The kitchen table is the center of everything, the altar of family tradition. It has laid witness to countless meals, birthdays, midnight talks, and other happenings both mundane and special. Currently, it is the arena of a spectacular battle against the root of all evil: homework. Two girls sit at the table, adjacent to each other and leaning over notebooks and scattered pencils. The younger, Ticonderoga pencil in hand, stares in consternation at the workbook below her. The elder one shakes her head, admonishing, "Come on, you know that word. C-A-T. Sound it out."

The younger screws her eyes in concentration, speaking slowly, "C- aaaah- t...Cat. The cat…"

The elder smiles, patting her sister's arm. "Good! Very good! And the next one?"

Nodding, the younger girl leans further over the book, long chestnut curls falling over her shoulder. Using her pointer finger to hover over the words, and sticking her tongue between her teeth, she begins to read the assignment out loud. The other girl looks up at the clock on the wall. Half past five. She'd have to go soon. With sigh, she says, "Keep going, I'll get Mom. I have to get going to Rosie's."

She's paid no heed as she exits the kitchen. She walks down the hall toward her mother's room and knocks on the door. At the call of affirmation, she enters the room, closing the door behind her. Her mother sits on the bedroom floor, a mound of laundry surrounding her. Mid fold, she looks up at Cecilia's entrance. "What's up, love?"

"Lynn is doing her homework, and Alana is passed out on the couch. I think Ryan is still shut in his room." she replies, ticking her siblings off on her hand.

Her mother gives her a wan smile. "Thank you, Cecilia."

"You're welcome." Cecilia replies, returning the smile, "I have to get going to Rosie's,"

"Rosie's?" she asks with a tilt of her head.

"Yea. Remember? We're having a sleepover before we head back to school."

"Oh, yea. I remember. Well, tell Rosie I said hello and good luck at school."

"I will!" she bends to kiss her mother's cheek, then turns to leave the room. She walks through the living room and bounds up the stairs toward her room. Dashing about, she picks up clothes, stuffing them into her purple backpack. In the center of her room, she glances around, looking. Finally, her eyes fall on the object she'd been looking for. Stooping, she picks up the newest book she bought, adding to those that were already there. Rosie will fall asleep way before I do... She walks to the door, hand pausing on the knob. I'm forgetting something. Oh yea… She lunges across her bed and, unplugging her phone charger, adds it to her bag. Nodding, she leaves the room, stopping by the shoe basket at the bottom of the stairs to put on her boots. Once done, she makes her way back to the kitchen, but stops in the living room. Her youngest sibling, Alana, is passed out on the couch, legs sprawled out of the blanket covering her. Shaking her head, Cecilia moves Alana's chubby legs back on the couch, tucking her in with a quick kiss pressed to her forehead. She continues toward the kitchen and, taking a bottle of water from the fridge, she looks over her sister's shoulder. After a sip of water, she says, "Good, job, Lynnie. You're getting a lot better."

Lynn smiles up at her. "Thanks, Ceci."

Cecilia leans down and kisses the top of her head before heading out the door. She walks to her car, getting in. Once settled, she starts the engine, puts it in reverse, and backs out of the driveway. A few minutes later, she pulls into town, parking in front of the family owned grocery. Exiting the car, she slings the backpack over her shoulder and locks the door. The grocer, Mr. Klark, stands just outside, adjusting the apple stand in front of the store. With a smile, he waves at her. "Where are you heading, Cecilia?"

Waving, she replies, "Just to the shop, ."

He tsks, "That delinquent Bal hasn't been seen in weeks. You should just leave it alone. His father would be rolling in the grave if he knew. He worked his whole life for that shop."

"I'm sure he'll come back soon, Mr. Klark." she replies hopefully.

The grocer snorts. "I doubt it. Well, you should get to it, I don't wanna to keep you."

