Meadow was woken gently by a kindly old female voice calling, "Child."

She stirred from a peaceful slumber. It was the best she'd had since her father put her through the glass door. And with a croaky sleep-laden voice she replied, "Yes?" 

"Wake now," the woman spoke softly.

There was nothing urgent or pressing about her voice. Meadow did not feel the least bit compelled to snap awake. Instead, she lazily rubbed her eyes and stretched a little before half sitting up. The bed was soft, the duvet warm, and the air around her cool. It was just the way she liked it, and she felt it was a shame to wake up. But, not wanting to appear impolite by ignoring the older woman, she made herself sit up until her back was against a dusky blue cushioned headrest.

With eyes wide open now, Meadow took in the unfamiliar room and perhaps the oldest face she'd ever seen. She, and the wonderfully withered woman beside her bed, were the only two in the room. The sight of the stranger did not make her nervous. She felt perfectly at ease with the ancient looking creature.

But as her eyes took in the minimalist room with its soft grey walls, modern, stream-lined charcoal armoire and matching dresser and bed-side tables, she realized it was early morning. Had she slept, undisturbed, for an entire twenty-four hours? Was that possible?

Taking inventory, she quickly realized that the warm morning light didn't bother her eyes in the least. And her head wasn't throbbing anymore. She reached up and gently touched the back of her scalp. It had been too tender to sleep on when Hale set her down. And now, it didn't hurt in the least. Even the little cuts on her fingers and knuckles, from cradling her head when she and her father went through the glass door, were healed. Meadow flexed her fingers and marvelled at the change.

"How do you feel, child?" the unimaginably old woman asked.

Meadow mused, as she looked over every well defined crease and wrinkle in her cracked and weathered skin, that if time was a person this would be its face.

"Much better," she replied. Then asked, "How long have I been asleep?" She cleared her throat with a little cough since it still sounded raspy to her.

"A few days," the ancient one replied.

She made it sound so normal. As if people often slept for several days at a time.  Meadow was feeling too good to complain though. But, did that make it Tuesday? If so, the incident at work had happened a week ago nearly. And she'd spent half of her time back home sleeping, it seemed, instead of making up her mind about whether to return to work or not? Though, that may be the least of her worries now, she lamented.

Sighing heavily, she asked "Where's Eddie?"

He wouldn't have stuck around for three days, would he? He must have work to go to. If not her father's tree lot, then he had to be out looking for work. Did he leave her a message? Where was her phone, she wondered, as she looked around the room once more.

"There's time enough for all of that," the woman said as if reading her mind. "But for now, you must relax," she encouraged. "Now, sit back and close your eyes for me."

Not seeing a reason to argue, Meadow did as she was instructed, leaning comfortably into the queen-sized headrest and closing her eyes. She heard the woman get up with a little grunt from the chair she'd been sitting in, and then felt her lean into her personal space. But she was not alarmed. Though the woman was a stranger to her, and likely a lycanthrope, there was nothing frightening about her in the least.

A light touch on Meadow's forehead was followed by a heavy aromatic fragrance. The elderly woman was smearing a scented oil across her cool skin. Purely out of curiosity, Meadow reached up to touch it, but the woman brushed her hand away.

"Just stay still," the woman reminded her. There was no reprimand in her voice - just instruction.

Meadow nodded slightly and kept her hands folded on her lap. The scent of the oil filled her nostrils. It was nothing unusual. She thought she detected peppermint, eucalyptus and perhaps something like rosemary. But, it was very soothing.  The deeper she breathed the more relaxed she became until she thought she might fall right back to sleep.

That's when she heard the old one begin to pray or chant. Meadow could not tell which because she couldn't understand a word of it. It didn't sound like anything she'd ever heard before - not Finnish, not Swedish, not Latin or even Greek. But it didn't matter. Meadow didn't feel the least bit concerned.

A peacefulness fell over her and settled into the very marrow of her bones. She found herself exhaling all her anxiety and her confusion from the past week. When next she breathed in she felt light and warm all over.

As she relaxed in body and soul, she opened her eyes to find the world that she knew was quite gone. She stood in a vastness that appeared to have no end and no beginning. Beside her was not an old woman but an exceedingly beautiful one in a long white gossamer gown, whose skin shone like moonlight and whose hair was as white as milk. Meadow was astonished at the sight.

The woman silently flicked a delicate finger. In that self-same instant, the nothingness became a stage on which several scenes were playing out. Scenes from a thousand years past, scenes from Meadow's childhood, and scenes of future events that had yet to unfold. Like in a dream, Meadow understood these things without knowing how. She simply knew and watched with fascination as the images rolled over each other and some fell away while others came forward just as quickly.

From the multiple images the angelic woman reached out and plucked a single frame, much like plucking the string of a harp. That image vibrated and came to life. Meadow could hear it, feel it and practically smell it.

She saw herself, as a girl of twelve, riding her bike around the lake one sunny afternoon after school. A tall and hulking figure, in a black cloak with strange silver and gold designs embroidered into the material, appeared out of the woods and snatched her from the bike. The bike and her school-bag fell to the ground as Meadow was thrown over his shoulder like a sack of dry cement. Her twelve-year-old self screamed and kicked and thrashed until the man was forced to throw her on the ground and strangle her into submission.

