Storm Reawakened

Dreaming Big In Fantasy

When trapped in a fantasy world, I'm assuming the first rule of thumb is to dream big or die trying and in Evara's case—In my case, that's literally what I have to do.

So my first dream is to somehow bypass death, alter the tragic Shakespearean ending written out for Evara, and secondly, live quietly like a hermit without ever marrying and lastly, hope that my father, the elusive 'Master' of the house, hands his title to someone else while bestowing me with enough funds to live lazily in the countryside.

Oh, if only the trust fund babies could see me now. It feels nice to be one of them even if it's morbidly so, in a world fit for Disney princesses and the lines of the fantastical blur.

I need to avoid Hawthorne at all costs and I need to figure out a way to steer clear of the royal palace and essentially all of society. If I fake whatever illness I have long enough, maybe Duke Storm will take pity on me and let me move away to one of his estates further out, to live in isolation until I'm well enough to return. But once there, I have no intention of ever coming back to the capital, I'll fake it until the secret dark organisation (cue eerie music for dramatic effect) is found and unveiled. Not only will I have had no part in it but by excommunicating all contact from the outside world or of anyone of influence, there's no way for them to pin this on me.

Ha. Not bad for an event planner whose daily struggle has been chasing down caterers for Sweet Sixteens and Bar-Mitzvahs or dealing with bridezillas.

"You've got this Blair. You'll survive this and one day wake up back in your own body and life." Sighing, I stare up at the looming ceiling and watch the moonlight flicker. I've been put to bed for hours now and can't sleep, vials of poison dancing behind my eyes every time I attempt to drift off.

Not even the satin pillows strewn in multitudes against an enormous bed shaped like a pearl shell are comforting. Alone, it feels like an expanse of space that leaves a gapping hole in my heart. The room is simply too big to what I'm used to—an apartment merely a quarter the size of Evara's closet. Twisting against the softest mattress I'll ever have the privilege to sleep on, I grab a pillow and prop it between my lower legs. A force of habit from being a perpetual side sleeper and...from spending nights alone.

At twenty-four and working odd hours and having to deal with people's complaints and demands constantly, maintaining a steady and healthy relationship has never worked out for me. I've woken endless days alone and without the warm of another body.

"And sadly, now I'll never have the chance."

Who knows, maybe I'll fall in love with a knight or a baker in this world. Might as well dream big in fantasy and hope for the best.

****************

Dream big I said. Dream in fantasy, but goodness gracious why did the author have to go and make Evara Storm's dad this good looking? For real. This is her Dad?

"Daughter, you've hardly said a word. Are you all right?"

Pull it together, Blair. He's your father for crying out loud!

"I'm fine...father."

"I'm sorry to call you out like this when you're still recovering from that ghastly incident. But the Duke asked for an audience and I'm told you're quite fond of him."

I say nothing but give a tight smile. "A misunderstanding, which I'm sure the Duke will happily clear up for you. I'm sure of it."

"Is that so? Well, what do you think Lord Raven? Shall we let them meet?"

"Yes, I believe the young Miss Storm will not overreact upon seeing the Duke. Her disposition is quite delicate, I did not want to alarm her."

Asshole. I know what that means. You thought Evara would make a scene, a spectacle in front of you and Hawthorne, making your friend uncomfortable. What the hell? I didn't ask to be here, I was summoned by my incredibly good looking father.

Duke Storm silently beckons a manservant over. "Ask Duke Hawthorne to join us."

"Yes, your grace."

Miffed, I stare down into the liquid of my tea cup and wish I could be back in my room reading novels while Ellis and Arin absently chatter away about their crushes and my plans to move to the countryside. I swore them to secrecy, and this gained a lot of their trust, if not interest to plan along with me.

Frankly, I'd prefer to be in my room—a prison of comfort than out here where judgement openly traverses down the halls and in every room I step into. Damn, Evara. Just how bad were you?

I nearly gave Arin a heart attack from declining her suggestions to wear jewelry. I settled for a thin gold necklace with house Storm's emblem as a pendant and the most simplistic dress I could find. But I could feel it. The questioning looks and sideways glances at an altered Evara.

"His grace, Duke Hawthorne," announced one of the servants. The men instantly rise and offer their pleasantries, and with my head still lowered and the corset of my dress stifling my core, I rise and bow. Without glancing at our guest, I refrain back into my thoughts and sip my tea quietly but chance a peek over the rim of my cup as three sets of eyes stare at me.

"Well, I must say. This is quite the surprise."

Shut up, Raven. You think so lowly of me and if it were in my villainess capabilities to glare at you, I would give you a glare worth Evara's approval. However, even in her body, I'm not her and the best I can manage is a perked eyebrow.

Flushing deeply, Raven has the decency to look embarrassed but continues to offer his unwanted commentary. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just....you seemed quite taken with Hawthorne here."

"That's enough, Raven. You're offending lady Storm."

Turning, I want to thank the man whose voice is deep and rich and nearly ogle offensively when I catch sight of his features.

Okay, so I can see why Evara was obsessive and committed to the chase. Because the man staring back at me simply does not exist. He's unreal and definitely a work of fantasy that someone has dreamt about.