I will never understand the charm of castles, especially old, archaic ones like this. Well, I can understand it to a degree but I'd much prefer it if it was a modern palace that didn't appear like Count Dracula crashed here every weekend.

Cobwebs as thick as the fake Halloween stuff cling in every crack and crevice available, some loose strands flapping like ghostly tendrils reaching out for me as I pass by. In the rays of sunlight, dust particles drift around like snow, coating every piece of furniture I stumble across. Luckily, the floors aren't wooden or else they might be squealing as I walk through these never-ending halls.

When I was standing on the outside looking in, the place didn't seem that big, now that I'm wandering through it aimlessly I'm more lost than Alice in Wonderland. I don't have a clue where the throne room might be hidden or what floor I'm even on. Not surprising seeing how I don't have the best sense of direction in the first place.

Okay, it's retrace-our-step time. I went up the steps, arrived on the second floor, turned left- no, I went right then left, passed a table with a mirror- no...

Hell if I knew where I was. I might as well be in the pit of this beast's stomach.

In fact, it's so much like a labyrinth I wouldn't be surprised in the least if David Bowie came riding in on a minotaur singing Magic Dance!

Dragging myself through this these repetitive halls is the worst mind trick anyone could play on me right now. Every second that passes leaves me more uncertain about Brent's safety. Believe me, he's a smart kid who could talk a rock into becoming a mountain, but that Tymos freak doesn't sound like the most stable-minded guy in existence- plus, he seemed too intently enthralled by me (nobody that interested in me has good intentions, that much I know).

No matter how desperately I want to reach my brother, I'm stuck searching for this throne room in order to find a sword.

"God," I growl, leaning against the wall in the millionth hall I've traveled. This place needs a directory or something.

Alright, I'm going to do something I despise doing when not required to: think. I mean, like really brainstorm where this room might be because there must be some sort of layout to this joint. Resting my head against the wall, I mentally run through what I already know about this place.

Where would someone build a throne room?

Safest bet? The center, the core.

Yeah, but that means I would need to find it first. You'd think it would be easy, but you'd also think imagery numbers shouldn't exist yet you'd be wrong.

Closing my eyes, I refer back to my mental map and try to envision where I currently am in relation to where the core of this place might be. Rubbing my face, I let out an aggravated sigh then start beating the back of my head against the door, every pound signifying a word.

"God. How. I. Don't. Want. To. Do. Th-

Without warning, the door gives way, causing me to fall back into the room, my head hitting the cold, unforgiving ground harder than intended.

"Screw me."

Wincing as I sit up, my back cracking in the process, I moan, rubbing my soon-to-be sore head. But as I'm sitting up to observe the room I fell into, I'm starting to notice the difference between this room and the rest of the castle thus far.

Moss clings to practically every surface yet there's light breaking through unlike the rest of the castle which feels more like an abandoned haunted mansion rather than a castle. Parts of the ceiling have collapsed, providing a way for the light to filter in, creating, in a strange sense, a friendlier vibe than previously shown before. Walking further into the room, I can also recognize the sorry remnants of a throne that sits on a raised platform. It appears like it's been demolished, as if vandals came past a few times to mess with it.

Still, it doesn't take rubbing two brain cells together to figure out my mishap landed me directly where I wanted to be.

"I'm too good for my own self sometimes," I say smugly, inspecting the room.

Although I've conquered the difficult task of locating this room, I need to take the next step and find that sword I was told about- I can't face that loon without it. Scanning the room, I almost get discouraged when I can't find it, but as the good Lord says "ask and you shall receive".

There it is. The brightest ray of sunlight beams down on the sight, causing the metal to glisten, its luster not lost over the years as it stands erected in the ground like Excalibur.

I mean, like actually wedged into the floor. Like, how did that happen?

At first glance, it doesn't look like it's in there very deep, but looks can be deceiving as I find out. Struggling to yank the thing from the ground, I just about give myself a hernia in the process.

"Okay," I stand, catching my breath. "This isn't working."

If it was really my dad's old sword, you'd think I would be able to pull it from the ground like a typical chosen one, but no.

Hands on my hips, staring at the ground, I think (again) in deep concentration. How do you remove something stuck somewhere? The first thing that comes to mind is a lubricant of some sort, but the problem lies in trying to find a substance that would suffice. Another somewhat plausible idea is getting to the-

Using the full force in my leg, I karate kick the sword.

Snap!

Or I could just be my usual dumbass self- that works too.

Losing my balance, I fall forward, nearly shish kebabing myself on the sword. Getting up, I pick up the sword victoriously until-

"God freakin' dam-"

It broke.

