“What’s Shard?”

Bridgette stared at the computer screen, watching the seconds tick off on the timer. “A beautiful land,” she said. “A video game. Through the Dream Chest, to the kingdom of Shard where… she’s still there. She’s really there.”

Adam Lawson spun the computer to face him. “What is this?” he asked. “Some computer game?”

Bridgette nodded wordlessly. Adam tried to figure out the website. “There’s no logoff button,” he observed. “Why is this clock still going?”

“I don’t know,” Bridgette said.

“Where’s Rose? What is this website? If I log in, can I find her?”

“I don’t know,” Bridgette said again.

Adam reached into his satchel and pulled out a second laptop, one for his personal use. He flipped it open, and entered the same website address. Bridgette leaned over to see the result of this effort.

“404 error? This is the same website, isn’t it?” he said. He began entering variations, each getting the same result.

“I’ll try to get her back,” said Bridgette.

“Wait! What is this Shard place? What does this timer mean? Did she run away?”

“She did run away,” Bridgette murmured, more to herself than to Rose’s father.

“But where to?” he asked.

Bridgette looked up at the desperate man. “I’ll find her for you,” she promised. “I’ll bring her back.” She headed out the door back to Locust street.

“Hey wait!” said Adam. “Where? Come back!” he kept calling out, but Bridgette had already hopped on her bicycle and was peddling home.

She drifted down Locust, ears not hearing the traffic, her eyes tuning out her surroundings save for the few yards ahead of her. Her mind was focused, reflecting on what she had learned, and what she had to do.

Rose’s father couldn’t understand Shard. She scarcely understood it herself. Did Rose physically disappear to play in Shard? Did Bridgette? Was there some reason that her father couldn’t get the website open himself? Maybe the denizens of Shard simply didn’t want grownups to come to their world.

But she did, and could. As much as she loved the Dream Chest, a cold fear began to prick up her shoulders as she thought about that beautiful land. Rose did go to Shard. She disappeared from the real world into who-knows-where. And when Bridgette went, she must have disappeared too. Her parents didn’t kick her off the computer when it got too late, she reflected. They would normally. She had disappeared too. Except Bridgette kept coming back. Or she had so far. Twice.

Perhaps Rose came back a couple of times. Maybe more than a couple. And after enough adventures, she married Maxwell and decided to stay. Forever.

The thought made her break out in a cold sweat. Would she do the same? Suppose she overthrew the Scarlet Tempest, and Alain became King of Shard. No doubt he would love her, propose to her, and she could reign at his side as Queen. She trembled in desire, imagining Alain in regal robes, herself in beautiful gowns, and him holding her close as they sealed their marital vows with a kiss…

…and she would never leave. Why would she leave? And if she stayed, what would that do to her mother and father? To Paul?

She stopped suddenly, as she almost crossed a red light from inattention. She had to stay in the real world, a while longer at least. The light turned green, and Bridgette hurried home. Twin emotions pulsed through her body: a giddy excitement to see Alain again, and a fear of being trapped in the world of Shard, unable to get back home.

But she had to. Isn’t that what her father said? There was only one person who could save Rose, and that was her.

Finally, she was home. She scarcely said hello to her father before she rushed up the stairs. She dropped her book bag on the floor and turned on the computer. She typed in the website, and logged in, hands shaking from excitement. She could tell herself that she was only going back for Rose’s sake, but that wasn’t true: she was rapidly becoming as addicted as the other girl was.

Welcome to the Dream Chest announced the website. Now it was familiar. Without hesitation, she typed in her password.

Welcome back said the screen, and the familiar whirlpool of sensations spun about her head. She closed her eyes, now used to the journey. What happens to me while I’m gone? She wondered. Would Dad see me on the computer? Or would he see an empty chair with the computer on?

Slowly she sat up. Her body was fresh and pretty again. By now, she felt more natural in this perfectly sculpted body than her real one. Like before, her head was spinning from the transition, but it cleared quickly.

She was lying on Sir Tristam’s bed. Slowly she opened her eyes, and rolled to her side. Bickle, Sir Tristam and Alain were examining a map and snacking on lumps of bread.

“I’m back.” she murmured, sitting up.

“Good morning!” said Bickle Wa. “I was hoping you’d return soon.”

Alain smiled warmly at her. “At last,” he said. “My heart aches when you’re away.”

“Is my girl awake?” asked old Tristam. “Wonderful! Do you remember your spells?”

Bridgette forced her hands together, focused her energy, and spread them apart. The globe of light manifested between her hands, glowing like a beautiful candle. But it didn’t fill her with joy like it used to.

