Raisa did not know for how long she had been unconscious or how much time she had lost.

Because when she woke up again, she was not in the attic. She was in her bedroom; the quilt drawn up till her chest. She had zero idea about how she had come here. She did not remember doing it herself. The bottom of the bed around her feet was wet, as if somebody had poured a glass of water on the bed sheet that was yet to dry fully. Weak yellow light streamed in through the windows. There was silence all around her.

Her awakening was a gradual thing, though. She did not jerk up on the bed, gasping for breath as if waking up from a nightmare. For a long time she was stuck in that space between sleeping and waking, a place where a mind is aware briefly of its surroundings but still clinging on to the world of dreams it had left behind. Her eyes were open in a thin slit. And in that moment, Raisa could swear she felt a hand on her head. A warm hand carding through the strands of her hair, almost lulling her back to sleep.

It was a soothing touch, not unlike her own mother's. There was so much warmth in that gesture that Raisa wanted to capture that moment and keep it locked up in a box. She wanted to return to experience this unnamed feeling again and again. The air was filled with the scent of meadowsweet; a strong scent that was sweet like marzipan with nutty hints not unlike that of almonds. Her body leaned further into it. From a corner of her eye, she could spot a vague silhouette. Maybe if she was more roused, she would have reacted in a different way. Perhaps even scream. But she had not awoken, but was on the verge.

"Fy gwaed," said the silhouette. "fy ychydig merch."

Raisa smiled. A tired, lopsided thing that bespoke trust. She raised a hand, trying to touch the speaker, but her hand went right through it. It fell down on the bed with a plop. That woke her up. She sat up, back against the headboard. No, there was nothing there. No one. Who was it that touched her, spoke to her? Raisa frowned, partly because of this and also because she could feel the dull throbs that signalled a bad headache.

The third man syndrome. Though she had just awakened, her mind was back at it again, crossing the ts and dotting the is. Maybe that presence was a figment of her imagination. A figure of comfort amidst the mess she had gotten herself into. Nothing more. Surely it couldn't be anything more, right? The quilt slipped down from her body.

She rubbed her eyes but stopped soon after, wincing. The cut on the palm stung. A drop of blood trickled down the wound; Raisa had reopened the cut. She hissed, cursing herself for forgetting what had happened in the attic. That debacle with the tin chest had not been her brightest moment. She could not believe who in their right mind would do that. Why did she have to get obsessed with opening it then and there?

It came back to her, bit by bit. Her sojourn to the attic, her searching for something, anything that would make her understand why her aunt had committed suicide that fateful summer. Her finding that chest amidst cardboard boxes filled with junk and receipts. And then the cut. The dream. Sharon was back in her dreams again. A torment her mind was failing to rid her of. In that moment, she hated the fact that she had allowed that woman in her life and so deep into her mind.

Without thinking much, Raisa put her hand underneath her shirt.

Her trembling fingers traced a slow path to her breast. Her bra was sweat slicked, stuck to her skin. Despite the fabric between her nipple and her fingers, a sharp pain made her almost cry out when she caressed the area. Her nipple was pebbled still, swollen and tender from the rough ministrations she had seen in that dream. But was it really a dream?

"Why does it hurt?" Her voice did not reach her ears. Her heart thudded fast and loud, blocking out any other sound or sensation. She could not breathe. Her tongue was dry like a tender leaf left exposed on the desert sand. Dreams don't leave marks on your body. They cannot harm you. Not if...

Not if what? Raisa did not have the answer to that. She knew nothing, it seemed. Gwaywe was making her head swirl. Never in her life had she seen shit going wrong one after the other in close succession. There was something wrong with the house. Possibly with the town as well. But Raisa was built on logic and rationality. This place was trying to wreck it all. She was torn, knowing not which path to choose or what was relatively safe. Has Gwaywe been calling me all these years? Was the murder of her colleague a message from this place to come back and face whatever had started when she was six? That was what Dream-Sharon had said, after all.

"We need to finish our game, don't we?"

So, Raisa did what she did the best when she was in confusion. She stumbled out of the bed and ran to the bathroom to take a long shower.

***

Raisa scrubbed herself raw, uncaring whether she was bruising herself. She had to get rid of this feeling of helplessness. The last thing she wanted was to lose control. It was the scariest thing to her, losing control. What would come of her if she were to bequeath control, that too, against her own will? No, this had to stop whatever it was.

Scrub-rub. She could still feel Dream-Sharon's fingers on her body. Scrub-rub. She drove the loofah again and again around her chest and her neck even as the skin grew red and irritated. It stung as the soapy bubbles popped on her skin. Raisa gritted her teeth to suppress a wince, but kept going. Warm tears rolled down her cheeks as she sets down the loofah on the washbasin and turned on the shower.

Warm water gushed out of the showerhead, drowning the sounds of her soft sobs.

Raisa hugged herself, letting the water do its work. She swayed a few times, coming close to falling down. Her vision was splotchy, occluded by tears. She could not stop crying. Why could there be no one to hold her now? Someone who could make these tears stop? She was exhausted. This sabbatical was about recharging, not losing more parts of herself to things that were hurting her more than she could have ever guessed it would.

