Roses and Black Glass: a dark Cinderella tale (26 page)

“Is it?”  He
didn’t sound angry, but thoughtful, as if he was just considering that it
wasn’t a very good name.

“I’m sorry,”
she said finally.  “That wasn’t very nice of me.  I shouldn’t have said that.”

His confusion
didn’t let up.  He stared at her as if she was an unknown life-form that had
been discovered under a rock.  She had been taught that it wasn’t polite to
stare.

“You’re
apologizing?”  His eyes were wide, as if she’d just insulted his family name or
something worse – as if he couldn’t believe her gall. 

“That’s what
one does when one says the wrong thing.”  Wren wondered why she was explaining
herself.

He smirked a
little, nodding as he considered their meeting to himself. 

“You’re
different,” he said.  “I’ll have to think about this.”

“Think about
what
?”

“That’s
another question,” he scolded, but he was smiling again, and she was puzzled.

Wren sighed,
feeling so frustrated that she turned her back on him and looked out at the
ocean again.  The sea of dreams?  She had crossed it and now she was here in
this place called Nevermor, except that she wasn’t really here at all.  Her
dream-self was here, and she was only able to look at the world.  She was a
visitor – a
dreamer
.  But if that was so, how could she feel the sand
beneath her feet or the wind on her face?

And what of
this confusing boy?  The Rifter?

“Will you at
least tell me how I can—” she turned to look at him as she spoke, but found
herself coming to a halt.  He was gone. 

She couldn’t
help but look down at his footprints in the sand, trailing away from her.  They
left off abruptly as if he had simply disappeared – as if he had never been
there at all.

“Get home,”
she finished, but she was only talking to the air.

2

As Wren awoke
in her bed at the orphanage, a flash of lightning and a crack of thunder jolted
her, but she was not the only one.  The other children began to stir in their
beds, roused by the tempest outside.  Thunder was grumbling angrily in the
heavens and the wind was urging tree limbs to scratch at the window like a
stray – or a monster from nightmares.  Wren knew that soon, all of them would
be awake, and would probably need consoling.

What a
strange dream…

Wren felt
groggy, unable to sit up for several moments in the wake of the dream, which
had once again been so vivid that it had taken all the energy out of her.  She
still remembered the island and the frustrating, feral boy called Rifter – the
endless water and the sand between her toes.

It seemed
so real.  Could it have been?

No, of course
that wasn’t possible.  She had dreamed it all up of course – the beach, the
shadows, the Rifter…  There was no way that it could have existed except in a
child’s desperate reverie.  She was more mature than that.

Sea of
Dreams?  Wake up, Wren.

She was still
in a bit of a stupor when Max crawled into her bed, frightened by the storm. 
She hushed him instinctively, but she was in a distant world, wondering how she
had found her way to it beyond the sea, but she could not map out clear
directions. 

In the next
bed, Henry had rolled over, peering at her through the dark.  The flashes of
lightning illuminated his grim features, but he didn’t speak.  Some of the
others were coming out of their beds now, gathering around her to be protected
as if she was their mother hen.

“I’m scared.” 

“I can’t
sleep.”

“Can we go to
the closet?” they began to ask.

There was a
deep closet that housed all their coats and shoes, and sometimes they would
gather there when the weather was bad so that they could not hear the wind and
thunder.  They could all huddle together cozily for comfort, and often in the
past, they would get a story or a song if they were good.  Wren looked around
to see that some of the others had not even stirred, but she would not wake
them.

“Get your
pillows and come on,” she said, taking Max by the hand.

Wren consented
that they should go into the closet and instructed some of them to bring
candles.  Once there was light in their hands, they dared to go inside where
they sat in rows on the floor beneath the clothes that brushed the tops of
their heads.  They settled themselves, excited for the adventure of the closet
which could have been called their secret clubhouse.  Wren was in the midst of
them with a lamp, and they had no sooner closed the door than Max turned to
her.

“Tell us a
story, Wren,” he requested.  “Please?”

This did not
go ignored by the others, who jumped in immediately to express themselves as
well.

“Yes, it’s
been so long since we’ve had a story!”

Wren sighed,
knowing that it was infectious now, but she had made a vow to herself that
there would be no more stories to influence them in negative ways.  No more
talk of the factory and no more nonsense about running away.

“I don’t know
any more stories,” she claimed.  “I’ve told them all to you.  How about I sing
instead?”

“No, no!  You
must make one up!”

“Please!  A
story!”

Wren looked at
their anxious faces, and while she had been able to make excuses for a while,
they had all come together as one against her.  She didn’t think that they
could be appeased otherwise – all wide-awake because of the storm.  They would
continue to be until the storm had passed.

