The Unknown
1091 Words
Pain woke me before consciousness did.
A dull, relentless ache pulsed behind my eyes, spreading through my skull like something alive. Every breath felt heavy. Every limb distant, sluggish, unwilling to belong to me.
I kept my eyes closed for a moment, hoping this was just the aftermath of too little sleep, too much work, too many terrible decisions.
Then I noticed the silence.
Not city silence. Not the distant hum of traffic and impatient neighbors and pipes knocking somewhere in old walls.
This silence was different.
Still. Watchful.
Wrong.
My eyes flew open.
A ceiling of pale carved stone rose above me, crossed with delicate molding and painted patterns I didn’t recognize. Light spilled across it in warm strips through tall windows hidden behind thick emerald drapes.
I jerked upright too fast.
Pain split through my head.
“Damn it—”
The room tilted sharply. I caught myself against the mattress and breathed through the nausea.
This was not my apartment.
My apartment had peeling paint, one crooked shelf, and a radiator that hissed like it was dying every winter.
This room looked like someone wealthy had decorated a museum and decided to sleep in it.
Dark polished wood. Velvet curtains. A marble fireplace. Shelves of books lining an entire wall. A crystal chandelier glittering overhead.
I threw back the blanket and looked down at myself.
Same jeans.
Same ruined T-shirt.
Bare feet.
My pulse jumped.
I slid off the bed and nearly collapsed as my knees buckled beneath me.
“Fantastic,” I muttered, grabbing the bedpost for balance. “kidn*pped and concussed.”
Memory came in flashes.
The flower shop.
Closing time.
The late customer.
His smile.
A sting in my neck.
Darkness.
My breathing quickened.
No. No, no, no.
I stumbled toward the nearest door and yanked it open.
A bathroom.
Massive, elegant, entirely useless.
I spun toward the second door just as a voice drifted through the room.
“You should rest.”
I froze.
The voice was male. Low. Controlled. Calm in a way that immediately made me angry.
Slowly, I turned.
A figure stood near the far windows, half-hidden in sunlight. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Motionless.
The light behind him erased every clear detail, reducing him to shadow edged in gold.
I couldn’t see his face.
Only the outline of a man who looked entirely too composed for someone standing in a stranger’s bedroom after k********g her.
My heart pounded.
“Who are you?”
No answer.
“Where am I?”
Still nothing.
I took a step backward instead.
“If this is some trafficking thing, I should warn you now—I’m deeply unpleasant under pressure.”
That earned the faintest tilt of his head.
Amusement?
I hated him instantly.
“You speak a great deal for someone barely standing,” he said.
“And you abduct women as a hobby?”
His silence was answer enough.
I grabbed the nearest object—a decorative brass candlestick from a side table—and raised it between us.
“Try me.”
For the first time, he moved.
One step forward.
Smooth. Unhurried.
Dangerous.
My grip tightened.
Sunlight shifted across his shoulders, but his face remained hidden.
“You won’t hit me,” he said quietly.
I lifted the candlestick higher.
“Would you like to test that theory?”
Another pause.
Then, unexpectedly—
“You’re shaking.”
Rage flared hotter than fear.
I hurled the candlestick.
He caught it one-handed without effort.
My mouth fell open.
He set it gently on the table beside him.
Show-off.
Before I could think of another weapon—or insult—the door opened sharply.
A severe-looking woman entered, followed by two younger girls carrying trays.
Tea. Bread. Fruit.
Naturally.
Because when you abduct someone, snacks are apparently important.
The woman barely acknowledged me.
“You are awake,” she said crisply.
“No thanks to your charming hospitality.”
Her expression did not change.
“You must eat.”
“I must leave.”
“No.”
Straight to the point. I almost respected it.
I glanced toward the window.
Then toward the mysterious man.
But he was gone.
I blinked.
The space beside the curtains stood empty.
No sound of footsteps. No closing door. Nothing.
He had simply… vanished.
My skin prickled.
The woman noticed where I was staring.
“He has other matters to attend to,” she said.
“Great. Tell Batman I said thank you for the trauma.”
She stared at me blankly.
The girls set the trays down and retreated at once.
The woman followed, pausing only at the threshold.
“Eat. Regain your strength.”
“Or what?”
Her eyes met mine for the first time.
“You will need it.”
Then she left.
The lock clicked behind her.
I stood motionless for several seconds.
Then crossed the room and yanked the door open.
Two guards stood outside.
Tall. Armed. Dressed in black.
Neither looked at me.
“Move,” I said.
Nothing.
“I said move.”
Nothing.
I considered kicking one.
Then considered my survival instincts.
Then shut the door.
“Excellent,” I muttered. “Castle prison. Love that for me.”
I turned to the tray.
The tea smelled incredible.
The bread looked warm.
I distrusted all of it.
Still… starvation was also inconvenient.
I reached for the cup.
Something metallic glinted beneath the saucer.
I lifted it carefully.
A ring.
Silver, heavy, cold against my fingers. Its surface was carved with a symbol I didn’t recognize—a crescent crossed by a vertical blade.
Not decorative.
Deliberate.
My pulse quickened.
I looked toward the empty space near the window.
He had left this.
Why?
A warning?
A message?
A mark?
I slipped it into my pocket before I could overthink it.
Then I crossed to the curtains and dragged them open.
Light flooded the room.
And beyond the glass—
I forgot how to breathe.
Terraced gardens stretched below in perfect symmetry. Marble fountains. Stone paths winding through flowering hedges. Forest beyond that, dense and dark and endless.
And rising around it all—
Towers.
Walls.
Battlements.
An entire castle of pale stone standing beneath the morning sun.
No city.
No roads.
No sign of the world I knew.
Only this impossible place.
My throat tightened.
“What the hell…”
Somewhere behind me, low and close enough to raise every hair on my neck, the same calm voice said:
“Welcome home.”
I spun around.
No one was there.
- Writer