I never thought myself to be that brutish but I guess either I don't know my own strength or I overestimated the durability of the sword. I mean, it didn't snap in two, just the tip remains lodged in the ground- you know, the most important part of a weapon. I couldn't get it out if I tried.

"Well, he never said I had to have the whole sword with me," I shrug.

Forget about the rest of the sword, I had what I needed to face the creep that took Brent, that's all that matters.

Twirling the sword, I mosey toward the door, ready to depart when it slowly opens with a groan. Already, I point my newly freed weapon in the direction of the ajar door.

"Who's there?"

Since I suspect it to be a phantom or something, I'm not sure why I threw out that question expecting a verbal response.

When I receive no answer, my guard rises significantly...that is until I realize it's only Colart.

Though I was hoping not to run into him, at this point I don't care; I don't have to keep up the phony, damsel act, I got what I needed.

"You nearly had me scared shitless," I wipe my forehead with a sigh of relief

Instead of responding, he issues a bubbling spittle of blood from his mouth, his eyes glossy yet crazed before he finally collapses. As he falls face forward, I notice the ax plunged in his back.

"What the-"

How the hell did an ax get into his back? I don't wanna to know. The only logical reason I can think of is that there must be somebody else in this place, someone who isn't fond of strays.

I don't even bother checking to see if he needs help or anything, instead, like the good Samaritan I am, I step over him and beat it. I decide to head the direction of where he came from (the blood trailing along the floor a clear indicator).

I'm not even feeling any more protected than before running through these halls with this wimpy, pitiful broken off sword.

Hustling through the halls, I'm beginning to regret not leaving a crumb trail. This place is confusing enough, now there's some ax-wielding threat lurking somewhere and I don't even know how to get out. My wonderful motto for life, though: when in doubt, run like the devil's the IRS.

My motto never fails. I make it to the stairs, racing down them to make it to the front doors when a heavy thud causes me to tense up and strain to listen for the source before practically jumping out of my skin at the booming voice behind me.

"Another one?"

Whipping around, I watch three, filthy looking men descend slowly towards me like a pack of wolves. Though I take note of the dagger in one of their hands, I figure I'm fast enough to make a break for the entrance, so I go for it. My hasty plan is foiled by the sudden emergence of two other grimy men from the shadows. They block my path enough where I know not even I would be fast enough to slip past them.

Welp, I'm now stuck between a rock and a hard place.

The man who originally called out to me, growls at me again.

"What are you doing here?"

I literally have nowhere to turn as they box me in. I'm completely screwed over.

"Answer him," One of his foul-smelling cronies barks.

Continuing to act mute, I try to find anyway out. My sword's so pointless (no pun intend) that I don't bother trying to threaten them with it, they do take notice of it though.

"How did she get that?" One of them, who looked like he was attacked by a rabid bunny, wonders aloud.

The leader guy or whatever scowls at me. "How did you obtain that?"

I blink.

At least I lasted longer than poor Colart- to be fair, anyone would have.

"Are you slow?" He roars, becoming agitated with me.

They have me enclosed in a tight circle. I physically have to fight against making a stink face whilst being surrounded in their less than stellar natural fragrance.

"Answer me," He continues raving. "Where did you get that sword?"

Another one of his cronies, this time, the shortest one, though burly, hisses at me. "Well, answer him, bitch!"

I don't have many...triggers. In fact, I like to consider myself a very mellow, goes-with-the-flow type of girl for the most part- a free-spirit with a mischievous streak. Long story short: there's not much that pushes me over the edge.

But...

But when my capacity for crap has been reached or my limits crossed, a duel side comes out of me, one I don't like revealing but sometimes has to come to the surface.

Now, I don't care when people call me a B in play or when I'm genuinely being a B (because 88 percent of the time I am), but- but when someone calls me a B unprovoked or without any teasing in their voice, there is going to be a problem, guaranteed.

Sharply turning to him, my voice slices through the air.

"I don't have to answer to any of you fuckers."

Most of the time, it's like a different version of me rises from within and bites back, never worrying about the consequences, unfortunately.

The men don't take kindly to my charged response, especially the ape who snapped at me. Closing me in even tighter, the leader reaches out, grabbing me by the collar of my shirt and bringing me close to his soap deprived face.

"Watch your mouth."

Not even thinking, I spit a good thick glob in his face. Probably the only moisten to his dry cracked face he'll ever experience.

That moves gets me a hard, solid knock onto the floor.

