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The Prophesy Tower. Chapter 55. Write a Novel Challenge.

Illustration for a novel written by children in our Write a Novel Challenge Chapter 55 showing an old thatched cottage drawn from a childhood memory.

by Amy DownesAugust 16, 2020

Her face was a contortion of pure hysteria, yet her wailing had stopped, causing her mouth to hang loosely, slightly agape. A translucent layer covered her eyes, disguising not only their vibrant colour but reality, as Neina saw no flicker of recognition from those cold, detached eyes. The usual arrangement of her features had dissipated, as if all the muscles in her face had relaxed simultaneously. Her smooth skin was dull and the colour in her cheeks, which had flooded in from the brisk journey to the cottage, was gone.

For a brief moment, Neina contemplated the alarming idea that the Isla she had grown accustomed to, her resilient tormentor turned strong ally, was no more. She was a different person than who she was mere days ago and the faces around her reflected the same reaction, yet none of them moved. To Neina’s surprise – and relief – Charlotte lowered her weapon and begrudgingly concealed it within the depths of her cloak.

Neina determinedly stepped towards Isla, internally bracing herself for any more indecipherable shrieks. But before she could muster the courage to comfort her struggling companion, Isla’s trembling mouth let out a hoarse croak, releasing a single word into the cramped, tense cottage:

“Lola?”

An uninviting pillar of reflective glass stood in front of Isla, yet its spotless surface did not display her usual features. There was no trace of her flowing, golden locks which she had used as a tool to entrance her victims, nor her glistening, sapphire eyes, which falsely radiated an impression of sweetness. Instead of these familiarities, Isla was greeted with a face that was shrouded in mystery, taunting her feeble mind as she desperately tried to decode this riddle.

The petite figure in the mirror was a sheer juxtaposition to Isla’s towering height, forcing Isla to strain her neck in order to sufficiently examine the person. It was a person, in fact it was a girl.

A pale-faced young girl, who appeared to be no older than seven. She blissfully swayed on the spot, causing her unruly, icy blonde hair to mischievously spill across her shoulders along with the soft fabric of her pale dress. But it was the child’s eyes that terrorized Isla, those kind, brown eyes that were as warm as the hearth flames of Isla’s childhood.

Who are you?

That was the question which plagued Isla’s mind, ravenously feasting on the infinite insecurity and confusion that the image divulged. Yet, her mind was also a weapon, one that she had sharpened and honed for years, until eventually it uncovered a clue regarding the girl’s identity. Her smile.

Both corners of her mouth were tilted upwards, broadly revealing pearly rows of pristine teeth, though one corner curled more than the other, resulting in a playful grin that contrasted with Isla’s sombre expression. Isla knew that grin.

It was a grin that was associated with the attentive times of Isla’s youth and the attention and care which she dearly craved now.

Without warning, a fond yet fading memory appeared in Isla’s mind, a vivid recollection from her beloved days of normality. Her senses, including her vision, were transported to her childhood home. Not the castle but her real home.

It was a simple house, reflecting the common architectural style of the countryside village that it resided in. It was rectangular in shape, with wooden accents including sharply angular doors, the boarded floor and aged oak windows which eagerly welcomed light into the home. The bright, creamy walls had been painted lovingly by her mother to match the blossoming garden of white tulips near the front door. Yet, it felt wrong. The usual smoke pouring out of the chimney, to signal the creation of her mother’s delicious stews, was gone and the oaken front door was ajar.

Isla timidly trailed through her living room, where instantly the smouldering heat from the fireplace thawed her shivering bones and the gentle material of the hand-woven pillows beckoned her. But she continued walking; into her mother’s bedroom.

The room was easily half the size of the previous one and most of the available space was occupied.

She had been a beautiful woman but her usually rosy face was hollow and pale, her shoulders slumped, and her slender hands trembled as she tied up her faded golden hair. Her mother turned to her daughter and welcomed her into her embrace but Isla felt the icy streaks of tears rub onto her cheek.

“D-did you find anything, sweetie?”, her mother implored urgently.

“No. I tried, I tried, I couldn’t…I’m sorry”, replied Isla, the words rapidly spilling out of her mouth, filling the room with resentment.

“It’s okay my darling, you rest – I’ll go out in a few minutes …”

“Don’t go, please. That’s what happened last time – I c-couldn’t do it by myself, I couldn’t raise I child on my own…I needed your help.”

“I k-know, I was gone for far too long last time, it’s my fault that my baby is gone…”

“Don’t say that, it was my fault – but I’m going to find her. I promise.”

Isla brushed away her mother’s hands and stood out of the embrace, before heading to the door.

Her mother’s voice echoed across the room, as Isla passed into the living room and hoisted her bag over her shoulder.

“N-no, you’re tired – we both are. Lola’s strong, she will survive – but you won’t if you keep working yourself to death. Please, just stay.”

But Isla kept going, passed the flickering flames of the hearth and the medley of pillows which adorned their couch. She halted as her hand clasped the firm, metal doorknob and felt the cool surface brush against her skin.

“I’ll be back, with Lola, in a few days. Just wait here until we come back,” she exclaimed, ensuring that she had plastered a hopeful smile on her face to placate her mother’s anxiety.

Isla spun on her heel and closed the wooden door behind her, the resulting slam empowering her, reminding her of the urgency of her mission and of the impending disappointment should she fail. Again. She would return, she told herself, and their family would be whole again.

But that was the very last time Isla saw her mother…

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The Prophesy Tower – A Novel.

To read Chapter 1, click here.

To read Chapter 2, click here.

To read Chapter 3, click here.

To read Chapter 4, click here.

To read Chapter 5, click here.

To read Chapter 6, click here.

To read Chapter 7, click here.