Annika was having a terrible dream about the strange labyrinth of little pathways and cobble roads in the small fishing town, about being lost, alone and scared in a darkening dusk, when she heard the booms again. Her ears were ringing and her head hurt from the concussion. Her stomach was sour, her mouth dry. She felt unwell, weak. She was aware of being in a bed and she opened her eyes a slit, seeing leadlight bedside lamps lighting a mahogany panelled room. The bed was huge, the covers richly embroidered in ivory, golds and maroons. A glistening chandelier hung from the centre of the expansive high ceiling. The room was very large, quite possibly even bigger than Annika's entire house back home and it wasn't exactly small. It was like the room of royalty.
She realised that she wasn't tied up. She also realised that she wore a soft white satin nightgown. She touched her aching head, feeling her long silky cornsilk blonde hair, it felt clean and brushed. Had someone washed it whilst she was unconscious?
Annika struggled to her elbows, appraising her surrounds. The heavy engraved double-doors were closed, the ornate brass handles drawn together. A crystal glass of clear fluid was bedside. Annika hoped it was water. She was desperately thirsty. She reached out and took the glass, sipping. It was water; it tasted clean and wonderful. She drank half the glass and fell back onto the pile of pillows, exhausted. She thinks she is tired because the last time she ate was on the yacht...strawberries and whipped cream, she remembers. She should have had the stew at the tavern but she was a picky eater, she could be so silly at times, maintaining an air that was more like her mother than herself. Her stomach was acidic and cavernous; she would have eaten anything right now.
Annika stared at the ceiling, at the plaster rosettes clustered around the chandelier fitting. She wonders if she is a prisoner in this finery and is relieved she doesn't seem to need the bathroom. She feels too physically weak to move and a part of her doesn't want to find out how much trouble she actually is in. This part of her just wants to sink back into deep sleep, even if it is nightmares. She knows enough about concussions to realise that this desire for sleep and her exhaustion are possibly physical aftermaths but her options seem limited right now. She is musing on this and half dozing when the doors open. Her eyes flutter open and she sees Nicholas Bloodstone filling the doorframe, ghastly, huge and magnificent.
"Pleasant dreams, my sleeping beauty?" Nicholas asked, a smirk pulling his sensuous mouth.
Annika stared up at him, hoping she looked OK despite herself. He was otherworldly handsome, with his black intense eyes, elegant brow and unique bone structure. He was perfect and something about his penetrative stare made her feel flawed. "Where am I?" she asked.