“You’re so talented,” said Alain. He stood and opened his arms wide. Without thinking, Bridgette leapt into his embrace. As they tightly clutched, Bridgette almost forgot the reason she had come back.

“I missed you so much,” Alain said softly. “Promise me you’ll stay longer this time?”

“I… I want to,” she said with yearning, as she gazed on his handsome, boyish features. But a doubt sat in the back of her mind. Did Maxwell say those same words to Rose?

“Where’s Rosie?” she asked.

All three men turned their heads away, as if the name made them embarrassed.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Oh,” said Alain.

“Ummm,” said Sir Tristan.

“Well…” said Bickle Wa.

“Come on!” she said. “What happened? She ran away, didn’t she?”

They all nodded, as one.

“I know we didn’t leave on the best of terms,” said Alain. “But I left her an open invitation to rejoin us. She never did.”

“It will be alright,” said Sir Tristan. “Bickle found us ship passage.”

“Indeed!” said Bickle. “The Fair Maiden. She will take us to Siram Port in the morning.”

Alain nodded. “Our mission is well on its way.”

“And I can teach you a few new spells before then,” said Sir Tristan.

“No,” said Bridgette, shaking her head. “No, I’m going to find Rosie.”

“Why?” asked Bickle.

“She’s my responsibility,” said Bridgette.

“I don’t see how,” said Alain. “She never seemed devoted to our cause.”

“And she did abandon you. She could have betrayed you, for all we know. And the Scarlet Tempest awaits,” said Sir Tristam.

“That doesn’t matter,” said Bridgette. “I’m going to find her.” And with that she headed out the door, in spite of the protests.

She stepped out of Sir Tristan’s chambers into another world. Deep clouds concealed the Sun’s golden rays, leaving a morning mist from the waters that shrouded the town in a dense fog. She shivered as she trotted through the streets, each alley looking strangely like the others.

There weren’t too many souls in the street… guards wearing mail, fishermen heading to and from their boats, fishmongers selling mussels, and traders with goods from who-knows-where. She glanced at every face just long enough to see that they weren’t Rose, and hurried on to the next gathering of people. Not surprisingly, she got herself good and lost.

She’s here, thought Bridgette. At least, she assumed so. But where?

Perhaps she should have learned a few more spells from Sir Tristan. Maybe there was a way to make her magic globe point in the direction she wanted to go. Looking behind her, Bridgette determined that wasn’t an option. She had no idea how to return to Sir Tristan’s shack. And she suspected her friends wouldn’t be too sympathetic about her search for Rose.

Walking around the market place, she scoped for the girl, but found herself no closer. And a strange feeling started to creep over her shoulders. It felt like every man, woman and child was staring at her, only to look away in haste when she returned the gaze. Almost like at High School when they would moo at her and call her a fat cow. But this was different. Their eyes weren’t laughing. She couldn’t identify it. She couldn’t even be sure it wasn’t just her imagination. But…

She grabbed a guard by his chainmail sleeve. “Have you seen my friend?” she asked.

“Good evening, milady,” said the guardsman. “How can I be of service?”

“My friend!” she repeated. “Brown hair, tied back in a ponytail. About my age.”

“Of course!” said the guard. “That sounds like the girl at the Singing Pig. She looks just like that! We haven't seen her before. Did she come to town with you?”

“Yes,” said Bridgette. “How did you know I’m new to town?”

“Why I ain’t seen you before,” said the guard. “I know most people here… Harling Bay ain’t such a big place. So it was a fair guess, right?”

Bridgette stepped back, uneasy. The guard’s cheeks reddened, as if he were embarrassed, somehow. Bridgette thought back three months to the party Ashley was throwing, and when the police came to the door when the neighbors complained about the loud music. The real-life police officer was anything but embarrassed. Why would a town guard…?

“Can I be of any other service to you, milady?” said the guard.

“No,” she said.

“My name’s Rackard, milady. If you need any aid in our dear town of Darling Bay…”

“Where is this… Singing Pig?”

“Down this street a ways, to your left. Can’t miss it. There’s a sign on it. With a pig.”

“I never would have guessed,” said Bridgette. She hurried away in the given direction. Sneaking a peek over her shoulder, she saw Rackard take a few steps after her, only to give up and go in another direction. What was going on in this town?

She found the tavern quick enough. The dangling dancing pig sign was an obvious marker. She opened the door and stepped inside.

The interior was dank and smoky. Much like the Windsong Tavern, there was a counter where the proprietor prepared food and drink. But here, all the furniture was rearranged in a semi circle, surrounding a woman who sang beside the glowing hearth. Rosie’s fingers danced across a lute, and her voice sang as clear as crystal.

Sit down beside me, I mean you no harm.

Sit down beside me, a new tune to learn.