"Fucking bitch!"

"Call me that again and your balls are coming off, bud," I seethe from the floor. It wasn't even the hardest I've been hit.

Hauled to my feet, I'm given death stares on every side but it hardly fazes me.

"Who are you to be talking so unlady-like?" Dry Face questions.

"Oh, now I'm a lady," I snap. "Before I was a bitch."

"She has too much of a sharp mouth for me," One of them comments from behind.

"Maybe you're too weak, toughen up, buttercup."

I'm given another pitifully weak slap to the face- it makes me chuckle, riling them up even more.

"She's mad," Dry Face declares gruffly. "Look at her."

"I'm not crazy," I rein my laughter in. "I'm just amazed at you people."

Arched eyebrows all around. Dry Face narrows his eyes at me, risking leaning forward again.

"Are you?" He sneers.

"Yeah. If you were real thugs, like you pretend to be, you wouldn't all gang up on me like you're too weak to be taking me on one-by-one. You're not even worth getting mad about- you're just pitiful."

Though I'm stirring that pot of strife, I can see my words are getting under their skin. The burly one who called me the name scowls.

"She's just a stupid, silly girl. Let her go, she's half mad."

"Yeah, I'm just a stupid, silly girl who has bigger balls than all of you combined."

God, everything I say gets them up in a tizzy; now, it's just personally amusing ruffling their feathers.

"She has the lewdest mouth I ever heard from a female," A gap tooth man comments.

They muttered their agreements while I laughed.

"Thanks, I try."

Now, I don't think they honestly know how to take me. They're still trying to keep up that tough pack appearance but I'm clearly like a porcupine is to a dog, I'm too foreign.

"Shut your mouth," Dry Face hollers. "Now, you're going to tell us where you got that sword."

"From my ass." Seriously, where do they think I got it from?

Tired of trying to figure me out, he pulls me up yet again by the front of my shirt- though he keeps a safe spitting distance from me.

"You're lucky we don't have time to waste on you," His hot, foul breath fans my face.

"You need to learn to bite your tongue; it's going to be your downfall if you don't." My dad's words echo throughout my head as I fight back the avalanche of words building in the back of my throat.

I try...I really do, but it is physically impossible for me not to have the last word.

He's about to let me down, he's about to leave me alone, they're ready to move on, yet I curtly reply in a low voice that's meant to be heard-

"Dickless cowards."

Now my brother's words repeat through my head (I can even picture the pitiful head shake he gives me while he says it). "Sometimes, Joan, you deserve to be punched in the face."

With one solid connection with my face, I'm sent staggering back, my arms flaying as I try to regain balance. With a 'thud' I land on the floor, my butt offering no cushion support.

"Leave her be," One of the men says. "She's not worth our energy."

The others murmur in agreement. Soon their retreating footsteps can be heard as they shuffle out of the place while I'm left on the ground, holding a hand to my face, seething.

Oh, yeah, they are definitely in my death note now.

Although I'm cupping my face with my hand, I don't feel any blood, but my face is still in pain. Removing my hand, I gingerly touch my face, making sure there are no open wounds. When I find no major injuries, I can breathe a sigh of relief and flip on rage mode.

Who the hell did they think they were?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, it's easy to point the finger and make the claim that I provoked them, but who hits someone that hard over some taunting? Someone too caught up in their emotions, clearly.

As I get up, I check to make sure the sword is unharmed- seeing as I don't need it anymore busted up than it already is.

"Alright," Let's take a breather. "Time to head back."

I'm not sure where else to go so I decide to return to the only place I can think of, Elle's house. I mean, there's no better place to reorganize myself and figure out how to start finding Brent. I guess it was kind of stupid of me to assume that the instant I pulled this sword out that I would be transported to where he was. The creep who took him obviously is waiting on me somewhere but I don't know how to contact him.

Some clear-cut instructions would have been appreciated but hey, what should I expect?

It only occurs to me as the castle shrinks behind me that I've left Colart's body there to rot. Truth be told, he wasn't an awful guy, mainly just scatterbrained and too naive (I mean, he died thinking my name was Tina). Anyhow, I only focus on it for a good minute before moving onto the next hot topic issues, like will I make it back to their house before sunset? It didn't seem to take me long to travel to the castle but the trip back could hold unexpected delays.

Hell, I'll just trek through the night if that's the case; I'd hate to be stuck out here without a place to kick it for the night.

My next concern is with this pathetic sword I have. It's laughable how broken and worn it appears. Its luster may still be there but now, thanks to me, it's lost its refined dignity. I won't lie, it's a handsome sword as most would put it, but time hasn't been the kindest to it. I mean, I can imagine how it must have looked when it was in my dad's possession.

