One Fine Morning

Nathalie squirmed, rubbing her fingers along the cottony mattress. She moaned a tad bit as she shifted to the side with a little stretch.

Her left cheek pressed to the cozy, velvet pillows like some puffy clouds. Her right foot toppled to another, relieved to sink her weary legs. Warmth enveloped her once again as soon as the comfort succumbed to the call of another round of rest.

But she could never get an ounce of it when she could feel how her clothes that hug her body were uncomfortable, especially the metal piece of the belt and the enamored buttons that nudged her skin.

'Huh? I'm still wearing this on the bed?!' Although she groaned while her eyes closed. Her hand didn't slink onto her attire. She didn't take them off and wanted to sleep for the rest of the day.

When her clothes were getting out of the way, she knew she had to get up.

'Damn, I'm really hurting now. I can sense how it's slowly stinging me.'

Palms anchored against the billowing bedsheets; she rubbed her eyes to take in every ray of light she could get to see her bedroom clearer.

Eyes soon flashed like two beams, and noticed her dress against the white and purple warm quilts and sheets.

'In all seriousness, where the fuck am I?'

Nathalie began to think that she was just in her room. The very fabric that she adored back in the mansion remained the same. It was something she sought solace every time her body and mind grew weary from daylight work.

'Did I pass out last night, new year? I don't think I have taken a drink of any of the—'

Sudden onset of vertigo conquered her, and she shut her eyes while giving her temples some minutes of kneading.

Her actions stopped when she remembered the very bright lights and loud horns that boomed as inevitable doom.

'Am I dreaming? Isn't this somehow my bed?'

Nathalie slapped her cheek.

'That didn't hurt, was it too soft…' Then she kneaded it again. She decided to pinch her cheeks for a minute with increment force, and until then, it sure stung like hell. 'I guess I'm not…'

Her thoughts swirled back from the recent events: her family and even to her last moments with Jonathan.

'Yes! Where's Jonathan—Oh. No! Where'd he go?! My goodness, what on earth is happening to me...'

Jonathan, of what she could remember, protected her from that crazy nutjob. So much she didn't want to believe and would rather call herself beyond help from the insanity when magic came out horrifyingly. It was no joke and caused havoc on the surroundings.

Withal, she began to look back when Jonathan was with him, bearing the same reaction from Mystique.

The bodyguard she had for quite some time now, suffered grave injuries from the witch's wrath. But even after all of that, he still prioritized her safety.

No matter how she insisted, there was no time to waste.

Memories of yesteryear was too much for her to bear, for many things that happened. One thing that she couldn't get it off her mind was how she didn't hesitate pulling the trigger after grabbing the gun.

Shooting her without any remorse was one of the last things she could do as a person trying to live a normal life.

Nathalie drew her knees close to her chest as she propped her chin on it.

'I need to check him. I must do something. I'm happy that he believed in me no matter how crazy it sounded.'

On the flip side, she had to tell Jonathan brief words on dealing with it to save her life. More than anything, she was thankful for how he moved and decided his action and yet to know further details.

Now that she's in her mansion, all alone, made her succumb to loneliness and confusion.

All she wanted to know were answers, to begin with.

Then she thought of Mystique Blackwell, one of the great villains she had created from her novel.

'Mystique Blackwell, the Northern Ice Witch, the future Grand Duchess of the North…' More titles spewed in her mind, her demeanor, and her traits that call for her character. 'The Conniving Villain…'

Even if it was real or not, the crazy thing Nathalie did, as an author, was incorporating what she knew against her.

Foremost, she thought what could possibly cause the sudden appearance of Mystique, and suddenly came for her jugular. Believing it was all but an act was alright but paired with a stalker vibe, and magic was out of this world.

'She was really a crazy psycho.'

Speaking of which, Nathalie bit her lip as she thought how she only added a particular detail of Mystique.

The witch had a particular personality disorder that wasn't fully integrated throughout the novel.

All she wanted to do was to groan, but her throat hurt so bad that it was more than a lump that caused abrasions in it.

Nathalie tried to scream on top of her lungs, but it only let out a ghastly breath. Her voice cracked nearly inaudible that it was hard for her to utter a word.

'This can't be! Have I lost my voice? Not that I screamed at karaoke all night, not to that extent.'

On the bed, she had her sling bag and the manuscript that she held dear. At the moment, it was like a light in her path that she immediately drew into it. Her fingers worked their way to the manuscript. However, she crumpled it and checked every page.

For a while, she skimmed over the paragraphs, noting the essential events that she wrote for some time already.

Only then she sighed in relief.

It was complete.

Then to the sling bag, she got other items and accessories like her expensive set of jewelry, the latest smartphone, sunglasses, and even her wallet were in it.

'Even my make-up bag is here, with a lot of items worth several thousands of dollars each—'

Nathalie gasped when she saw the item that would save her life. She mentioned how Theodore and all of the servants left and took their vacation, which meant she was all alone in the mansion.

Her hands immediately reached to the item that was on the bed.

'My phone!'