Now that she looked more closely, Amy realized the statue was female.
It was incredibly detailed. The dark material it had been carved from glistened faintly in the light, giving it an almost lifelike quality. The features were delicate, the folds of its clothing carefully etched into the stone, and even the strands of hair seemed to have been carved individually.
Amy stared at it.
It was calling her.
She couldn't explain how she knew. There was no sound coming from the statue, at least none that she could hear with her ears, but she felt it all the same.
Something was drawing her toward it.
Amy made her way across the room. She walked slowly. Each step echoed through the empty building.
Amy placed both her hands against the statue.
Cold, but nothing else.
She looked around.
Nothing. Even so, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched.
She looked around the room. There were no treasures. No strange objects. No hidden passageways.
Nothing of value at all.
She was disappointed.
She had assumed the dreams were leading her here for a reason. That there would be something waiting for her—an artefact, perhaps, or at least some sort of memento.
But there was nothing.
So what was it?
If she wasn't supposed to find anything, then why had she been brought here?
What were the dreams trying to tell her?
Amy looked toward the door. It was getting late, and she had to be home before sunset.
She had no idea what she would tell Mrs Fitz if she got home before her. She turned to leave, making her way down the stairs.
Then something caught the corner of her eye. A reflection. Amy stopped. She looked back. Something was glittering at the feet of the statue. It wasn't there before, she was sure. She walked toward it.
It was a slab of metal with something engraved on it. Dust had collected along its edges, and the words on it were almost impossible to see.
Amy picked it up.
Even if she could see it, it was a language she couldn't understand.
She turned it over in her hands.
For a moment, she thought she knew what it was for. She was wrong. Whatever it was, she had no idea what it did. She placed her finger against one of the markings.
Something moved beneath her skin.
Amy froze.
It felt like a tiny thread had crawled into her finger. Then it moved.
From her hand, up her arm, through her chest.
The sensation travelled rapidly, burning as it went. It was like a flame moving beneath her skin, searching for somewhere to settle. Amy gasped, her breath caught in her throat. The pain reached her chest, and it burned, white, hot. She dropped the metal object. Her knees gave way. Amy fell to the floor, clutching her chest.
What was this pain?
She didn't know how long she'd been on the floor. Seconds. Minutes. Maybe longer. It was a slow, painful process, but eventually the pain grew, and it became everything.
The world began to disappear. The edges of her vision darkened, spreading inward until there was nothing left.
Only darkness.
Amy opened her eyes. She was lying on the floor. Her mouth was dry, and there was an unpleasant taste on her tongue.
Sand? Rocks?
She spat and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Her memories came back in chopped, broken bits.
The temple. The altar. The piece of metal.
Amy pushed herself off the floor and looked toward the door.
It was getting darker. She had to leave. Now.
She ran through the broken buildings, stepping over loose stones and hopping across the smaller chasms that had opened between the ruins. Her legs still felt weak, but she forced herself forward.
She climbed over the wall faster than she had the first time.
By the time she reached the other side, everything had taken on a faint orange glow.
Sunset.
What if they were already home? What would she even say?
No.
Positive thoughts only.
She didn't have time to worry about things she couldn't know. Thinking about the Fitzgeralds already being home would bring it about. She just had to keep going.
When she got home, she'd deal with whatever happened. The house appeared in the distance.
Amy's pace quickened.
She jumped over the haystacks and hurried along the path until she reached the white birch door.
It was still closed. There didn't seem to be anyone inside. She'd made it.
Even though she knew no one was inside, she opened it slowly.
Carefully.
As though the Fitzgeralds might already be seated inside, waiting for her. As though they'd somehow found a way to lock the door from the inside.
She stepped in.
Nothing.
Amy checked every room.
Empty.
Only then did she finally let out the breath she'd been holding.
They weren't home.
Thankfully.
She didn't know what had happened back in the temple. She didn't know why the dreams had led her there, or what the strange piece of metal had done to her. She was simply glad that whatever had happened hadn't kept her there for too long.
Then the pain resurfaced.
Amy stopped. A cold sensation ran down her spine.
Memories of the course it had taken.
The burning thing that had travelled from her hand, through her arm, and settled in her chest.
She looked down at herself.
There was nothing.
At least, nothing she could see.
Amy hurried into Mrs Fitz's room and stood before the mirror. She pulled down the collar of her dress and looked at her chest. Her breath caught.
There was something there. Embedded beneath the skin was a small, diamond-shaped mark. It rested just beneath her collarbone. It looked almost like a piece of crystal buried inside her.
The skin around it was red. Inflamed. Amy touched it.
Pain shot through her chest.
She immediately pulled her hand away.
What was this?
What had happened to her?
Maybe she'd gotten injured when she'd fallen to the ground in the temple.
That had to be it.
It was the only explanation she could think of.
But she didn't see any blood at the temple, and she'd never had a diamond-shaped injury at any point in her life.
A sound came from downstairs. The door opened. Amy's heart jumped. They were home.
She quickly pulled herself together, grabbed a scarf and wrapped it around her neck, covering the mark.
Footsteps approached.
"What are you wearing a scarf in the house? Are you cold, child? Sick?"
"No, sir," Amy replied, trying to sound as calm as possible.
Mrs Fitz looked at her for a moment.
"Leave the girl be." Mrs Fitz stepped closer. "But still, take the scarf off."
Amy hesitated. If they saw the injury, they'd know she'd left the house. But she couldn't disobey Mrs Fitz either. Slowly, Amy reached for the scarf.
She pulled it away and immediately covered the mark with her hand.
The Fitzgeralds looked tired. Perhaps they wouldn't notice. Hopefully they wouldn't.
Amy lowered her head and tried her best not to look suspicious.
Then she turned and started toward her room.
"Oh, and one more thing," Mrs Fitz called after her.
Amy stopped.
"Get dinner ready. They didn't have anything worth eating today."
"Of course," she replied.
And as she walked away, Amy prayed silently that they would eat in the dark tonight, or that the Fitzgeralds wouldn't notice anything, just for tonight.