The flames licked the pages of the aged and weathered tome. Kartyna, of whom no one outside of Candlekeep ever pronounced her name right, watched, her hands tightly clenched. The hideous nightmare was over. It had to be over. Gods, let it be over.

The searing warmth rose, scattered in a myriad of scintillating hues, and then, the burnt-out husk collapsed in on itself, tossed high as black dust.

Finally satisfied, she allowed her shoulders to relax, and the first, gasping sobs began to wrack her. The skies overhead, patchy grey, gave way to a streak of green brushed with sickly yellow. Kartyna – car-tee-na, her inner voice murmured – somehow shrugged her cloak tighter and backpedalled against a large tree. Maybe the giant spiders would consume her, maybe the bandits would return to Larswood, abduct and sell her into slavery after inflicting indignities upon her person. Maybe… she cut off with an abrupt yawn. Curling into a ball, the heaviness of her lids pulled her back into the waking nightmare that had become her life.