She opened her eyes after the prayer and saw K standing in front of her. A strange smile dressed his face in a terrifying demeanor. She closed her eyes again in fear but opened them soon afterward. No one. K was again gone. With trembling hands, she felt for the book. Was this all a bad nightmare? But to her dismay, she felt the ridges in her pocket.

A sighed escaped her mouth and with the last bit of energy left in her body she stood up. The world began to turn dark and the moon became a troubling sight, announcing the night to come. Yet, no one called her name, not even the now predator K.

From the corner of her eye, she saw some movement and quickly jerked to look. But it must have only been an animal of some sort. Her heart slowed its sporadic rhythm and she tried to focus her mind; maybe she could will a pathway that leads to some sort of safe haven for the night.

But to no avail, as she climbed over more logs and broken branches. It felt as if she went ever deeper into the woods and the little light that remained got sucked away by the thicket. Luckily the night was not cold, yet. She momentarily closed her eyes again to pray or to will her way out of this situation. Her eyelids pressed hard onto each other as she feared the moment she opened them that K would emerge in front of her. Eventually, after a sudden urge to open them, as if this might create the pathways she needed, K was not there and she smiled for the first time in a while. But the book was still in her pocket. The damn book.

She dredged onwards, taking care to step over anything that might hurt her. In this sober moment, her mind and actions were surprisingly clear. She could almost not believe it. The former need for the drink was far away from her. And in a strange moment of calm and peace, she almost felt healed from the pain of losing her sister and the rejection of her family. She also felt a strange sort of peace with maybe not making it out of the woods. With the strange drawings in her pocket and a lucid mind, the world became a foreign idea she could barely make sense of. Time did not really tick by as she did not have any means to tell it except the moon and slow-emerging stars she could not yet see through the thick cover of trees. She felt an extreme tiredness overwhelm her.

---

***

---

The smell of something close to rosemary, but not entirely. Complete darkness, and then she opens her eyes. The room is filled with different plants, an indoor garden of some sort. Closest to her, are freshly cut rosemary stems. It reminds her of something distant, a nostalgic past. One she never lived herself. One she could not have lived.

With a sudden wave of fear crashing over her, she realized that she might be in K's home. She sat up straight but her body was weak from the previous night's adventures. She felt for the book in her pocket and she found the familiar edges. Why would he have left it in her possession if he was the one that found her? Why would he keep her untied? She smelled the rosemary stronger now. She heard movement around the corner.

She tried to stand up, but could not in time. She looked around her for something she could grab onto, something she could use to hit the person she heard. And then the face. Old, wrinkled, frail body. He carried a tray with a teapot and two cups.

"I hope you don't mind some tea. It is made from various homegrown herbs."

She did not know what to make of the situation. She did not know the old man, how could she accept tea made from and by this strange man?

"I will drink some with you," he said as if reading her mind.

But this did not comfort her. She tried not to show it on her face, the rest of her body surely gave her away. She decided to take the chance and drink some of the herbal tea.

"What happened," he asked as he sat the tray down handing her a cup of tea as if they were long-time neighbors. The absurdity of the situation obviously did not hit him. But she tried to not do anything out of the ordinary, even though the situation was far from ordinary.

He sat back in his old chair, and she took the warm cup. She smelled the almost clear liquid, and it reminded her again of some nostalgic past she had no access to. A childhood in a different world.

She did not take a sip. He took another sip of his whilst looking at her. It felt like he tried to encourage her to drink the strange herbal tea. But she really did not feel comfortable. Something was off and she could not place her finger on it.

Postscriptum, or Reaching a Climax Soon

I think as a writer, the most difficult thing to do is to conclude one's story. You do not want to make too rushed, or too slow, nor do you want to let the reader down with a strange ending. I have read way too many novels in which the buildup was slow and the conclusion out of proportion quick for the length of the buildup. But this is something even experienced writers struggle with. Most notable for me is Stephen King's The Stand. Almost 600 out of the 1000 pages consist of buildup and backstories, which I loved, but the conclusion of the story and the climax happened in less than 200 pages. It almost felt like he himself did not know how to finish the story.

Hopefully, this does not happen to my story. It is not even close to 100 pages yet, but I need to wrap it up beautifully. I think the time and effort I put into it, the story deserves a well-thought-out ending. I am working on it!

In any case, happy reading and I hope that you enjoyed this edition!

All of the photographs are my own, taken with my Nikon D300. The writing and the story are also my own work.

(Edit: Title fix.)