"Thanks, Mr. Klark. Have a good day." she walks past the grocery, stopping in front of a storefront whose sign proclaims Abbott's Antiques in swooping golden letters. Shuffling through her bag for the key, she takes it and unlocks the door. Once she enters, she is struck by the smell of dust and memories. Wardrobes and curio cabinets of all shapes, sizes and wood cramp the space; small pseudo aisles between them. There are beautifully carved tables holding knick knacks from all ages and places. Cecilia places her bag behind the counter, absently petting the giant Chinese dragon to the right of it as she calls, "Colonel! C'mere kitty! Colonel! Where are you?"

Bal should not have gotten a cat. Should have known that I would be the one taking care of it. Sighing, she goes behind the counter, opens a cat food can, and scoops it into the dish behind the cashier's stool. Why does he eat more expensive food than I do? Bal better pay me back. Standing up, she scans the shop; no cat to be seen. She wanders up and down the makeshift aisles, idly searching for the missing feline. A few minutes and a peek into an urn later, Cecilia gives up the search. Returning to the counter, she slips her backpack over her shoulder. She turns toward the door, but stops at a muffled sound coming from the back of the shop. Heading towards the noise, she finds herself in front of a door. Again, a muffled sound emanates from behind it, resembling the cadence of voices. She places a hand on the brass door knob, contemplating. You aren't allowed back here, Cecilia. Besides, voices, really? You're delusional. She opens the door. Inside, she's greeted by an ornate mirror. It stretches from ceiling to floor, the glass held up by bronze tree branches. Spotty clouds smear the glass: the mark of a true antique. Her reflection is distorted, blurring her edges. Cecilia's eyes leave the mirror, glancing about the rest of the room. The walls are shelves with a collection of dusty books and odd artifacts. Cobwebs claim corners. Bewildered, she turns to go. At that moment, she hears, "No, no, no. That can't possibly be right."

A man's voice, young and righteous. A wiser, patient voice responds, "It's what the texts say."

"Texts you translated! You could be wrong." The young man is impatient.

"Then by all means, Dorian, you do it." There's a weary tint to the wise voice.

The younger assumes a pompous air. "I'd thought you'd never ask! Lu…"

A blast of light blinds Cecilia, and Dorian's words are lost. There's a horrible twist in her stomach, reminding her of the time she jumped off a cliff in California. It begins with a sudden intake of breath, then the lack of ground beneath her feet. She feels weightless for mere seconds, gravity can't touch her. Her stomach flies to meet her heart and her feet cut the water. But there is no water. There was no cliff. No sight, no sound but the sharp staccato of her heartbeat that she feels even in her , the world reasserts itself; she's on the ground. Did I fall? A fall wouldn't have felt like that. The ringing in her head stops and she looks up into light. There weren't any lights in the room… Her eyes dart back and forth, stopping as they're drawn by movement to her left. Into her line of sight falls a young man, head tilted inquisitively. He asks, "Are you alright?"

She stares in shock. Shaking his head- Dorian-her mind supplies, he turns to the man behind him. "I wasn't expecting that to happen."

The older man furrows his brow, stating grimly, "No, I don't think you were."

With that, Cecilia promptly falls unconscious.

When she wakes, there's a weight on her chest. She tries to breath, but it's shallow. Opening her eyes, she looks down at her chest to see a ball of fur curled there. Puzzled, she tilts her head. A timid chuckle comes from her right, followed by voice saying, "He came with you."

Her head snaps toward the sound and is met with a young woman. She's delicate, lithe and petite, made more so by the way she holds her body. China doll eyes of jade stare wide eyed above high, cutting cheekbones. Jet hair is swept into a bun at the top of her head, loose fall into her face in stark contrast to her alabaster skin. Cecilia tilts her head, Are those… pointed ears? Remembering herself, the young woman dips into a deep cursys, lifting the hem of her simple dress slightly. "M-my lady. Forgive me."

