Questionings
The woman with gray hair and wrinkled skin approached me with a curious, gentle expression on her weathered face. Her eyes sparkled with genuine interest as she studied me, clearly intrigued by my unexpected presence in the castle kitchen.
— So, my dear, what is the reason for your presence here? — she asked in a soft and welcoming voice.
With a deep sigh, I began to share with her the strange events that had led me to Eldoria. I tried to summarize as much as possible, from the moment I fell asleep in my bed in New York to the moment I woke up in a stunning sunflower field in this mysterious world.
As I spoke, the gray-haired woman and other cooks began to gather around us, their expressions ranging from incredulity to fascination. My story seemed to have captured their imagination, making me the hottest topic of conversation in the kitchen at that moment.
Bethany, or Beth as they seemed to affectionately call her, was particularly excited. Her eyes sparkled with excitement as she approached, eager to learn more about the world I had so vividly described.
— You said the buildings in New York are so tall they touch the sky? And that there are bright lights everywhere, even at night? she asked, her light brown eyes lighting up with wonder and curiosity.
Smiling at her excitement, I nodded and continued to share details about New York's modern architecture, towering skyscrapers, and twinkling lights. With each description I gave, Bethany's eyes widened even more, and she seemed more and more enchanted and amazed by the wonders of the world I called home.
As I spoke, I realized that my story was serving not only as a welcome distraction for busy cooks, but also as a window into a world unfamiliar and fascinating to them. And by sharing my experience and culture with them, I was also learning more about Eldoria and the wonderful people who inhabited this enchanted kingdom.
The sun was already setting, dyeing the sky with shades of orange and pink, when Antony appeared again, his imposing presence filling the space around him. The relaxed, friendly atmosphere I was enjoying with Bethany and the other cooks was instantly replaced by palpable tension.
With firm and determined steps, Antony approached me and grabbed me roughly by the arm, his fingers squeezing tightly. His face was serious, and his piercing eyes studied me intensely.
“You, come with me now,” he said, his voice full of authority and urgency.
Bethany gave me a worried, scared look, her brown eyes full of uncertainty and worry. She didn't say a word, just turned and continued walking towards her house, leaving me alone with Antony.
My heart began to beat faster in my chest, a feeling of apprehension forming in my stomach. Questions and concerns swirled in my mind. What could I have done wrong? Had something I said or done in the kitchen provoked this reaction from Antony?
As Antony led me firmly, I tried to remain calm, taking deep breaths to calm my nerves. I was determined to face whatever came, mentally preparing myself for whatever confrontation or explanation was necessary.
As we walked together, the silence between us was almost deafening, only broken by the sound of our footsteps echoing on the stone floor. The uncertainty of what was to come increased the tension in the air, making me wish that everything would be clarified as quickly as possible.
The room Antony took me to was austere and gloomy, with no windows to let in sunlight or to give any indication of the outside world. The bare stone walls and cold stone floor contributed to an oppressive atmosphere, making the environment even more intimidating. In the center of the room, there was a sturdy wooden table and two simple chairs, where I was forced to sit.
With a sudden movement, Antony placed me in the chair, his face serious and his actions determined, clearly trying to intimidate me with his dominant posture. He was clearly taking on the role of the "bad cop," and I couldn't help but wonder where the "good cop" was in this tense situation.
The silence in the room was palpable, only broken by the faint crackling of the candles that Antony lit to illuminate the gloomy space. The dancing candle flames cast dancing shadows on the stone walls, creating an even more sinister and tense atmosphere.
With the room now lit by candles, Antony turned to me, his piercing eyes studying me intensely. His voice sounded hoarse and authoritative, filled with expectation and curiosity.
“I want you to tell me in as much detail as possible about New York,” he said, his voice echoing softly in the silence of the room.
Realizing the seriousness of his demand, I took a deep breath to calm my nerves and prepared to share with him everything I knew about my hometown. Even though the situation was intimidating, I was determined to cooperate and provide the information he wanted, hoping to clear up any misunderstandings and ease the growing tension between us.
With a mix of apprehension and determination, I began to describe New York, from its towering skyscrapers and bustling streets to its famous landmarks and everyday life in the city I called home. As I spoke, Antony listened attentively, his eyes fixed on me, trying to understand and assimilate every detail about the world I had left behind.
As I talked about New York, I noticed that Antony was becoming more and more involved in my narrative. His piercing gray eyes missed no detail, capturing every gesture and inflection in my voice. As I described the city's towering skyscrapers, bustling crowds, and iconic places, I could see a small sparkle of curiosity and fascination shining in their eyes.
Sometimes, as I spoke, I noticed that the corners of his lips turned up slightly, almost forming a smile. It was as if the "bad cop" mask he tried to maintain was slowly slipping away, revealing a more human and accepting side. I felt a silent satisfaction as I realized that my words were somehow reaching him, breaking down his defenses and softening his hard stance.
With a touch of sarcasm and humor, I challenged their arguments and questions, using my words to deconstruct their façade of authority. With each insightful response and each humorous remark, I could see a subtle change in Antony's expression, a lessening of the rigidity in his countenance, and an opening to more genuine dialogue.
Despite the initial tension of the situation, I was determined to use my communication skills to build a bridge between us, to find some common ground where we could understand each other. And as I continued to talk, captivating him with stories and details about my life in New York, I felt a sense of triumph rise within me, knowing that I was breaking down his barriers with every word I said.
Then suddenly Antony asked me if I practiced witchcraft... —Do you practice witchcraft? Antony's sudden questioning about witchcraft made my heart freeze for a moment. My mind immediately conjured up images of the terrible witch trials in history, of innocent women persecuted and condemned for practices that were nothing more than superstition and mass hysteria. I knew very well how these stories ended, and I didn't want to be another victim of paranoia and ignorance.
With my breath catching in my throat, I struggled to remain calm in the face of the accusation implicit in his question. My mind raced for a suitable answer as I felt the weight of suspicion hanging over me. I couldn't allow him to mislabel me, not when my life was literally in his hands.
- No! — I responded quickly, almost desperately, my words coming out in a hurried whisper. — I don't practice witchcraft at all. It's just a misunderstanding, I swear!
My voice was shaking slightly, and I could feel the urgency in my words as I tried to convince him of my innocence. I looked straight into his gray eyes, desperately hoping he would see the truth in my gaze and believe my words. I couldn't risk being judged unfairly, not when my only hope of returning home depended on Antony's good will.
Antony tilted his head, his gray eyes searching mine with piercing intensity. The silence between us was almost palpable, charged with the gravity of his question and my hasty response.
- A misunderstanding? — he repeated slowly, each word weighing in the air as if he was assessing the sincerity behind them. — You understand what people think about witchcraft, don't you?
Fear mixed with determination inside me. I knew I was in a delicate situation, but I also knew I needed to stand up for my truth.
— I understand, yes. But these stories, these accusations, are based on fear and ignorance. I'm not a witch, Antony. I swear by what is most sacred to me.
I tried to convey all my sincerity through my eyes, seeking to connect with him on a deeper level, beyond the suspicions and fear that surrounded us. Each second that passed seemed like an eternity, each breath measured and tense.
Antony finally looked away, seeming to consider my words. I felt my heart tighten, hoping he would find understanding and trust in me.
“Very well,” he said finally, his voice softening a little. — I'll believe you, for now. But be aware that people talk, and it's easy to get carried away by rumors.
A sigh of relief escaped my lips, and a fragile smile appeared on my face.
— Thank you, Antony. You won't regret trusting me.
He nodded, a faint smile touching his lips.
— I hope not, on both our sides