She closed the door and pulled the ottoman up to her chair. Since her last adventure had lasted an hour and a half, she decided not to curl up on her legs again. She didn’t want to give them a chance to fall asleep and call her back too soon. She settled comfortably into the chair, propped her legs on the ottoman and closed her eyes. She let her mind wander free as she unconsciously sipped her iced tea. It went from one thing to another and seemed to finally settle on her new painting.
Taryn opened her eyes and looked at the painting, finding no enjoyment or happiness in looking at it. There was just this sense of vague haunting . . . What? Thought? . . . Feeling? It was subtly unsettling.
She placed the glass of tea on the table next to her, rested her arms on the chair’s arms and placed her hands in her lap. She looked toward the dream spot to find it was already turning slowly in its counter clockwise motion. She concentrated on the spot and lost herself in its movement. She heard the gentle whiling sound again and felt the touch of it to her body. She felt a gentle rotating sensation and her body seemed to float free of the chair. She became aware that she was feeling rather cool as the revolving sensations traveled within her body slowed down. From the earlier heat of the day, this chill she felt was definitely welcomed at this moment.
The spinning and floating stopped and she felt colder. Cold to the bone, almost like she’d been chilled forever. But she wasn’t freezing. It was more like she was always cold and it was a natural state for her. She also felt as though she was kneeling, since her knees hurt as they rested on something very hard and cold. She slowly opened her eyes and found herself looking at religious artifacts on the walls before her. She looked way up on the wall in front of her to discover very tiny windows where bright sunlight filtered down to her through heavy dust motes.
Taryn lowered her eyes. She was kneeling before a stone altar of some kind. Very solid and very cold. She wasn’t touching the stone altar, since her body was almost rigidly held in place . . . held rigid by her own spine . . . and long hours of self-discipline, she thought.
She lowered her eyes further and saw her lower body completely covered in a very coarse, dark material. Blue? Black? Brown? Combined with the poor light and probably faded colors, she couldn’t be sure. She held a rope of brown beads in her hands which were long and laced around her neck. A crude handmade wooden cross, unpolished and unpainted, was attached to the rope of beads.
She closed her eyes again. She was in a religious setting and on her knees in a praying position. There was a very tight band of something around her head. She moved her head just a little and felt the weight upon her head. She wanted to scream. Oh, God, no, she screamed inside of her mind. I cannot be in a whimple! I just cannot be! You wouldn’t do this to me. Please tell me you wouldn’t give me an adventure like this?
Taryn waited while hoping some deity in this religious place would answer her question, perhaps tell her it was only a play being enacted. She heard faint mumblings all around her. Keeping her head bent, she slowly moved her head to the right and opened her eyes again. There were others to the right of her with the same drab colored, loose fitting dress. And yes, a brilliant white whimple! Oh, God, no. She was a nun! No! No! No! I don’t fit into this adventure. I’m not even Catholic and I don’t know anything about the Catholic religion. Tell me, please, someone tell me this isn’t a true adventure. Tell me that I stopped here by mistake on my way to somewhere else. Please?
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