Cecilia sits up, the ball of fur falling to her lap, meowing in offense. Colonel. That answers that question. At the sudden movement, her ears ring and vision blurs. She feels faint. Closing her eyes, she wills it to recede. She opens them to see the young woman - Elf. - looking at her in concern. Flashing a reassuring smile, Cecilia asks, "Where am I?"

Straightening, the woman replies, "T-the House of Alexius, my lady."

Cecilia looks about the room. To the far end of the room, there is a large stone fireplace. The mantle above it is grey stone, born by two Corinthian columns. A blazing fire roars within it. Tapestries adorn the remaining walls, many depicting dragons and robed figures. One in particular shows an armed woman with hair flying as she leads an army. A wardrobe sits to the wall opposite her, proud and somber mahogany expertly carved with intricate embellishments to the doors. A desk lies to the right of it, propped on four dragons posed in snarling rage. Dark plush carpet lines the floor. Cecilia herself lies in a canopied, four poster bed. She strokes the duvet around her, marveling at the beauty of midnight blue streaked with silver. Returning her gaze to her companion, she nods. "Yes. But where is that?"

Wary, the elf replies, "Minrathous, my lady."

Cecilia opens her mouth to ask inquire further, but at the stricken expression on the young woman's face, decides against it. Relieved, the elf states, "I was told to bring you to Master Alexius the moment you woke, my lady. Once you get dressed, I'll lead you to him."

It's just a dream. Has to be. What harm could there be in playing along? She nods in response. The elf exits the room, leaving Cecilia alone. Sighing, she picks up the black and white cat, burying her face in his fur. Colonel meows in disgruntlement. Putting him to the side and with a scratch of his ears, she swings her legs off the bed. Feet on the ground, she allows herself to wriggle her bare toes in the soft carpet. Stretching, she stands, her eyes catching movement across from her. Looking toward it, she sees a full length mirror- with her in it. She walks toward it, staring at her reflection. Her rose patterned sundress is gone, replaced by an ivory silk nightgown. Who changed my clothes? Where are my clothes? Her hair is more wild than usual, curls turned frizzy overnight. They look like the differing layers of soil- dark, light, and lighter still. Catching a strand, she twirls it about her finger. With a huff, she throws her hand down in frustration. Her near olive skin is lightly blemished with scattered acne. Thick eyebrows rest over grey blue eyes with the barest hint of green. Pink lips, mostly straight teeth, and nose a smidge bigger than she'd like. With a shake of her head, she leaves the mirror, heading towards the wardrobe. Opening the doors, she gasps at the array of clothes. Luxurious robes and dresses beckon from their hangers. Cecilia strokes the fabrics with a gossamer touch. After short deliberation, she chooses a silk dress of royal blue. She undresses, nightgown pooling at her feet. In one motion, she slips the dress over head; the fabric is smooth against her skin. The bust is tightly fitted, ending in an empire waist belted with silver. Trumpet sleeves fall from her elbows. Bending to pick up the discarded nightgown, she deposits it on her bed, skirts flowing about her legs. She hears a knock on the door. From behind it, she hears, "Are you ready, my lady?"

"Yes! I'll be right out!" Cecilia hastily calls, taming her hair into a thick plait. She opens the door, he guide to one side of the dimly lit hallway.

The elf turns to her, curtsying while instructing, "This way, my lady."

Cecilia follows her down the hallway, marveling at even more tapestries that line the walls. Sporadic flaming braziers cut through the darkness. They turn a corner. Stern oil faces stare down at them; men and women decked in finery follow their journey. At the end of the hall, the elven servant stops at gilded door. She knocks on it, opening after a reply that Cecilia can't hear. They enter into a room smaller than the first, and much more unkempt. Parchment litters the desk to the far side of the room. Heavy tomes are strewn about low lying tables next to bubbling concoctions of various shades. The walls are lined with bookcases bearing books of all subjects. A cabinet near the desk houses odd assorted objects and ingredients. Two men stand at one of the tables, head bent over an open book. They are muttering amongst themselves impatiently. Her guide clears her throat dipping into a low curtsy. "Your guest, my lord."

