From Frying Pan to Strange Fire

Joan lifted her eyes to find the headless man standing right before her. The sight was too much for her. He was dressed in an attire she knew to be worn hundreds of years before she was born, his clothes tattered and worn out as if he had just stepped out of an ancient painting.

He stretched his hand in silent demand for his head, his fingers were long and skeletal, trembling with impatience.

Terrified was an understatement of how Joan felt. Her heart hammered in her chest, every beat a painful reminder of her confusion. She extended the head toward him, her hands shaking so violently she feared she might drop it.

The head felt heavy and unnaturally warm against her palms. As she held it out, she felt a strange compulsion to look at it, as if drawn by an unseen force. Against her better judgment, she turned the head around and a gasp escaped her lips.

It was alive. The bright green eyes were open, staring at her with an intensity that cut through her soul.

Joan frowned. Those eyes… they looked so familiar, it felt as if she was staring into her very own eyes. Only, the face was obviously a man’s.

The eyes held a depth of hostility and the area between the brows held a deep frown that made her knees weak. Joan’s breath caught in her throat, a scream trapped in her chest. She didn’t know how she was still holding on to the head because in her mind, she had dropped it already.

The headless man snatched the head from her hand with a swiftness that left Joan breathless.

She watched in horrified fascination as he placed it on his neck and the two separate entities fused together right before her eyes. It was as if time itself rewound, stitching the man back together with an eerie precision.

Soon, a complete man stood before her, his presence more imposing and chilling than before. He opened his lips to say something, and Joan braced herself for the sound of his voice, anticipating what he had to say to her.Belongs to (N)ôvel/Drama.Org.

But before he could get a word out, an inexplicable force yanked her away, tearing her from the scene with an unimaginable speed. The ground beneath her feet opened up, and she was plunged into an abyss.

Joan’s scream was swallowed by the darkness as she fell at an unbelievable speed. She shut her eyes tightly, the wind whipping past her in a frenzied howl.

When her back hit a solid, hard surface, the impact knocked the breath out of her. Pain radiated through her body, and she lay there, stunned and disoriented. She opened her eyes to find herself enveloped in complete darkness. The air was thick and oppressive, and she could hear incoherent chantings from whispering voices surrounding her. The whispers were sinister, crawling under her skin and filling her with dread. The fact that she could not see anything, added to her anxiety.

She tried to push herself up from the ground, but before she could succeed, she felt something cold and slimy wrap around her ankles. Vines began to crawl around her body, their grip tightening with each passing second.

Panic surged through her as the vines pinned her to the ground, their rough texture scraping against her skin. They coiled around her arms, her legs, her torso, constricting her movements and threatening to snuff the life out of her.

Joan struggled desperately, her heart pounding in her chest. The vines seemed to have a will of their own, tightening their grip whenever she tried to resist. She could feel them squeezing the breath from her lungs.

Tears streamed down her face as she fought against the suffocating tendrils, the whispers growing louder and more chaotic, drowning out her thoughts. Her vision blurred, the edges of her consciousness darkening as the vines continued their assault.

At the edge of giving up, Joan knew she needed to fight. The vines had tightened their grip, one of them already snaked its way around her neck, constricting her breath. Panic surged through her, but so did a fierce determination. The strange chantings grew louder, but amidst the chaos, a sudden, desperate will to live and escape ignited within her.

With every ounce of strength she had left, Joan gathered her resolve. Something deep within her, something primal and powerful, stirred to life. She opened her mouth and let out a loud, guttural scream, the sound echoing through the darkness. At the same time, she straightened all her ten fingers, as if channeling the raw energy coursing through her body into the very tips of her hands.

In that moment, the chantings ceased abruptly, as if they were silenced by an unseen force. The vines that had been strangling her released their grip instantly, retracting and falling away like lifeless ropes. A blinding, bright light enveloped her, flooding her senses and washing away the darkness. Joan felt herself being lifted off the ground, her body floating in the radiant glow.

With a sudden jolt, she sat up with force, her eyes snapping open. She was back in her bedroom, sitting on her bed, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. The familiar surroundings of the room were a stark contrast to the nightmarish abyss she had just escaped. She blinked, disoriented, her heart still racing.

But the fact that she was only dreaming was not all she woke up to discover. The moment she opened her eyes, she caught sight of something impossible. Items in her room-books, a lamp, even her slippers-were hanging in the air, suspended as if by invisible strings. They hovered there for a moment, defying gravity, before crashing to the ground with a loud thud the moment she realized what was happening. The sound startled her, but also confirmed they were not her imagination.

Joan’s mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. At that moment, a knock echoed, startling her yet again. She climbed off the bed and moved to open the door, only to find a bloodied Roman standing by the door.