Gentle breezes brushed through the open windows, carrying the thin morning mist on their shoulders. The cool mist crept over the floor stones and all throughout the room, curling into the cracks of the walls and doors like a probing cloud. Sarah murmured in her sleep, and rolled onto her side, flinging a hand out. The mist seemed to freeze, and then slowly curl into itself.
But that is silly, mist is nebulous, formless, amorphous; all scientific fact declares that while a gas may turn into liquid or solid if temperature obliges...the temperature hadn't changed, it never did in summer in the Goblin King's Labyrinth. But then again, maybe this night, as the Queen lay sleeping, maybe it did become chilly.
And then again, maybe it was much, much hotter. Who can say? No one was awake, and the King was away. Which is a pity, because had he been there, he most certainly would have woken when the mist whirled and solidified...but that is nonsense, too. Mist doesn't arbitrarily materialize into different shapes, and even if it had, the Goblin Queen still had her own particular brand of power; she herself would have felt anything that reeking in magic take shape in her rooms, not three feet from her bed. Or perhaps it was ten feet.
Then again, maybe it wasn't there at all.
Sarah woke the next morning to a bright, sunlit room. A light morning breeze flitted in from the window, brushed her cheek in a good-natured hello, and danced back out again. Sarah stretched and rolled out of bed to her feet, pausing only momentarily at the bureau to pick up her pendant and slip it over her head. Then she casually went off to bathe.
Now, as reasonable, logical people, we know that if anything unusual had happened in her rooms last night, the instant she put her pendant on, she would have felt it, right?
Of course.
There is nothing to worry about.
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Don't you just hate me?