Maybe it was five minutes, or perhaps a full hour, she was not sure. Raisa turned off the shower only after the water had turned cold. Shivering, she dabbed the towel all over her body. She grimaced as she tried to wipe at her neck; the skin there had peeled off, letting tiny droplets of blood bloom. Raisa snatched a nightdress from the stand that she had brought with her and put it over herself in a swift motion. She walked out of the bathroom in a flurry of steam and the flowery scent of her lavender body wash.

Gingerly, she went into her room. That was when she saw the books she had retrieved from inside the chest while she was still in the attic. Amidst losing consciousness and that god awful dream, Raisa had forgotten all about them. She was relieved, though, that they were safe with her. While she still had a zero idea of how she had made the journey from the attic to the bedroom without remembering a thing about it, she was too tired to ponder extensively over it. Now, she only had the brain capacity to focus on one topic at a time.

These diaries seemed to be a compelling place to start. She hoped that at least some of her questions will be answered in them.

She picked up the first one in the pile. It was a thin thing, green with faded gold lettering on top of it. The title was so gone that Raisa could not make out what it said or what it was about even. She settled back on the bed, pulling the quilt on her legs before opening the book. 'Myths and Legends of the Welsh Isles' said the title page in a calligraphic script. She turned the next page. Immediately, she frowned. Everything else, including the contents, was ripped off. Only the fifth chapter remained. Entitled 'Blodeuwedd', it read:

'Blodeuwedd is no woman. For she was not born but made with a bit of sorcery and a lot of flowers. Mentioned extensively in the Fourth Branch of the Mabinogi, she was the wife of the great Welsh hero Lleu Llaw Gyffes. Actually, she was made to be only his wife. It is said in the region's folklore that his equally powerful sorceress mother cursed Lleu Llaw Gyffes, Arianrhod that he will never wed a human maid and would live alone till the end of time. He has no father, for he was conceived through magical means. Arianrhod had cursed the boy, for she was shamed at losing her virginity. Yet before she placed the aforementioned curse on her son that would lead to the birth of Blodeuwedd, she had decreed only she will name the boy and refused to give Lleu Llaw Gyffes a name. Arianrhod's brother Gwydion, another sorcerer, tricks his sister into giving Lleu a name. Furious, Arianrhod places yet another curse, saying that Lleu would receive arms from none but her. Yet this too fails as Gwydion tricks his sister again. That is when Arianrhod places the last and final curse that would not allow Lleu to have a human wife.

But Gwydion was no fool. He knew just what he had to do to ensure Lleu Llaw Gyffes would have a companion and not have to remain alone eternally. With the aid of another magician, Math fab Mathonwy, Gwydion makes a girl. A girl whom they name Blodeuwedd, which literally means flower-faced. Though there was much affection between Lleu Llaw Gyffes and Blodeuwedd, her heart strayed, asis the way of women. Abhorrent of the monotony that was her life and of being just the companion of Lleu, Blodeuwedd meets Gronw Pebr and falls in love with him. To be rid of Lleu, the unfaithful Blodeuwedd conspires with her lover to kill Lleu. She tricks her husband into revealing how he can be killed. But when Gronw Pebr and Blodeuwedd made the attempt, Lleu turned into an eagle and escaped. Gwydion, enraged at Blodeuwedd's disobedience, curses her and turns her into an owl-'

This part of the page was torn as well. Whatever came after Gwydion turned Blodeuwedd into an owl was lost. In bold red ink was written - "Blodeuwedd is no murderer!!", with the no underlined twice over. Raisa worried her lower lip with her teeth. Her great grandmother had done this. She had no clue why.

In fact, most of that page was filled with underlines and angry scribbles in red and black inks. Some writings were wholly ineligible. Whatever Alice Reed was trying to say was lost in the swirls of ink. Peering close, Raisa could make out that beneath the name of Gronw Pebr, her great grandmother had written 'not her lover.' Are there many versions of the legend? Raisa licked the little cut she had made on her lip. That would make sense why Alice had written that Gronw Pebr was not really Blodeuwedd's lover. Must have felt some kinship with this girl of myths and flowers to feel such indignation. Besides, the texts reeked of misogyny.

"That's why I never want to read fairytales." She said aloud, closing the book.

It was always the same thing. A woman whose entire existence revolved around a man. She existed only to please him and improve his life. Nobody cared about what she wanted. If she rebelled like Blodeuwedd had done, she was a villain and a cautionary tale. Of course she must be punished! Maybe it was not the best decision that Blodeuwedd took when she indulged in an affair or try to kill her husband, but can she be blamed? She was never given a choice. Her creators never said that does she want Lleu Llaw Gyffes as well? Raisa failed to see a villain in this woman. If anything, Blodeuwedd's story made her sad. She deserved better, Raisa thought, picking up the next book in the pile.

And that was when the bell rang.

It startled Raisa so badly that she hit the stack, causing the books to fall all over her bed. Who could be here at this hour? Was it Miss Rose? She took out her phone as her heart calmed down, to see the date and time. She gasped loudly; it was 3:45 in the afternoon and the date on her phone showed it was the next day. She had lost so many hours since her visit to the attic. Her heart raced yet again.

Yet the second bell, pressed with much greater force and accompanied by knocks, did not let Raisa linger in the moment. She climbed down from the bed, rushing towards the staircase to see who it was and what they needed from her.

Behind her, the wooden owl on top of the cupboard blinked.

~•~