The First Read
My fingers skimmed over the two books I cared nothing about and came to rest on the red and gold-rigged spine of the book—the book. I exhaled as I pulled it out of my bag. This was the moment I had been waiting for, but I never imagined this was how it would begin.
I ran my thumb up and down the rounded edge of the cover that bordered the pages as my other hand cradled the spine. I took my thumb and ran it over the rough edges of the pages, viewing the blocks of text in rapid succession as they continually fanned until I reached the last page.
I closed it fast so as not to see the last word and ruin the ending. I found solace for a few moments in just rubbing the surface of the back cover.
As I flipped it over, ready to start with the first chapter, the first page, the first word, I heard my name called…
It was the sight of the book that finally calmed me. I sat back down and thumbed the pages and opened it to a random page—just to feel it, to smell it, to connect with it. My gaze inadvertently caught one sentence in the middle of the book as I followed the path of my fingers.
A man named Eoin was about to encounter a ferocious dragon on a dark and rocky mountain. As the action began to rise, I forced myself to close the book so as not to spoil the story, no matter how taken I was with it, even at first sight.
There was no chance of sleep now that the story had taken its hold on me. I had hours to kill and a quiet atmosphere to properly begin. I reverently opened the ornate cover and lightly turned the inconsequential pages to get to the first chapter, “The Coming of Accolon.”
The edges of my living began to blur as I was transported into a dense forest—full of darkness—with dulled colors of evergreen, midnight blues, and rich browns. I could smell the distinct scent of minerals from the translucent waterfall ahead.
How I longed to be lost in this forest—in this ancient world—rather than in the overly bright sterile room of a hospital. I was weaving between two worlds, and I could only be immersed in one.
At that, I was whisked away to an ancient castle. It was described as any medieval castle in Scotland, but instead of the makeshift modern-day replications that filled them, this castle held an essence of jovial usefulness.
There was something about the dark, stone fortress in contrast to its pastel-colored gardens, where nobles would take a turn with each other to escape the dreariness of a long winter spent within the damp, cold walls.
Inside those walls, in the throne room that held two red velvet thrones and matching draperies of embroidered gold, silver, and violet, I was first introduced to the king of this brooding castle and his mysterious kingdom of Caledonia—Eoin of Accolon.
“Catriona Lamont?”
I was forcefully pulled out of Eoin’s world and back into mine. I placed a scrap of paper in place of a bookmark with the mental reminder of acquiring a real one and obligingly put the story on hold… for now.
