She opened the laptop again, the scene from the café replaying in her mind. Glanced at the Tour as it began its hourly sparkling in the night. She felt the new world opening, sucking her in. Saw the roses flung from the parapets, felt the horse’s strong muscles bunching beneath her thighs, smelled the sweat of her guards, and she was gone.

Past Lives Revealed

PAST LIVES REVEALED

Then

Sutton was on a roll. The words were flying out of the tips of her fingers, the thoughts coming faster than she could capture them. She realized she was panting from the mental exertion. She pushed on, didn’t want to catch her breath, wanted this astounding flow to continue.

The flags were flying and the battle raged, swords flashing as they cut through the air, blood spraying from the blades. Ellaclaire ripped the bottom of her dress and sprinted for her life across the field, knowing if she could just make the Grove, she would be safe in the embrace of the wood nymphs, her family. An antelope, flushed from the field, kept pace with her, its liquid brown eyes urging her to move faster, quicker, to follow the path it was creating for her through the long grass. The pounding hooves of a horse grew louder and louder, the beast bearing down until she could feel his breath hot and rank upon her face as she turned to measure the distance until she was captured, watched the shining blade swinging toward her head, and...

“Sutton? Knock, knock.”

The door to her office opened. She tried to ignore it.

She stumbled, and the blade swung above her, missing her tender white neck by a fraction. The knight leaped from his steed...

She heard laughter. The knight would not be laughing in this moment. The knight wanted her dead. Fuck you, knight.

“I brought you a cup of tea. From the sounds of it, you were going wild. I thought you might be thirsty.”

Husband. Not a knight.

Fuck you, husband?

Her fingers ceased moving. She sniffed, smelled the strong, comforting scent of Earl Grey. Decidedly not the primordial ooze of the forgotten forest she was writing about, bathed in blood and fear.

The scene was fleeing, running from her imagination like her characters had fled across the battlefield. She shut her eyes in a vain attempt to capture it, but elusive as a whisper, it was gone. No more forest. No more knight on the verge of murder. No more Princess Ellaclaire. She was squarely back in her office in her staid house on her boring street. Damn it.

Sutton opened her eyes to see her handsome husband looking at her fondly, a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits in hand. “Cuppa and a snack, darling. Thought you could use a break. You’ve been at it for hours.”