Sally collapsed beside Lavinia, who muttered, “You can’t … dress me, kid. Gotta be naked if…”

The clouds brightened for a moment and Sally held her breath but the light dimmed and she fluttered like a nervous chicken. “I’ll finish getting our things together.” She ran back to their home of the night before, feverish to be off the island.

In the grey interior of the strange beehive building, she calmed again as she felt the solemnity and goodness of those hardy believers who had built it millennium ago at the very edge of the known world. Lavinia had been wrong about them.

She pulled out the pentagram again but it was just a cold thing, the golden wood dirty grey, the emotionless little figures faintly menacing. Was this religious object in conflict with some energy here? She wanted to say, “There’s no fight, brothers. We’re on the same side.” But Lavinia would have heard.

In the weak voice which was all she could manage, Lavinia called, “…babe… get … ass out here…”

“Coming, coming!” Panicked, Sally shoved the pentagram into her pocket, snatched up the few remaining loose things and jammed them in the duffel, cinched the bag shut. She hurried back out.

A beam of sunshine, exactly like she’d pictured, sliced through the weakening clouds. Motes danced in the gold which glorified the western wall. Like a gaffed fish, Lavinia struggled to reach the glorious light and her panic was terrible to see.

The beam swept like a searchlight up the wall and out to sea, leaving everything greyer and more dismal.

“Oh fuck,” Sally cursed miserably. “But hey, the sun is breaking through. Um, maybe we should be outside the walls? Shall I drag you through the tunnel?”

But Lavinia was nearly an animal again from the terror of paralysis. Her eyes rolled and drool ran from the sides of her mouth.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’m going to drag you out onto the terrace, alright?” Lavinia managed a flicker of a nod. Leaving their possessions, Sally lifted her shoulders. Her long black hair spread in a messy cloud. Sally winced as she dragged the nude form over rocks but comforted herself with the thought that Lavinia would be fine with some sunlight.

They reached the courtyard. She lay Lavinia on the openest patch of grass and said, “Just a quick run back and then I won’t leave your side.” Lavinia, eyes closed, fought to keep still rather than struggle to move.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sally yelled, and ran back through the tunnel. It was like a nightmare where you try to get all your belongings together but something slips out and then another thing and you grab it but lose something else.

The green duffel was right where she left it. She grabbed the rough fabric, slung it over her shoulder, armpits dank with sweat. Hurrying back through the tunnel she tripped over a small stone. Staggering off balance with the weight of the bag, she managed to get her feet under her center of balance again and burst out into sunlight –

Sunlight! The mist was clearing!

A rock clacked and she froze with terror, as if a cobra had struck and missed by an inch.

Lavinia arched, roared her orgasm cry and surged to her feet, a perfect target, blind panic still clamped on her face. Sally sagged with relief: her nerves were jangling for nothing. She wrapped her arms around Lavinia and waited for Lavinia to hold her tight.

A rock clacked again… or was it something metallic?

She screamed “Get down!” But had she screamed get out by accident?

Lavinia fled, her whole being focused getting away. Sally, arms around Lavinia, was yanked along. And then they were over the cliff and there was only air below. There was nobody in sight; the other Guide Michael had mentioned was not there shooting at them. But Lavinia flew westward, away from the rising sun, and her arms stayed raised. Nothing held Sally except her own scrabbling, slipping hands…

Shrill needles shot through her body. As she lost the last hold she screamed in absolute terror.

And in her scream, in a helpless flood, came the words which had stomped and pounded in her brain for days. Words she would have died rather than say, words she could never take back.

“Fuck you, get out, you’re not welcome in my home!”

Did Lavinia try to catch her? All she could be sure of was the whistle of air.

She’d have given anything to pass out in terror but she saw clearly the ground which would smash her, deadly as the unforgivable words which had just smashed her life.

The great white mass rushed up….