"What is the meaning of this?" Meadow asked her companion in a whisper.

The woman, whose eyes shone with keen interest in the events unfolding before them, said nothing at all. Consequently, Meadow was forced to turn her attention back to what was playing out in front of them, not wanting to miss a thing now. Nothing about the situation was remotely familiar to her. So she didn't feel pained or frightened as they continued to watch the man carry her young unconscious body under his arm through the woods. 

But, when an old stone cabin appeared through the forest, Meadow felt she recognized the structure. And when the towering figure in the black velvety robe walked through the door, and dumped her twelve-year-old self on the hard packed earth of the hut's floor, Meadow was sure this was the place she'd dreamt of only a few nights ago while at Dr. Wallin's clinic. Her interest in this strange cinematic show increased a hundredfold.

She and the white haired beauty watched the man preform a number of strange little rituals that involved a great deal of praying, chanting, and the use of water, stones and animal blood. It was as fascinating as it was grotesque. And all the while, Meadow's unconscious body lay discarded in a dark corner of the room.

Then, when her twelve-year-old self began to stir, the priestly monk, for Meadow was sure at this point he had to be some sort of religious hermit, rose from his meditations to bind and gag her. Meadow could not believe what she was seeing. This was a kidnapping. But why was it happening to her? And when did this happen? Meadow had no memory of such a violent and terrifying event. She couldn't even remember the bear attack that had happened to her when she was about that age. How does someone forget a thing like this?

When her abductor had silenced her, he went back to his meditation. Meadow and her seraphic chaperone watched on. They observed him spend long hours in a meditative state while Meadow's younger self struggled and tried, bound as she was, to get free. They witnessed him beat her into silence periodically. The beatings happened less frequently as the days passed into each other because Meadow's twelve year old self stirred less and less as time passed. Meadow and her companion also heard the strange monk talk repeatedly to himself while nervously dipping a hand into a pocket as if feeling for a precious item there. When certain it had not gone missing, he would pat the pocket reassuringly as he mumbled to himself. 

And, as was the way with dreams, this sequence of events, though it went on for three days and three nights, passed by in the blink of an eye while Meadow and her counterpart watched the situation unfold. By the end of the three days, the monk appeared quite delirious from sleep deprivation and fasting, and Meadow's twelve-year-old self was close to death.

"Someone needs to help her," Meadow pleaded with the radiant creature at her side. But, again, the woman was fixedly noting every aspect of this frightful drama unfold and said nothing in response.

Then the scene changed. The old monk was bounding awkwardly through the woods with Meadow's younger self tucked under his arm. He reached a clearing where the moon lit up every blade of grass, and Meadow gasped aloud at the sight. It was the same grassy field from her nightmare the other night. She was terrified that the ghoulish woman in black would appear and try to rip out the young girl's heart.

The monk stopped at a small stone altar, which appeared in the middle of the open space. Once there, he set his load down and pulled out a stone from his pocket, which he placed in a divot on the altar. Afterwards, Meadow's twelve-year-old self was enveloped in a black mist which raised her up above the peculiar little altar. Under the bright moonlight, the monk pulled a ceremonial dagger from his robe and sliced the young girl's arm. Dark crimson blood ran down her skin and dripped onto the small plum sized stone.

The opaque stone turned as red as a garnet and gave off a bright pulsating light as if it were alive. It was reminiscent of the effect Meadow's own flesh had on moonstones in the dark. She shivered, but a large part of her was just relieved that the man had not tried to cut out the girl's heart.

Her relief fled though the moment Meadow heard the rattle of dry bones and feminine voice speak out of the black mist surrounding her twelve-year-old self. The disembodied voice called the monk 'Elias' and urged him saying,"Hide her and the stone away until the Day of Darkening." That was the exact same voice as the female apparition in her nightmare.

But, it wasn't until she heard those words, 'Hide her and the stone away until the Day of Darkening', that Meadow's suppressed memories returned. She clutched the arm that had been cut by the ritualistic knife and let out an agonized scream. Her arm burned as if it had just been sliced open that very minute.

When Meadow looked down, expecting to see blood spurting everywhere, she discovered she was back in the unfamiliar bedroom with the old woman again. To her great astonishment, her arm wasn't cut. There was no pain and no blood either. But, she did have an old scar there. The one her father and mother had told her was left by the bear attack. The same bear attack she could never remember. But Meadow knew better now. It wasn't a bear that kidnapped her and cut her up. It was some crazed lycanthrope hermit-monk named Elias.

Meadow sat perfectly still as she tried to wrap her mind around the events that had unfolded in her memory. As bizarre and frightening as those things were, they rang truer than some ridiculous story about a mother bear taking her captive for three days in the mountains. Meadow rubbed the scar. It had faded over time, but it hadn't been stitched well and was still a bit rough even after all these years.

