As I dreamed of Lord Terrowin following me through a forest, looking to capture me and take me back like a prized trophy, I could hear voices in the distance. Voices that did not belong in my dream, where I hid from tree to tree, too afraid to look back that I might see his shining dark eyes and evil grin just there behind me.

"Who is she?"

"Where did she come from?"

The voices echoed through the forest as I ran, though my legs were moving slower and slower. Lord Terrowin would surely catch up to me; he would capture me, and if I was lucky I would just wake up.

"This is impossible…"

"It's a sign!"

I had slowed to a complete stop. The trees around me were bending, clearing a path for the necromancer. No! No! I tried to scream. The voices continued.

"We can't keep her here. When she wakes up she must go…"

Through the trees the necromancer appeared as a writhing black shadow. In my dream, I could no longer move. He reached out towards me, his bony hand turned into demonic claws. I could only scream.

"She's frightened. Quick—give her the medicine. She must rest."

As the necromancer's shadow consumed me, the surrounding forest slowly dissolved into nothingness. I felt myself falling deeper, deeper, and with me the words:

"When she wakes up, she'll have some explaining to do. She could be our downfall..."

"She could be our only hope."

When I awoke, it felt as if my slumber had endured a hundred years. Like I had been lying in the deepest point of the ocean and my resurfacing was slow and agonizing. Maybe I died, I thought, and I'm coming back to life. The necromancer had killed me in my dream. You're not supposed to die in your dreams.

I found myself lying in a four poster bed in a large room that I had never seen before; still wearing my mother's dress from the night of the ball—and the night of the wolves. The dress was ragged, soiled, bloodied and torn. I immediately took it off and threw it on the floor, examining my body closely. There were still scrapes and bruises, and my head was sore where I had hit it, I assessed, but other than that I did not feel pain or discomfort.

Someone has been caring for me, I realized. But where am I?

I crawled out of the bed slowly, finding my footing upon the floor. My legs were weak—how long had I been out for? Hanging off the end of the king sized four-poster was a heavy velvet robe. My mother's dress was ruined, I realized with a pang of sadness. I slipped into the robe and held it close to me as I gazed around at the room I was in.

A bed, a wardrobe, a mirror, a candelabra. A large rug stretching before a fireplace. I peered through the window and then realized where I was.

The castle.

The memories came rushing back to me in fragments—I could see the wolves snarling at me through the heavy wrought iron gate and I could feel the storm as it raged around me. And then there was the castle: black, towering, imperceptible.

But I am safe here: that much is apparent.

Outside was what I was afraid of. Lord Terrowin and my step-sisters would be looking for me, I knew it. I knew it.

As the light outside began to fade with the distant setting sun, I retrieved a candle holder and lit a single candle, stepping out of my room and into a vast, dark corridor. The shadows hung with coldness. And the floor was stone cold beneath my bare feet.

"Hello?" I said out loud into the strange, empty space. "Is there anyone here?"

I made my way down the hall to a stairwell. There was no one and nothing in sight—not a movement, not a sound. Am I here alone? How could that be?

The stairwell led to many more halls and wide open spaces overlooking a midnight terrace. I walked through these rooms in silence, straining my ears for the slightest indication of life.

What is this place? I wondered. As far as I could tell, I was alone in an abandoned castle. Not a candle was lit, nor did a mouse stir. I moved like a ray of light through the vast emptiness, gazing into the shadows with trepidation. Someone is here, I thought determinedly. Someone has been taking care of me, otherwise I could be dead by now.

I wandered until my candle burned dangerously low, through rooms and halls and vast empty spaces. Outside, the night was still and quiet. Finally I came to a pair of wide doors. One was ajar, and a golden ray of light fell through into the pitch-dark hallway.

"Hello?" I said cautiously, nearing the room. When no one replied, I pushed opened the door and slowly entered—and gasped. In the heart of this dark, empty, and cold castle was something I never expected to see: a library.

Like other rooms in this castle this one was cavernous, with the ceiling stretching far beyond above and the walls stretching into oblivion, lined with shelves and shelves of thousands of books. I stepped inside the lightened room—a roaring fire occupied an enormous fireplace, casting warmth to every inch of the space. I left my candle behind and explored the walls of books—my dream, my paradise. I ran my fingers across the book bindings, reading each title. There were books from every language, new books and old books, and books on every subject. My heart thundered excitedly as I drank it all in—sure, none of this was mine, but even looking filled my heart with happiness. And then, somewhere among the hundreds of thousands of books occupying this library fit for ten kings, I came across one I immediately recognized. Winter's Heart, a tale of a kingdom cast in perpetual winter where heroes arise from a dark age to restore spring to the people, and the world. I had read that story three times already, and even then I plucked it off the shelf before I could stop myself and held it close to me. Books are like companions, I've found. If you protect them they will protect you. In many ways.

"I wondered where you'd gone!" A voice hissed suddenly from behind me.