Here are three guineas, your mommy to pay.

So lay down your yarn until the next market day.

She sat down beside him, the grass it was green.

The day was the fairest that she’d ever seen.

The look in your eyes beats a morning in May

I could sit down beside you till the next market day.

The song sounded vaguely familiar, but Bridgette couldn’t place it. Rose had a wonderful voice. Bridgette wondered, was it her real voice, or one provided for her by the Dream Chest?

When the girl concluded her song, her audience burst into applause. They cheered, hooted, and tossed silver and gold coins to her. She smiled gratefully, looking innocent, her eyes tearing up with joy at the crowd’s appreciation.

“Rose!” called out Bridgette.

The girl peeked through the crowd, picking out the voice. When she saw Bridgette, her face froze in apparent terror. Quickly, she swept up some money from the floor and pushed her way out of the tavern’s back door.

Bridgette ducked out through the front, and ran around the building. She saw Rose in the alleyway moving towards her. Turning, Rose tried to run in the opposite direction, but Bridgette caught up with her in a burst of speed.

“Rose!” She cried. “Don’t run away!”

“My name,” growled the girl, “Is Rosie.”

“Rose, Rosie, what difference does it make?”

“Rosie is the name they know. And it’s the name I like!”

“You’re not from here, Rosie!” said Bridgette, breathlessly.

“Yeah? Well neither are you.”

The two of them faced each other, Bridgette staring at the other girl. Her eyes were filled with anger, embarrassment, and a passion she didn’t fully understand. “Why are you still here?” Bridgette asked.

“Why not?”

“Because your parents are worried about you. Your picture is on missing person reports!”

“Why should I care?” snapped Rosie. “They love me here. You saw them in there! I sing, and they give me money. I smile, and someone comes to protect me. I don’t like someone, and I can just point and get them beaten up.”

“You’re not from here,” said Bridgette. “You belong on Earth.”

“And you don’t?”

Bridgette stiffened a little bit. “I’m just going to help Alain overthrow the Scarlet Tempest and-“

“Oh bull!” yelled Rosie, her eyes flashing like fire. “Don’t give me a load of crap like you actually care who rules this place or not? You love Alain. And you like adventure, so you went to the prince with a good sob story. I like nice men, so I stayed with Maxwell. But you don’t care about this evil Queen any more than I care about Max’s harvest.”

Bridgette stepped back. “You want to be stuck here?” she said.

Rosie glared at her with pure venom, with such a piercing look that Bridgette felt naked. “You’re really funny,” she said, with no humor in her voice. “The people here see you like that silly avatar… the way you wanted to be seen. But someone from Earth can see the real you. You must be the most insecure girl I’ve ever met! Got tired of people calling you a fat cow, so you made yourself look like a pretty, blonde toothpick?”

Her words struck into Bridgette’s chest like a knife. “How… how can you… I’m not fat here!”

“You’re fat anywhere you are,” said Rosie with a smirk. “Maybe Alain can’t see it. But I can. You couldn’t stay away from the cupcakes, so you came here to pretend you’re someone else? You can fool Alain, but you can’t fool me.”

Bridgette’s hands curled into claws, and she went for Rosie’s throat.

Rosie slapped her hands away. Bridgette grabbed her hair and yanked. Rosie pulled back, and the two of them fell to the ground, Bridgette smacking her as hard as she could.

“Help!” yelled Rosie. She curled up, blocking Bridgette’s blows with her arms and hands.

“Take it back!” yelled Bridgette. “I’m not fat, I’m not fat, I’m not FAT!”

“Halt!” shouted a voice behind her. Bridgette kept throwing her punches until a heavy gauntlet grabbed her shoulder and lifted her to her feet.

“Let me go!” shouted Bridgette. But the guard shoved her back, where two of his fellows grabbed her arms and held them locked behind her back. He stepped forward and gently helped Rosie to her feet.

“Lady Rosie,” said Rackard. “Are you all right?”

Tears stained Rosie’s eyes. In the flash of a second she went from a beastly girl to a defenseless waif. “She tried to kill me!” she squealed. “She was jealous of my voice, and tried to steal the money I worked so hard for!”

Shocked, Bridgette found herself without words. Rackard turned to her, his kindly face now turned hard and cold. “Take her to the jailhouse,” he ordered. “I’ll get Lady Rosie’s report, and we’ll see what the judge has to say.”

As the guards pulled on Bridgette’s arms, she had a flashing second by which to see Rosie’s face. For a single instant, Rosie’s facade cracked: the tears broke, as did her act of helplessness. And Bridgette saw the self-satisfied smirk on Rosie’s lips. A guard lowered a dark hood over Bridgette’s eyes, and she saw nothing else.