warmth that embraces her with welcome.

The tall, dark-haired man, sensing her company, turns and smiles widely, his apron spattered with the morning's breakfast preparation. "Well, here she is, finally awake then" his voice is soft and peaceful, but his face is anything but. Scarred and pitted, skin red and angry, he is a vision that raises bile in her throat, and it takes everything in her power not to react. He moves towards her, and she shrinks away at his approach. He pulls the chair closest to her out and, with a flourish of his hand, says, "My lady."

"I have to go" she says, choking on her horror, her uneasiness and fright. "This is not where I am meant to be. I need to wake up. WAKE UP, her voice shouts in her mind, WAKE UP, WAKE UP, WAKE UP!!!!! She pinches her arm, hard, twisting the skin, and it screams with the pain, but nothing happens. She is still here, still staring up at the stranger before her. The man sighs, "Oh, Madeline, I was so hoping today would be better, but not to worry, my love. Tomorrow is always just around the corner. Sit, eat. You are safe here with me." He reaches out to lay a hand upon the small of her back, to guide her into her seat. She jerks back in fright, tripping over her nightgown, falling hard to the cobblestone floor, hearing a crack and nausea bubbles up. The bleakness turns to dark, her vision fades away, and with it her consciousness. Just before she fades out, relief flows. 'When I wake, I will be home, sweet, sweet home.'

The woman awakens from her deep slumber to the aroma of some sort of culinary work wafting up from downstairs, tantalising her taste buds and causing her stomach to protest in hunger. There is a chill in the air, a faint smell of urine and the blanket is heavy upon her body. As she adjusts her eyes to the bleakness surrounding her, she recoils in terror. No, no, no, no, no. This cannot be. I am home, I must be home. The bedroom door swings open on a creaking hinge, and in he walks. The face of horror, carrying a loaded tray, smiling in pleasure at seeing her awake. "Well, here she is, finally awake then." And as he walks closer, the woman lets forth a scream from the depths of her very soul, rending the air around them. "Oh, Madeline, I was so hoping today would be better."