Story Notes: Okay, I'm bending the "official" D'ni timeline some here. According to the timeline (which I got off wikipedia, if anyone's curious), Myst would have occurred around 1806. Myst IV would have happened around 1826 or '27. Atrus and his family would have died out long before the 21st Century, so because of this I'm changing it slightly so that Myst IV happened about 2005. I guess then that you could call this story an AU, for all you people who are really strict on the facts. Just a warning.
There's another assumption I'm making here. I'm assuming that the linking book to Tomahna leads to the Cleft, which in turn leads to the whatchamacallit thing that Yeesha drove at the beginning of Myst IV. You know, the thing suspended on the wires? Yeah, that thing. It's so much easier to write…once again, call it AU if you like. I'm assuming this because at the beginning of Myst IV, the Stranger didn't link directly to Catherine's garden; they linked somewhere and were picked up by Yeesha. Or they could have driven there to where the whatchamacallit was. Either way…tell me if you know anything more about it, so I can fix it later on!
One more thing, and then I'll get to the story. This is a test run. As none of my friends are interested in the Myst series (blasphemers…), I haven't had this beta-ed yet. If anyone's interested in the position, please let me know! I'm posting this solely to see whether this fic is worthy of the Myst name, so please, REVIEW! I'm begging you! If you spot ANYTHING that's screwed up, even a little tiny detail, don't hesitate to tell me about it! Is it too cliché? Lacking in description? Tell me! I know that the first chapter's pretty short, but like I said, this is a test run…
Okay. Enough stalling. Time to read!
Disclaimer: If I owned Myst, everyone would be barricaded inside their homes, afraid of the pigs that suddenly sprouted wings and started flying. Honestly.
Chapter 1
Father. Where are you?
She stretched out her hand, searching through the darkness, but she could find nothing.
A man appeared. "Fi." He said. The voice, the old nickname made her bite her lip in despair. "What do you see?"
"Daddy." She whispered.
Sophie's arm was still outstretched when she woke up. She stared at her hand for a moment, as if expecting to see some remnant of the thick clotted shadows that she had waded through in her dreams, but there was none.
Tears rolled swiftly and easily down her temples, soaking her pillow, and Sophie sat up hastily. She refused to look at the foot of her bed, where that wretched black dress lay in waiting, and instead gazed out the window. As if in reflection of her feelings, rain was pouring steadily from a steel-gray sky. Sophie wondered if the world would ever be the same again.
Through the slightly-open door, the girl could hear the clattering of pots and pans as her family rose from the various beds and couches in the house. The house was small, too small to accommodate all of Sophie's extended family, but they had somehow found the room. Sophie had offered to share her bed with a cousin – pleaded, really, because the thought of sleeping all alone in a dark bedroom where a lonely death could be possible was frightening – but her aunt had shrugged the request off, insisting that to be alone was the best thing possible for her.
As if on cue, her aunt was suddenly in the doorway, and the look on her face told Sophie that she dreaded this day as much as Sophie did.
"Fi." She said, and Sophie had to stop herself from cringing at the nickname. "It's time to get dressed, honey."
Sophie hated the dress and all that it stood for, but she did as she was told. It was a childish dress, meant for someone younger than her fifteen years, but it had been picked out by another aunt, and Sophie had not had the energy or the desire to protest. In the privacy of the tiny connecting bathroom she pulled it on, tying the silly velvet bows and straightening the black tights. Tights. She had not worn tights since the fourth grade.
She had no desire to eat, but her aunt had been waiting outside her bedroom door, and steered her into the crowded kitchen. Uncles, aunts, cousins…they were all there, leaning against the wall or counters, chattering softly. Someone found a seat for Sophie at the kitchen table and forced a cup of something hot and steaming into her hand; she drank without noticing what it was.
As soon as she could she escaped, slipping unnoticed into the peace of her father's old study. Rain still streamed down the windows as she curled up in the oversized armchair, and for the first time in a week she felt at peace.
According to the family lawyer, everything in the room now belonged to her. She stared around the room, taking in the familiar books on the shelves – everything from Tolstoy and Charles Dickens on the very top shelf, to Beatrix Potter and Curious George at the very bottom, where as a young child she had been able to reach them unassisted.
A solitary book caught her attention, as she sat up straighter. It was lying in the middle of her father's very tidy desk, completely out of place to the neatly-stacked papers and pamphlets that resided there as well.
Curiosity got the better of Sophie, and with some difficulty she pulled herself out of the deep and well-cushioned armchair, and crossed to the desk. The book was nothing out of the ordinary, at least not in this study. It was bound in worn leather, and except for a faded symbol on the cover that Sophie could not quite make out, there was nothing that explained what it was.
Sophie had only just reached out to open it when a hand touched her shoulder.
"Fi?" Her grandfather had arrived. "It's time to go, sweetheart."