The Queen's Counting Crows

Chapter 1: The Collision of Worlds Unknown

I'm drifting in dark space. The vast emptiness surrounds me and I don't know how long I've been here. I can't feel my body, I'm only aware of the empty space around me, and I'm scared. I wonder, at great length, if this is what it's like to die. I continue to float through this darkness and become more calm as time passes. If this is death, I'll accept the quiet nothingness that stretches on forever.

Just as I've reconciled myself to this, I feel as though something is tugging on me. I'm abruptly yanked down, and I begin to fall. By this time, I'm screaming, wondering if this is actually how I'll die, and I begin to brace myself for impact. I feel the drag and I begin to panic. Hurtling fast towards nothing is pretty scary, and I was definitely not ready to become human jam on the ground. I feel the intense urge to scream, but no sound comes out of me. I finally feel as if I'm nearing the end and I ready myself for the collision with the ground. But then many moments pass after I've stopped falling, and I open my eyes to see my ceiling above me. The immense relief that I was in my own body, in my own bed at home felt like a weight off my back. Suddenly, my mind turns back to the sewers, and I find I can't bring myself to consider it reality. The whole situation was impossible. Improbable. Never happened, it was just an awful very lucid nightmare.

Swinging my legs over the side of my bed, I get up and stretch out my tense, aching muscles. Walking over to the door of my bathing chamber, I looked in the mirror on top of my dresser. I looked ragged and filthy, I had muck all over my face, hair and clothes. I look down and see my body covered in scrapes and bruises. I felt a moment of unease, and began to wonder, "Should I leave home?" But I quickly amended my thoughts and prepared for the day.

As my carriage pulls up outside the college building, I again feel this horrible sense of dread and unease. The tension in the air is so thick I could choke. And I've not a clue as to why. Stepping down, I make my way inside, weaving between other gentlemen, who seem to be in just as much of a rush as I. Finally, I spot my first class, though as I head inside I feel a chill creep up my spine, making the hairs on my body stand at attention. Turning around, I look into the cold, calculating eyes of my psychology professor, and he looks pissed.

Mr. Brachfield stares me down, and I feel my fight or flight instincts begin to rise within. These were the eyes I stared into as I feared my life would be at its end. This was the face of the man who calmly spoke of my death as a mildly regrettable outcome. At that moment, I feel a profound sense of terror, it slices through me like a double-edged sword and I feel as though I'm frozen to the ground. He knows what I remember, it's so obvious with how I've reacted to his presence, and I see in his eyes a cold satisfaction of having caught his prey.

I forced myself to move and walk over to my seat. I feel a shiver race up my spine as I take my spot at the back. We lock eyes, a silent challenge passes across the room. The space between us seems so infinitesimally small, I feel a sliver of claustrophobic panic. My skin feels cold, clammy, too tight for my bones. I don't know how I'll bear this hour-long session, the way his eyes goad me to make a move. I shift in discomfort as I take all possible routes for escape when this lesson ends. This tension is suffocating. I can sense that my other classmates too, are feeling the effects of our battle of wills. I don't know how I'll escape this.

I tap my fingers on the desk, staring this man down, knowing I once held him in high regard. I once looked up to this man. He was my mentor and friend. I feel a great wave of sorrow crash into me as I come to terms with the fact that my life will never be the same. Our continued eye contact sets the room abuzz with speculation. I hear the whispers of my classmates as they gossip among themselves about this new change in our regard for one another. Brachfield walks to the chalk board and writes out today's lesson.

"WITCHCRAFT AND DEMONIC POSSESSION: IS IT REAL? OR JUST MENTAL ILLNESS?"

He looks at me dead in the eyes and asks, "So, young Lord Graymark, what say you on today's topic?" he says smugly, I now know he won't let me off the school grounds alive.

Feeling the color drain from my face, I swallowed a sudden lump of vomit. Wringing my hands underneath the table, I thought to myself just how in the f**k I'm supposed to get out of this situation intact and alive. My eyes dart around the room looking for anything that could possibly get me out of this conversation. When I looked back at my Professor, he had this sinister sort of smugness to him. Staring directly at me, he began to smile. It was crazed and malicious, and I know deep in my gut, that no one else can see it but me.

I could feel the panicked laugh try to come forth, but I managed to hold it back just in time. I look around for anything that might help me navigate my way out of this. Turning over previous lessons in my head, looking for anything that could possibly sound like a real answer.

"Well, I am waiting for a response, Mr. Top Student, or is this much beyond your capabilities to even weigh in?" he says with a hint of smugness.

My stomach dropping further into my ass, I attempted to summon up a biting retort to his disrespectful question. But unbidden in my head a whisper of last night creeps into my conscious mind....