Set Your Sails...to Atlantis || Peter Pan, OUAT

Chapter Ten - Impossibility

~ Davina

My head is swimming, I feel unstable, his words and mine jumbling together in one incoherent mass. Sickness deep in my stomach keeps me moving. But my breath catches, and I have to take a moment to just breathe.

How could I have been so stupid? So blind?

He is a monster. Always has been, always will be.

This very notion sends me on my way again, weaving through the crowd once more at such a pace I almost stampede over the crew.

"Davina, are you alright?" Ramirez asks.

"Hm? What? Oh, yes. I just...I'm exhausted. Where will we be resting for the night?" I ask, shaking with nervous energy.

"Not far from here. You'll see our trucks, and a small makeshift camp the Atlanteans have put together for us. It's close to the main road. Cross over it from here and it's right there. You need help finding it?" Doc explains, his brow raised in concern.

"No, I-I'll manage. Goodnight," I reply curtly, quietly.

My legs can't seem to carry me fast enough away from them all. I grit my teeth against the tears that linger, blur my vision and burn my eyes. I blink furiously, letting them fall and wiping them away before anyone can see. Finally, I find the makeshift campsite. The remaining vehicles, now covered in dents and scratches, separate us from the main road and our sleeping arrangements, a bonfire prepared for us in the centre of a haphazardly-arranged pillows and blankets, and some low tables laden with food. I take a couple of the pillows and lay them out slightly away from the crew, taking advantage of the little privacy we have. But as I meticulously organise the placement, my energy plummets and I fall from my kneeling position to my side, my spirit deflated. I detach my sword and tuck it just under the cushions, pulling my knees up to my chest, squeezing them to slow my racing heartbeat and mind, and rest my forehead on my folded forearms, my breathing rapid and shallow.

How could I let this become such a bloody mess?

I feel as though the weight of the Lost City and the miles of seawater is suddenly resting on my shoulders, and I hurriedly remove my jacket and boots, trying to relieve some of the pressure. The moment my feet are planted on the ground and my shoulders are exposed to the warm air, I feel my heartbeat slow and my breathing become deeper. I take one, long breath and hold it until I feel as though my lungs may burst.

Looking at my jacket, I see the tarot cards spilling from the inside pocket and my mouth fills with the sour taste of disgust. Goddamn pieces of paper. I pick them up, lay them out in front of me. The Moon. Death. The Magician.

Somehow, the cards show no folds, no creases, no peeling layers. After everything, they are perfectly intact. I suppose that's what you get when you mess with voodoo. Something compels me to pick one up and inspect it; the card itself is solid, almost as if it's made from a sheet of metal, but the coating is just as smooth as any other paper, except soaked in a rich, purple ink. The images are embossed with gold, and there's an iridescence of green overlaying the intricate designs. Death. The skeletal figure, dressed in armour riding a horse through a field with people begging on their knees. Even the Priest, hands clasped in desperation.

"You will lose something valuable..." The words echo in my head.

What do I have left that's valuable enough to lose, so valuable that some kind of spirit feels it's important enough to communicate to me through not just pieces of card, but through Facilier? Nausea bubbles up inside me. I flip it over, Facilier's emblem with two palms bearing the Eyes of Horus staring up at me. As I tilt the card towards the fading light, Facilier's face flashes across, his sinister grin stretching across his face, his eyes...watching me. A quiet gasp escapes, my brow furrowing. Could he...? Not impossible, and highly likely. But why?...