Marisol ended up in a dimly lit chamber, the air thick with ancient magic and foreboding. Her grip on the dagger tightened, its energy pulsing against her skin as if urging her forward.
She didn’t know where she was or how she got there. All she did was allow her senses to lead her, and it seemed this was where she was meant to go.
With each step she took, the sense of familiarity grew, though she couldn’t quite place it. Marisol’s heart rate picked up as it finally clicked, the memories of her immediate surroundings sharpening. It was here, in this very space, that Guinevere had been frozen in stasis.
In her dream, it had taken the shape of a forest, but this was its physical form. Guinevere was still here, too, her frozen figure even more menacing in person with an impossibly dark aura.
With hesitant steps, Marisol approached the still figure, her grip on the hilt of the dagger almost bruising now as she used it to steel herself. This was it. This was where she would confront Guinevere and put an end to the chaos once and for all. All she had to do was strike.
But just as she began to lift the dagger out of its protective sheath, she was lifted off her feet by an unseen force and sent crashing to the ground a few feet away. Pain shot through her body as she struggled to regain her bearings, the dagger slipping from her grasp and falling to the floor with a clatter.
A chilling laughter suddenly filled the chamber, sending shivers down Marisol’s spine. Slowly, Guinevere’s frozen form began to stir, her eyes snapping open immediately after. They glowed with malicious intent as she slowly approached Marisol.
“Did you truly believe you could challenge me, little hybrid?” Guinevere’s voice reverberated with power, each word sending an unsettling feeling coursing through Marisol’s veins. “You are but a mere pawn in my grand design. We wanted a sacrifice, and you made yourself available.”