I dropped the book and spun around. I hadn't heard anyone around for the entire time—

It was a woman, wearing servant's clothes, old and with a kindly face. She reminded me of Old Mia, regarding me with concern. "How have you wandered this far?" she continued, "I only left you for a moment—I see you've found the library…." She fussed on, approaching me and fastening the buttons on the robe I wore. I stared at her in silence. "You're not ready to be exploring this forsaken place, my dear, you are not fully restored. I know these things, I always did…"

"Who are you?" I managed to say as she placed the book back into my arms.

Her rosy cheeks swelled into a large smile. "You can call me Martha, everyone does. Come now, please if you will, and I will show you back to your room. There is one more dose of the good stuff I still need to give you before you're up and about…" she ushered me out of the library and back out into the darkened corridor of the castle, her skirts swishing animatedly as she walked.

"I feel okay," I said uncertainly as she hurried me along. "Are you the one who has been taking care of me?"

"Not the only one," she replied, "but for now, yes. I imagine you have many questions, dear."

She led me to a flight of stairs and we began to climb. The castle, even with her presence, was still a curiously lonely place.

"I was beginning to think I was alone," I remarked quietly as we walked. "This place is so quiet and empty."

Martha chuckled. "It must seem so, don't it? Not to worry—Blackhill isn't always this way. It's just been quite some time since we've had a visitor, and its best that you don't become overwhelmed. I mean, you only just arrived two days ago-"

"Pardon me," I interrupted, "did you say I arrived two days ago?"

Martha nodded as she briskly steered us onto another long corridor.

"What have I been doing for the past two days?" I asked in disbelief.

"Healing," was all she said.

We finally returned to the room I had woken up in. The candelabras were lit now, casting the chamber in a soft, comforting glow. "Would you like me to light the fire for you?" Martha asked, gesturing to the fireplace.

"Oh—no need," I said quickly. "I'm used to lighting fires. Just not in the dead of summer."

Martha raised her eyebrows. "Oh, is it summer?" she asked, as if she didn't know. She noticed my confusion right away. "The castle can be quite cold at times," she explained, "and the weather here can change in a matter of minutes. One moment, the sun is shining through the cloudless sky, and the next there is snow falling."

I didn't know what to say.

"Oh!" Martha exclaimed, noticing my ruined dress on the floor. "What a shame. This was so beautiful on you…"

"It was my mother's," I said sadly.

She scooped up the remains of the dress and folded it neatly. "I'll give it to Ella, our seamstress. She can work miracles! She'd be happy to repair it for you. Now, I must insist you receive the remainder of your rest. Here, this will help you sleep again." Martha poured a milky liquid from a pitcher at my bedside into a cup and handed it to me expectantly.

"I—I don't know what to say," I began. "I don't know how to thank you for taking care of me like this."

She chuckled, her rosy cheeks beaming. "Like I said before, my dear, we haven't received visitors at Blackhill for—hmm, more than ten years, I believe? And when you arrived you nearly died—not to alarm you, of course, I'm confident in my healing abilities."

I drank deeply from the cup. The drink was sweet and thick, and almost immediately I began to feel tired again.

"You never told me your name," said Martha as I climbed back into the four-poster bed.

She was right. Given the circumstances, we had exchanged very little information between the two of us, most importantly my name. But as I thought about it, red flags went up in my head.

I can't tell her my name, not with Lord Terrowin the necromancer and my step-sisters looking for me. If anyone finds out where I am and who I am, they'll find me and take me back, and I'll be cursed…

My face must've given away my fear, for Martha quickly shook her head. "It's okay, I promise you dear. You are safe here. We only want to help."

I took another sip of the drought, my mind racing. Martha was waiting for my answer—how could I tell her that I was in critical danger and must hide my identity without giving that away? I clutched my book, Winter's Heart, wishing I could spirit myself away—into the book itself. The main charter's name was Belle.

"My name is Belle." I positively blurted it. It was a lie, of course, but if I could pretend that I was a character in another story to get me through this, then it didn't seem like lying. Not totally.

Martha smiled, not a hint of distrust on her face, "Now that's a beautiful name," she laughed. "Fitting for a beautiful girl. That's right, just relax now. When you wake the castle will wake with you. It's going to be so exciting!"

Sleep was overtaking me now. I laid back; the bed was so soft and warm. How could such a strange place feel more like home than "home" ever did?

As I drifted into a peaceful, dreamy world, Martha's words trailed behind me in the distance.

"And the Master will want to meet you, undoubtedly," she was saying, "he was the one who saved you from the wolves. Though I don't expect you remember much of it, poor thing. I had never seen him so worried before…"

Who?

"Ah—I've said too much," Martha continued, her voice so far away now I was already forgetting about it. "Best be on my way. This castle isn't going to haunt itself!" Her laughter faded away and I welcomed the sweet nothingness of slumber.

And so Mary was left behind, and I became Belle.