She pours a generous serving of a steaming liquid and hands it to me. Her eyes are endearing. They remind me of Nurse Lydia. They remind me of home. They make me feel safe and loved.

I thank her and blow the vapor from the surface before I sip. I swallow and moan in delight. This is the best tea, no, the best drink my senses have ever been blessed by. It’s a heady mix of flavors and scents, yet I can call them out individually. At first, a caramel tart washes over my mouth, but soon my tongue is coated with an earthy, nutty flavor. Somehow, this merging isn’t repulsive; it’s invigorating. Intoxicating. It soothes my throat, and when I sip again, the palate switches to pine, then to dark, warm, and sweet. I can’t explain why, but this is the most pleasurable flavor of all. I wish I could taste it forever. I take another sip.

“Ah,” I scowl when the cup touches my mouth, and my head rears back. The woman cocks her head. “It stung me!” I exclaim and hold it away from my body.

She doesn’t take it from me. She remains still.

I look back into the cup and am shocked that it’s almost empty. My sips must have been larger than I thought. I rest it on a small mosaic glass table and nurse my wounded lip.

“How did the liquid shock me?” I ask, but she remains quiet. I rub my lip once more and lean forward. “Can you speak?”

The woman smiles, the crinkles beside her eyes deepening as she tilts her head the other way. I slowly blink, and the vines on the wall shift. “The plants…they’re moving!” I warn as a vision of Torrent wrapped in those fatal green ropes plays in my mind. “You need to move! You’ll die if you don’t!”

The elder stays immobile; her smile doesn’t falter. I breathe heavily and try to rise, knock her out of the way, and escape but I can’t move my legs or my arms. I’m weighted down. My vision hazes, and my words slur. “We’ll die… We’re going to die. I can’t save us.”

The woman kneels and rests one hand on my knee. “Why?” Her voice isn’t that of an older woman. It’s a golden gong that could resonate throughout an entire kingdom. It’s powerful; it’s many women speaking at once.

My head rolls back, and I stare at the ceiling. “I can’t save us because I can’t move,” I manage.

The many voices roll like thunder before a crack of lightning whips to the ground. “Why can’t you move?”

“Because of the tea.” Is this drool spilling from the corner of my mouth?

“No,” they counter. “Answer truthfully.”