The ancient lycanthrope at her bedside rose and walked out the door. Meadow watched her go but wasn't in a hurry to chase after her. She felt sick at the thought of where this was all leading. Where could she go for clarity? Who would help her understand what she saw and what it meant? Would the old woman be any help? As it was, she hadn't said much of anything so far besides sit, relax and be still.

Just before Meadow worked up the courage to go looking for help from someone, she heard voices outside the door, which had been left open, and remained seated on the bed. Maybe someone was coming back to give her some answers. She could hope, anyway. 

The elderly woman walked back in the room while saying, "She's the true Blood Bride. There is no mistake. And the Dark Moon Mistress wants to make use of her despite her human origins."

Meadow shivered involuntarily at those last words.

Coming in on the heals of the ancient looking lycanthrope was Hale. His face was grim and his eyes were as cold as they'd been on the road when he'd found out she was the Blood Bride. "But Gorare, how can she use her? It's impossible. Her body couldn't withstand the ceremony?" he insisted.

"Her body will hold up if the the Dark Moon Mistress has the Lunar Crystal," the Gorare replied thoughtfully as she crossed the room and came to stand beside the bed. Meadow sat there  looking as bewildered as ever. The Gorare almost felt sorry for her.

"Where's the Moon Crystal?" Hale asked the woman.

But it was Meadow who replied saying, "She told him to hide it away."

Immediately Hale turned his dark brown eyes on her and demanded to know, "Who told who?"

Meadow didn't like his stony expression. She wished she could just talk to the flirty Ranger right then. He would make this all so much easier on everyone - Meadow mostly. But, no, she had to deal with this icy exiled prince instead.

Taking in a calming breath she answered him saying, "The Dark Moon Mistress told Elias, some crazy monk, to hide it. Find him, and you'll find the stone," she explained evenly.

Hedda surprised everyone by butting in and declaring, "He's vanished. No one's been able to find him since the night they recovered you."

She had come in behind Hale, along with Trolkare Tveit and Eddie. They had all heard the entire conversation thus far.

"You knew about the abduction?" Meadow asked Hedda. There was no accusation in her voice, just curiosity. She also looked briefly to Eddie who was coming around to the opposite side of the bed from the Gorare.

"The whole community - lycan community that is - knew about your abduction." She paused a moment and looked around to see if she had permission to say any more. No one was giving her the signal to shut her mouth so she went on to explain. "We helped your father look for you. He was desperate and adamant that we had something to do with your disappearance." She sighed sadly.

"He was there when we found Elias with you in that rundown hermitage. Elias was ranting and raving about you being the Blood Bride. Your father was furious. Said he'd never let the weredogs have you."

Meadow recognized the racist term right away. It was how he referred to lycanthropes when he was out for blood. The term weredog was universally considered demeaning and offensive by both the lycanthrope and non-lycan communities. Meadow didn't know anyone but her father who dared to use the term in the presence of lycanthropes. Consequently, there was no doubt in her mind that Hedda was telling her the truth.

She listened intently as the slightly older woman went on to explain, "Said we'd stolen enough from him already. We weren't going to get a bride out of him too." At this point Hedda's eyes shifted from Meadow to Eddie.

She didn't understand what Niko Rask was talking about at the time, but now she knew. The community had taken his first love and their first born son from him when he was just a teenager.  It was no wonder he hated lycans so much.  

Meadow looked over at Eddie too. He wore a guilty expression on his face as if he was the cause of everyone's troubles. Meadow gave him a sympathetic smile. In truth, she felt sorry for him. But, she was still hurting from the knowledge that he'd known about her, sat with her, ate with her and carried on small talk with her, but never said a word to her about being her half brother.

"So, Dad hates me because he thinks the lycanthropes want me for a bride," she said to Eddie. Then, turning her eyes toward the Gorare, she pointed out, "But, you are saying that the Dark Mistress wants to possess me so she can what exactly? Have a physical body and rule all lycans?"

"Not just lycans," Tveit interjected unexpectedly. "She's seeking the means for total domination of the known world - lycanthrope and human alike. The Dark Mistress wants to ring in the Age of the Lycanthrope, which, according to prophesy, can only be done through the Blood Bride - through you."

Meadow was too stunned to say anything. How does anyone stop the goddess of the dark side of the moon from using some stone to possess a human body - Meadow's body? The task seemed insurmountable. Could these lycans and a single human fight the power of a celestial being?

Meadow's eyes searched out Hale. Now she understood the pained expression she'd seen in those beautiful brown eyes when they'd met on the road and their secret identities were revealed. As strong as he was, as powerful as any exiled lycanthrope prince could be, he still was no match for the moon goddess' twin sister.

"Don't panic," she heard him say to her from where he stood beside the Gorare.

But it was far too late for that. Meadow's panic was rapidly reaching nuclear levels. And this was evidenced by the sudden burst of laughter that bubble out of her. Next would come tears. And then, the hysteria.

Meadow decided to just let it happen. What was the point in restraining herself? It's not like a mental collapse was going to hurt her prospects of survival since she probably wasn't going to live through this ordeal anyway. So, she laughed till she cried, and cried till she hyperventilated and passed out. She hoped to God, when she came to, she'd find this was all just one convoluted dream and she had never left Rutherford.