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CHAPTER ELEVEN

Caitlin found herself walking, in the twilight, by herself, as the mist spread over the Isle of Skye. Her party long ended, she’d felt the need to take a long walk, to clear her head. As she walked, she looked down, and saw the mossy terrain, and noticed her bare feet were sinking into it, and she wondered why she hadn’t worn shoes.

She looked up, and found herself crossing a small, arched footbridge, and as she looked over the edge, she saw a drop of hundreds of feet, down into the raging ocean. She somehow knew that if she slipped off this bridge, even an inch, her life would be over.

She crossed the bridge, which seemed to take forever, and as she reached the other side, she looked up, and through the mist, there came into view an enormous castle—the largest and most fantastical castle she had ever seen, replete with arches and spires in every direction, and encircled by a moat. As she approached, slowly, the drawbridge lowered, creaking, and then landed with a slam.

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