The adventure continues! So as promised, this is the unanticipated chapter I was telling you about. I'm sorry it is so terribly short. It's all I've had time to type up so far, but fear not! More is to come. Not quite sure yet how I'm going to get past the next chapter but I shall give it my best. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this bit! I love your feedback so please don't be afraid to shoot me a response!
A fortnight came and went. On the eve of battle, Isolde tossed and turned in her bed, unable to sleep. She rolled on her side, facing the window and froze as she saw a dark mist creep under the glass doors that led to her balcony. Her eyes grew wide with fear as the fog rose and took the shape of a woman. Isolde suddenly found herself unable to move, as her body steadily stiffened, until at last, all she could do was stare at the figure in front of her. The woman stepped silently closer and crouched before Isolde, as though inspecting her. Isolde could smell blood on the breath of the figure as she began to speak.
"So…," she hissed, "The rumors are true. You did survive," Isolde whimpered lightly at the all too familiar voice of Aglaramarth. The witch smiled at her terrified sound and stroked her hair with a single, cold finger. "Fear not child. I am actually rather pleased that you still live. It really wasn't a fair fight last time," she said innocently. The witch smiled again and grabbed the back of Isolde's head, pulling her closer, so that their cheeks touched. Whispering menacingly in her ear, she continued. "But I won't make the same mistake twice, you can be sure of that," She let Isolde's head drop back onto the pillow.
Following Isolde's eyes, Aglaramarth's gaze traveled down to Isolde's injured arm. She frowned and cocked her head to one side. "Well that just won't do," she muttered. She grasped Isolde's wrist with one hand and ripped off the splint and bandages with the other. Isolde let out a pained gasp. The witch gave her an irritated look. "That's nothing compared to what's about to happen," she sneered. A concentrated look came over Aglaramarth's face as her eyes locked onto Isolde's wrist. A faint red glow that came from within the palm of the queen's hand pulsed its way to her fingertips. She hissed and grimaced as the light entered Isolde's wrist. Isolde's back arched ever so slightly and big tears rolled down her blank face. Isolde felt a fire working its way through her broken bones, melting them together, like a sword being forged in the bladesmith's furnace. At last, the scorching pain faded away, leaving only a dull throb. The queen stood again, breathing heavily.
"There. Now you can fight me evenhandedly. My conscience is clean," She muttered coolly. "You should get some rest. You will need it come tomorrow," The queen stretched her hand out and motioned it across Isolde's face. Isolde's eyes shut in a deep sleep, and her body was freed of its invisible bonds. The queen leaned in one last time.
"I will see you again, little warrior. And this time, you will not escape the bitter hand of death," She smiled frigidly and disappeared into the night.