Page 1 of Dance of Thorns

1

DOVE

The whole worldis on fire.

Searing embers swirl through the air, stinging my flesh like angry wasps. I choke on hot ash and the smell of death, wheeze smoke through my cracked lips pressed to the floor.

My head spins, chaotic fractals of light exploding like bombs, my ears ringing.

What’s happening.

Where am I.

Why am I on fire.

There’s a crashing, splintering sound, barely audible over the roar of the flames and the whoosh of the oxygen being sucked out of the room and my lungs.

Men scream and yell. I hear the staccatopop-pop-popof gunfire.

Hot, sticky wetness oozes down my face. I cry out pathetically, my voice choking off when I try to move my arm, pain slicingthrough my bones like a knife. I try the other arm, still coughing up ash as I bring a hand to my scalp.

Where the fuck is my hair.

I touch only bald skin, marred with razor bumps and nicks, dusted with ash and little specks of spitting ember fireflies. I jerk my hand back, and see sticky red blood coating my fingers.

More screaming and yelling. A voice, over and over.

“Dove!”

“DOVE!”

“MS. MARCHETTI!!!”

They’re looking for someone.

I try to form words, call for help.

I’m here.

Please, come save me.

And whoever else you’re looking for…

Save her, too.

Save my friend.

The angry wasps fill my vision, stinging my eyes and scorching my flesh as I cry out for help through bleeding lips. The walls around me creak, groaning for mercy as flames engulf the world.

What’s happening.

Where am I.

But it’s the next thought that turns my blood to ice, even with flames licking across the floor toward me and hot smoke searing my lungs.

WHO am I.

My mind races, the gears turning laboriously as I try to connect dots I can’t see. Tears seep from the corners of my eyes, running down my face together with the sticky red blood to pool under my cheek, pressed to the floor.