That's another thing that's rubbing me raw.

So now with this sword, it's evident that my parents have been here before and my dad may have even been king at some point. There are numerous questions regarding this but the biggest one, to me at least, is why they didn't tell us the truth, or at least allude to this past life instead of making up that entire lie about Transylvania and everything. Now I'm here looking duped because everyone here knows of them but I, their own daughter, don't know very much about them. I naturally just believe my parents, they never gave me a reason not to, until now.

But then again, would I have believed them if they did tell me the truth straight up?

Probably not. But it's the principle of it all. Plus, it would have been lovely to have a heads up about the white-haired freak that has an obsession with me.

So the walk back doesn't kill me but my back isn't in the most pristine condition. It's also kind of dark- though not necessarily late- when I arrive back at the Verith household, dragging the sword behind me making lines in the dust. Knocking on the door, I wait for someone to answer it.

The someone who happens to answer it is Oslen, who stares with those wide, precious hazel eyes of his as I walk into the cottage.

They must have just finished eating dinner because Elle and Eathelin are clearing the table of used plates and utensils. I spot Marlowe chilling by the fireplace with her father. Camus must already be in bed. They all turn their attention to me the moment I walk through the door.

Releasing a sigh, I plop down in a chair at the table. "That was a hike."

Marlowe rushes to my side like I'm a survivor who's just journeyed through the wilderness for forty days.

"Did you find it?"

I hold it up. "What do you think?"

Her face twists into confusion as she snatched it from me and looks it over.

"What happened to it?"

"Life happened to it, that's what."

It just hits me how tired I am. I've been through a lot today and playing twenty questions isn't what I look forward to when I finally have the opportunity to rest.

Elle joins us and kneels by me, glancing rapidly between the sword and me.

"Are you well?" She's so sweet and caring, it's too much for my emotion deprived soul. "Did you run into any trouble along the way?"

"Nah, it was peachy keen. A little hard finding the room but other than that it was a smooth run."

Not mentioning deaths and stuff, that's too dark for this PG-rated family.

"What happened to your face?" Marlowe points out.

"It's from before, nothing new."

"Are you certain?" Oslen throws in his two cents now. "It looks fresh."

"It's nothing," I brush them off, getting up to get away from their concern. "I need to know how to find this Tymos guy now. I thought he'd just show up once I got the sword but apparently he's not omnipresent so I have to seek him out."

"What about aunt Sephora?" Marlowe exclaims.

"She would be able to help," Elle begins hesitantly. "But it would take some time to get word to her to summon her here, plus-"

"Then let me go to her," I state.

"Are you sure? Though I trust you to be intelligent enough to maneuver your way here, the roads can become a bit confusing down the line. Are you absolutely-"

"Most definitely."

There's no time to waste in getting to Brent. I don't know what this Tymos guy has in store for me but I'm not intimidated by him or his dragon (somewhat). I'm more scared to go back home without my brother rather than be late coming home with him- my parents would not be chill.

Fixing her frown, Elle gives in with a resigned sigh. "Then it's settled, I suppose."

"Okay," I stifle a yawn. "I better head to bed now. Night."

They all wish me goodnight as I head into the girls' room where I crawl under the covers, barely paying any mind to getting out of my clothes. I'm mentally exhausted and now I have to save my feeble brain power for traveling tomorrow.

A few minutes later and with my mind almost shut down, I hear the door softly open and a weight settles on the bed next to me. Already, I can tell who it is without opening my eyes.

With my face half-sunk in the pillow, I mumble, "Yes, Marlowe?"

"How'd you know it was me?" She whispers.

"I'm psychic, didn't ya know?"

Grinning, I can sense the silent confusion on her face before it fades away and she lies down beside me.

"Are you going after that man who took your brother?"

"Mhm."

A pause.

"What are you going to do to that man who took your brother?"

"In order for you to retain your innocence, I'd rather not say it out loud."

"You're odd...but I like that about you, Joan."

Turning onto my other side, I yawn, "I know."

Crickets chirp in the background.

When she speaks next, her voice is even lower than before, like she's sharing groundbreaking, sensitive information.

"What are you going to do if you can't get your brother back?"

I remain silent for so long that she pokes my shoulder in an effort to regain my attention. Pulling the covers up even more, I reply flatly-

"You don't seem to have quite grasped my character yet. There is no 'can't' in my vocabulary. It's only do or won't, but I always will."