Gillian awoke with a start, heart pounding, pulse racing, her mind swirled in a frenzied fear. All she could hear was her panicked breaths. Gillian felt a deep ache in her bones as she gazed around herself. Expecting herself to wake in her bed, to find all that had happened to be a dream, but nothing around her was familiar. 

The room wasn't hers. It was too fine, finer than anything in her fathers estate. Intricate tapestries lined the stone walls, wooden pillars carved with a delicate touch towered in each corner. A great fireplace sat in front of Gillians bed, larger than the biggest hearth in her fathers manor. Groaning Gillian shifted in the soft sheets, not all the rough and scratchy cloth she was used to. Looking down at herself, she too noticed her dress was different, it was warm and light, the sensation was heavenly on Gillians bare skin. The first fabric lining the nightgown was a sheer, glimmering material, that shimmered a myriad of colours in the glow of the fire, the second, a cream silk. It was prettier than anything she owned, nor had owned in her previous life, prettier than anything Charlotte had ever worn. 

  

Gillian had no doubt after seeing the gown that she had in fact died, though she was surprised to find herself in such splendor, had the life she lived been punished enough that gods pardoned her in death? Relief flooded over her, she was about to laugh like a fool, till she saw her mark. Her wrist shined golden where a black ink like pattern was. 

  

Gillian slowly turned her gaze to her left. A man sat in a chair by her bedside, eyes intently latched to her own. She gulped. He was handsome, hauntingly so. His red eyes burned with intensity, a blaze that seemed to shift from scarlet to maroon. His pupils thin like a lizard. But there was something ancient about them, mysterious even. As if it held power Gillian could not fathom and saw things that were not meant to be seen. 

  

Gillian gripped tightly at the sheets around her, this man was dangerous, magic practically leaked out from him, and she knew not if he was doing it on purpose. 

He began to lean back on his chair, still keeping his eyes on Gillian, “you are lucky you are alive,” he spoke, his voice was hard and gruff, giving Gillian the impression he did not care for socializing. “If I had not found you when I did. You would be dead.” 

Gillian thought back to the forest floor, sprawled there, broken and battered. The pain, the agony. She should be dead, no one could survive such a fall. 

“H-how am i-” 

“I healed you,” he answered cutting her off, “but not completely,”

“Why not leave me for dead, healing me must have been difficult,” she looked down at herself, not seeing bandages. He must be a sorcerer, healing such injuries with magic, must have been draining on him. Gillian bit her lower lip hard. She didn’t deserve to be saved. “I’m sorry that you wasted your magic.” 

The man glared, “sorry?” he growled, “what for? Trespassing into my forest? Or daring to die on my land?” 

Gillian eyes widened, shocked as she stared at the man for a moment, she darted her eyes away from his face, trying not to tremble, his magic was spilling hot, heating the air. 

She was in the presence of the sorcerer of the forest. The sorcerer who is only second in power to the high mage. All the rumors and stories exploded in her mind, the villain whom mothers would scare their children with. Monster who tamed a dragon. The man whom murdered anyone who was foolish enough to wander into his forest. 

  

Panic took hold of Gillian in an instant, the roaring waves crashed in her chest, she scrambled across the bed, huddled by the edge. The bed, big as it was, still felt miniscule to the distance from Gillian and the sorcerer. The sorcerer's eyes seemed to flash brighter at her tremor of fear, narrowing on her as if she were his prey. 

"I-i beg for your mercy," stuttering she wrapped her arms around herself, forgetting completely that he was in fact her savior. It didn’t matter, she knew he could kill her without batting an eye. However her eyes spied something on one of his wrists. She blinked, it could not be true, her eyes must be deceiving her. There on his wrist was the same golden mark as herself. Every small little detail mirrored her own. 

“You should not move too much,” he warned, Gillian tried not to whimper at the tone of his voice. "I'd rather not waste my magic again," grunting he stood up. "Rest," he commanded, heading towards the door, he halted just as his hand hovered above the handle, "oh, and I shall know if you leave this room." 

Shutting the heavy door behind him, Gillian was left alone. 

  

Tears pricked at her eyes, as she allowed peace. Her backache was something fierce, burning along her spine in sparks that popped and crackled with pain. Pulling her knees up to rest on her chin, Gillian shut her eyes. Unbridled sobs erupted from her, terrified and alone, she wept till she fell into slumber. 

  

⚜⚜⚜

Gillian awoke once more to the light of day. Blinking, the haze of sleep still lingering, her eyes search around the room. Again a brief shock to her new surroundings, till Gillian remembered all that had occurred the night prior. Relaxing only slightly, she cautiously dipped her bare toes onto the wooden floor. Standing she felt every muscle in her body scream in agonist, faltering to her knees feeling bruised and heavy. She hissed in a breath willing herself upwards to the bed, her fingers clutching onto the far too soft mattress. 