I shouldn’t
be filling their heads with these things anymore, but…

Max was
looking up at her with eagerness in his wide blue eyes, and she found Henry’s
face nearby as well, watching her intently.  Perhaps they needed this, whether
or not it was good for them.  Wren surrendered, and started off on the thing
that was nearest to her mind.

“Somewhere out
there, beyond the sea of dreams, there is an island.  It is the place where
dreams go.  It’s called Nevermor, and if you’re very lucky, you may see it some
night when you are asleep, but it can only be found by flying low over the
ocean and following the music of a reed flute in the distance. 

“On that
island, everything you could possibly imagine, from all your wonderful dreams,
can be seen and realized.  Every day is an adventure, and every day you will
discover something new.”

Wren wasn’t
sure how she knew these things.  She had not seen enough of Nevermor to be able
to make those judgments, but now that she was seeking it, the answers rose to
the top of her mind.

“A boy lives
there, and he is called the Rifter.  He is dressed in leaves and is protected
by a strange glowing light – a fairy, perhaps – but you can’t quite see her
because she moves about so quickly.  There is a sword at his hip which he uses
for battle.  Though Nevermor is a place of dreams, sometimes, there are
nightmares that threaten the world, and he has to fight against them to keep
the island safe.  Nevermor is his world, and he protects it.”

Wren continued
on, building her story about the Rifter and a particular adventure of how he
battled a nightmare creature that often frightened the orphanage children: the
mythical crocodile that lived under their beds.  It seemed to move around from
one bed to the next, but it never actually left the dormitory as far as they
were concerned, but at the end of her story, Rifter had killed it good and
dead, and they did not have to worry about it anymore.

All of the
children seemed pleased and relieved that the crocodile was dead, and agreed to
this among themselves.  Wren wondered why she had never thought of such a thing
before.  A warrior that battles nightmares seemed like such a simple idea, but
perhaps she never would have thought of it if she hadn’t seen it in her dream.

“Rifter is
very brave,” Liam commented.  “The crocodile is a slippery fellow.”

“Yes,” Wren
confirmed.  “He is very brave.  He is a bit full of himself and he thinks that
he is always right, but no one could accuse him of being a coward.”

Wren wasn’t
sure that this was true, but she thought it might have been. 

“Is Rifter
very handsome?” Laura, who was six, asked.  “I think I should like to marry
him.”

Wren thought
that was adorable, but within her heart she had also begun to feel fond of
Rifter because of her own story – but that seemed very ridiculous to her.  He
was not even real – just something she had dreamed up.

“Could we
really go to Nevermor?” Lewis asked.  “Could we run away there?”

Wren knew she
should not entertain these ideas.  She should tell them that it was all just a
story and that none of it was real, but yet she saw that glimmer in their eyes
– a sparkle of hope that she had not seen in a while – and she could not crush
them.

“Perhaps if
you are very good and brave children, then the Rifter will choose you to join
him there.” 

“I want to go
to Nevermor,” Max said, and all the others agreed.

Wren wasn’t
sure what she had done by this, but they all seemed very happy to hear it. 
They had forgotten their troubles and the storm outside, and they were peaceful
now, hoping for a new dream.  Wren felt guilty for telling them lies.

But what if
it was real?

Her mind kept
shifting back to that, and Wren understood that even though she knew better,
she
wanted
to believe in it just as they did.  Hadn’t she been hearing
the sound of that flute calling her for two nights already?  She had a vague
memory of flying over the sea, and then tonight she had finally found what she
had been seeking.  She couldn’t deny that it was one of the most brilliant dreams
she’d ever had, and if given the choice, she probably would have stayed there
in it forever.

Nevermor.
 
It was hovering in her mind like the thunderheads looming outside.  Inside
herself, Wren felt a sprig of new hope as she tried to keep the images of that
place with her.  She thought that maybe, if she held onto that, she might be
able to find her way back.

***

*End of
preview. If you would like to purchase the full version, it is available here
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http://www.amazon.com/Nevermor-Volume-1-Lani-Lenore/dp/1482638401/ref=tmm_pap_title_0?ie=UTF8&qid=1365545559&sr=8-2

Lani Lenore is
a writer of gothic horrors and dark fantasies. In addition to rewriting
well-known fairytales with a twist, she also writes original stories in a style
she calls ‘dark fairytale’, which uses fairytale elements to build horror and
fantasy stories. Most of her tales, though horror, have a subplot of romance. 
She loves to keep readers on the edge of their seat, spook them, and immerse
them in worlds of beauty and terror.

She is
currently continuing work on the
Nevermor
trilogy.  If you’re a fan,
check out these links to get connected with news and info.

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