The Raven and the Snake

Before the First Book

Pain... utter, screaming, agony. Was this it? Was this how she was going to die? Why was it taking so long?

All the nerves in her body were on fire and she was paralyzed, completely unable to escape the flames that were hurting her, but feeling it still. The building that had collapsed on her made it impossible even to lift a hand to her face that was now covered in blood and soot and still burning.

The concrete trapping her wasn't cool to the touch as it had been only hours ago when she'd been on the second floor, on her hands and knees, scrubbing. She'd been cleaning the old theater building for hours with a dozen other people... where were they? Had they gotten out or had they also been trapped?

Every breath was agony as a weight pressed down on her ribs, cracking them against her lungs and even the small bit of air she managed to swallow was tainted with smoke that burned her throat. The feel of her own blood bubbling around in her mouth wasn't offering any reprieve from the sandpaper burn the flames made.

Why couldn't she just choke to death on her own blood and be done with it? How could death be so drawn out? Life wasn't worth living if it was this. Surely, nothing could save her now. Even if she was pulled free of the rubble and taken to a hospital, the pain would never subside now. She was too badly burned. Too badly broken.

The rubble pinning her had to be the only thing now holding her insides together. There was no way she could possibly be moved without falling apart, was there? And yet, cruelly, her phone was in tact.

Nestled safely in her pocket in its metal case she'd specifically ordered because of her tendency to drop it, the phone was still going. Unreachable, but she could hear it. The audiobook being played was what made her understand time and even under the raging inferno around her, the earbud in her left ear hadn't been dislodged and it continued merrily playing the last chapter of the book.

Her eyelids could not block out the blaze of the flames and even closed, her eyeballs burned. No tears could staunch the burn. Her eyelashes had burned away along with all her hair. She knew her face must be a cracked mess. How long before it was dust? Hadn't all the moisture keeping her alive disappeared yet?

Piano music sounded in her ear. How could it still play? The plastic casing had to be melted, grafted to her ear by now. A cheery woman announced the end of the audiobook, stating that it had been read by Jim Dale and that it was a production of Pottermore. It ended with a small advertisement.

A shifting above her made her want to look up, but her eyes were now sealed shut or no longer even existed inside her head. There was a crash and what little burning air was left whooshed from her lungs as her ribs splinted down into her organs. A shudder went through her, if she'd been free enough to really move, she would've curled inward on herself.

The pain left her then. She could no longer feel the flames licking along her face or the hot concrete pressing on her. She didn't have a body any longer. There was nothing holding her together. She was free.

Ariadne jolted up out of bed. Her breath came in swift pants. Her hair and nightdress clung to her sweaty body. She found herself standing before she realized she was even awake. Her knees buckled the moment she found her feet. Sprawling, she gasped.

Awake. She was awake now. It had just been a dream.

She had a body. Her face was pressed against the cool wooden floor of her room, her knees cushioned from the landing by the fluffy floor runner her mother had placed there so she could comfortably climb in and out of bed.

Mother. Ariadne's hand moved to her neck and followed the long gold chain to the heavy locket. She pulled the locket into her view and popped open the catch. Twin pictures sat in front of her face now. One the left was her father, a handsome young man with a somewhat gaunt face. He was still boyish, his features never having had a chance to mature before his untimely death at 15. He'd had well groomed, wavy, black hair that he kept tidy. His eyes were brown and serious, but there was softness in the way he held his mouth as he looked at her through the photo.