Imdalind 01 - Kiss of Fire

the whites of her eyes were almost nonexistent. Her eyes were not the most shocking change; against the side of her face was a dark tattoo that ran from her hair line and disappeared down the side of her neck and under her shirt. The deep black lines swooped and spiked over her skin with jagged edges that were sharp like the barbed tendrils of a wire. My stomach clenched tightly, afraid the wire was going to cut into her fine skin and rip her apart. The marks looked like the swirls and flowers and thorns of a tribal tattoo, but turned so much more sinister almost, as if it were an infection.
    She didn’t look ashamed or embarrassed as I looked at her, even though I was sure the surprise and confusion was clear on my face. She just looked at me sternly, her jaw set, before she reached forward and shoved me down, holding me under the water. I panicked and fought against her, but my body couldn’t obey my mind. I could only stare at them from under the water as I tried in pointless desperation to move. I opened my mouth to scream but it wouldn’t obey, instead it stayed clamped shut around the wad of dirt that still rested on my tongue. My chest began to burn for want of air, my vision began to darken again. I felt the weight leave my chest as Wyn removed her hand, but it was too late. I willingly drifted into the blackness.

Seventeen

    The light was so bright I could see the veins in my eyelids. I looked at the thin, pink skin before opening them, blinking furiously in an attempt to preempt the pain that never came. My body rested against the hard, bright white floor of a huge, white space. There were no doors, windows, or even walls that I could see - only an endless white space. I lay motionless in the middle of the expanse, searching all around me for something familiar. My eyes stopped on a small stretch of faded black that grew and throbbed off in the distance. Something about the black called to me, just like the blackness that haunted me in my pained body.
    I sat up, surprised when my body obeyed my commands. I had been trapped in a pain-filled, motionless prison for so long, part of me was beginning to wonder if I would ever move again. I swung my legs around in front of me, my movement quicker than I expected as I slipped on fleece pajama pants I had never seen before. I looked down at them curiously, trying to place them, but they weren’t familiar at all. As I reached toward the pants, the long sleeve of Ryland’s hoodie slipped over my hand. Unknown pajama pants and Ryland’s hoodie - what odd things to be wearing in a dream.
    I looked at them curiously, trying to think why my subconscious would place me in such odd clothing, and then I remembered Wyn holding me under the water. A flash of her tattooed face was all it took to incite panic in my chest. I gasped involuntarily, my chest heaving more than would be normal.
    At my terror, a large comforting hand rested on my back. I turned toward the touch, surprised to see Ryland sitting next to me, his dark curls falling over his forehead. But that wasn’t right… how could Ryland be here? And, where was I?
    My heart skipped a beat at seeing him there, right next to me. He sat still beside me, staring at me, his bright, blue eyes seeking into mine. He wore torn and stained jeans, but his chest was bare, his muscles defined and glistening as if he had just run a mile or two. I thought carefully over what to say, worried my hundreds of questions would topple over themselves in a jumble.
    “Am I dead?” I asked, my voice sounding perfectly fine despite the burn in my throat as I spoke.
    “No.” Ryland’s voice was low and comforting.
    “Are you dead?”
    “Anything but.”
    “So I am dreaming?”
    “No.” His answer was confident; it caught me off-guard as the question was mostly rhetorical.
    “Then, where are we?” I could hear the desperate panic creeping into my voice.
    Ryland leaned forward and moved my hair away from my face, letting his fingertips linger on the skin of my jaw.
    “I think it’s some form of shared consciousness,” he whispered.
    “I don’t understand.” This seemed more like a dream than anything else. It felt like a dream; it looked like a dream. Even through Ryland’s confident answer, I still felt like I knew I was dreaming.
    “That’s alright. I wouldn’t expect you to. Everything is so new to you. I wish I could be there to help you through it; you are probably very scared.”
    “Isn’t it new to