  

Using the walls to hold herself up, Gillian guided herself to the window. Frost tinted the glass, making it cold to the touch. She gazed out squinting her eyes to try and make out the landscape before her, but it was useless, there was nothing but gray and white, the wind whirling, knocking against the window. A blizzard by the looks of it. Gillian deflated, she would not last a moment in that storm, she tried not panicking at the thought of the sorcerer kicking her out, for he surely would. 

  

Gillian moved to the wardrobe opening the doors, hoping to see her familiar plain garb. Instead she was greeted by a myriad of gowns that were far different from her own. There were a few the same as the night gown she wore. Others resemble gowns she had seen in Charlotte's catalog, the type of gowns that were displayed and only tailored for those who could afford the most luxurious of clothes. Often Charlotte looked on enviously, begging her mother, Lady Regina for such gowns. Secretly Gillian had wondered how such a gown would look on her. But it was a foolish thought.

  

Gillian's fingers grazed along the soft fabrics, biting her lower lip, she sighed, willing herself to close the wardrobe door, such clothes were not for her. Even then the nightgown that clung to her body felt foreign and strange, she ached to wear her own worn down dress, the longer she stayed in such comfort the more her mind screamed how undeserving she was of such treatment. Her eyes wandered away from the wardrobe doors, searching for a familiar heap of clothes. 

  

Her legs shakingly moved to the great fireplace, finally collapsing beneath her, as her hands released their hold on the walls. Gillian was surprised to see that the fire still glowed bright, though gladly she warmed her hands. Her aching and pain limps seemed to loosen, easing her muscles the closer she drew to the flames. Her knees nestled onto the fur rugs, as a door began to open. 

A woman absently walked in, humming under her breath. Halting, her eyes widened, startled as she noticed Gillian kneeling in front of the hearth. Quickly the woman rushed towards Gillian. 

  

She was a pretty woman, short in stature, her hair the colour of sky blue twisted into a braid on her shoulder. Her eyes sparkled with something that Gillian was only too used to seeing in Cat's eyes. 

“Oh no! My lady!” her arms reached out for Gillian helping her up from the floor. “What are you doing on the floor? You should have waited for me to awaken you,” 

Gillian averted her eyes as the woman helped her to a chair. “The master would be most displeased if anything had happened to you,” she shook her head as she scurried over to the wardrobe. “Your injuries are still not healed,” she spoke, turning around back to Gillian. “You must be careful,” she passed a stern gaze to Gillian, “when the master brought you to the castle we had all thought you were dead. I had never seen the master so distraught.” she visibly shivered, “but,” she grinned, “he was able to heal you, it was a relief to us all,” she began to sift through the wardrobe, her brows furrowed together, trying to pick out a suitable gown for Gillian. “The master has been most anxious to have you awakened. To think he has finally found his soulmate.” she sighed happily, “i had to fight tooth and nail to be your maid, everyone is so eager to meet you.” she turned with two gowns in hand, “we have not had a lady of the castle for some years.” 

“L-lady of the castle?” Gillian finally stuttered, “you must be mistaken,” 

“The master rarely makes mistakes,” she said confidently, “now would you rather wear the peach gown or the lavender?” 

Gillian violently shook her head “i couldn’t possibly,”  

“Of course you can” the maid smiled,

“No, really, perhaps I could just wear the clothes i came here with,” she rushed out, before the maid ;pressed her anymore, “they suit me better anyway,” she muttered quietly. 

“Those plain old things?” the maid frowned, “the master ordered us to have those burned. They were not suitable enough for the lady of the castle.” 

“Burned?” 

The woman nodded, “in the hearth in the big hall,” 

Gillian gripped the arms of the chair, gulping down the lump forming in her throat. She could not believe that the sorcerer would have her clothes burned. Her eyes began to sting with tears. What was she going to do? 

“Please.” she begged, “I never meant to trespass into the sorcerer's land, i can not stay.” 

“But you're his soulmate,” the maids' face was painted in muddlement. 

Gillian shook her head, trying not to cry, “he doesn't want me, i know he doesn't.” 

“Nevertheless the master does wish to have you join him in the dining hall.” 

“Dining hall?”  

“It is the evening meal,” 

Gillians eyes widened in shock, “he wants me to join him for supper?” her mind could not comprehend it. 

“We must hurry, we can have the master waiting. Peach or lavender. I much prefer the lavender. It will go well with your hair.” 

Before Gillian could protest, the maid began helping her to her feet as she lifted her nightgown up from her body, dressing her in a chiemsee, petticoat, corset and gown. The maid kneeled down, placing the most comfortable pair of velvet slippers on her feet. 

Gillian gazed at a mirror in the corner of the room, the gown was the most splendid of shades, laced decorated the helm and sleeves of the dress, the bodice lined in fine threads of patterns shimmering in silver, her neckline fell deeper than what she was used to. She almost felt naked with the way the gown clung to her body as if skin, outlining each curve and line. 

She wished that she could feel happy wearing such a dress. But flashes of her sister's face reminded her why she could never enjoy such a luxury. 

“Come my lady” the maid gripped Gillian's arm, “the master waits,” 

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