The elder of the two straightens, and turns toward the two newcomers. He wears a robe of purple inlaid with gold and trimmed with fur. The sleeves drip from his wrists as he waves his hand in dismissal. Without a word, the elf leaves. Once she's gone, the robed man turns to Cecilia, a smile on his face. Opening his arms, he greets, "Welcome to my home...?"

Apprehensively returning the smile, she answers, "Cecilia."

The man nods. "Excellent. Welcome, Cecilia. I am Gereon Alexius, Magister of the Imperium." he continues, gesturing to the young man behind him, "This is my apprentice."

He's broad shouldered, back straight with a confidence only known to those who have nothing to fear in this world. His black hair is mussed, but only in the way that it takes several hours to comb. Malachite eyes, ringed by dark eyelashes, spark with curiosity. His mouth, set below an aristocratic nose, is poised in a small, arrogant smirk. At her gaze, he dips into a small bow with a flourish, announcing, "Dorian Pavus, at your service."

Cecilia falls into an awkward curtsy, "Thank you?"

Alexius strides toward Cecilia, placing an arm on her shoulder and guiding her to sit on the chair in front of the desk. Once she is seated, he states, "My dear, I'm afraid that we have made quite the mistake."

Cocking her head, she questions, "Mistake?"

The magister nods, patting her hands in comfort. "Yes, it seems we've taken you from where you belong." he pauses, "...Where do you belong?"

"Where do I belong?"

"Where you come from." Dorian supplies, leaning on the counter.

"Pennsylvania." she responds, glancing from man to man in confusion when they share a look.

Dorian sighs, then stands, inquiring, "Are you familiar with Thedas?"

What the hell is Thedas? "The-das?"

"Yes." A note of impatience in his voice.

Cecilia shakes her head. "No. I've never heard of it before."

"Thedas is the world you are currently in," he explains.

Her ears ring again. She closes her eyes briefly, then asks,"The world I'm currently in?"

Alexius intercedes, "What Dorian is trying to say is that we took you - accidentally- out of your own world, and into ours."

Disbelieving, she whispers, "How?"

"With magic, of course," Dorian retorts irritably.

Weakly, she denies "Magic doesn't exist."

"Really?" With that, his hand bursts into flame. Alright. Maybe it does exist. She takes a gulp of air.

"Dorian, please. Control yourself." Alexius scolds. The young magician? wizard? scowls and crosses his arms. Turning to her, the elder soothes, "I know it's a lot to take in. We can explain more later. I'd wager you're hungry, yes?"

Her stomach rumbles in agreement. Chuckling, he states, "Good. I will have Laputa escort you to the dining room. Laputa!"

The same elven servant from before enters the room and quickly curties. Alexius instructs, "Take her to the dining room and have Aris make her a meal."

"Yes, my lord."

Alexius stands, pulling Cecilia with him. "Go, dear, follow her. We'll speak later."

Nodding, Cecilia moves to follow Laputa from the room. Again, she is led through the portrait hallway, then down another, following a labyrinth that doesn't make her head any less dizzy. They stop at two large double doors which Laputa pushes open with ease. A long table sits in the middle of the room. Upon it are four candelabra spread equally along the surface, glittering candles in each. Laputa moves to pull out one of the many high backed chairs, gesturing for Cecilia to sit in it. As she sits, she stares around her. The room is dark; heavy red brocade curtains are drawn over what she assumes to be windows. Statues linger at the walls, severe in their eternal stone stares. Without her noticing, Laputa had exited and returned, bearing a steaming bowl of soup. She sets it down in front of Cecilia, setting silverware beside the dish. The silver gleams in the candlelight. Cecilia eyes the soup, brown broth with vegetables and some sort of meat. Her stomach growls again. She shrugs and picks up the spoon, taking a spoonful. It's actually not bad. Finishing, she looks up and down the table. The center of this household is empty.