The forgotten kingdom of Bhutan

My identity: I am Raven-Wolf, a High-Princess of the druids-Blood Hunter, Cleric, with long, vibrant blue-green cascade of my hair flowed down my back, a stark contrast to my pale skin and the striking purple-hour-glass eyes that glowed with an almost ethereal light. Clothing; an armoured leather gown, leather native boots, hooded-crown, purple-green cloak, feather-pen with leather covered scrolls, bow-with arrows, satchel made with rawhide, magical supplies, short-blades, and dark-shifter, dark-vision, flight, poison-skin, mysterious abilities. I move with a graceful coldness, fearless, an aloof and imperious air, a subtle chill emanating from me that keeps others at a distance. I’m a “Creative-Writing, ghost-writing, copy-writer, Freelance-Author,” whose articles on criminal psychology often leave me pondering the complexities of the human psyche; the tap-tap-tap of my keyboard is the soundtrack to my investigations. This involves a lot of time spent immersed in the detailed world of case files, their contents both intriguing and sometimes disturbing, interspersed with interviews, each conversation a chance to piece together the truth.

It wasn’t just any ordinary day; while relaxing in my favorite old-fashioned chair, enjoying the warmth of a crackling fire, an unexpected event occurred: a vibrant blue flame appeared, instantly extinguishing the fire, leaving my home freezing cold and filling me with a strange, unsettling feeling.

Who dares to suggest that the realms of dreams and nightmares hold less reality than our immediate waking experience nature abruptly interrupted by the surprising sight of a fast-approaching, purple-gray, and electrically charged storm?

This unbelievable turn of events is completely unacceptable and should not be happening. It certainly wasn’t a dream, but a vivid and unforgettable event that transpired. The shock of discovering that day had turned to night confused me, causing me to exclaim “fuck,” and an unsettling feeling that I was not alone crept over me.

Surrounded by a swirling mass that resembled a tornado, a vortex of sparkling, shiny blue-green gems, I found myself transported back to my vantage point, sitting in my old-fashioned chair, clutching a single blue-green gem.

At that moment, I found myself lost in thought, remembering my parents’ decision to pass down this old castle to me; it was only then that I realized this was my legacy; and as I explored the castle, passing through the old mead halls, I came across the old library, next to the crypt.

Out of nowhere, a mystical creature swooped into view, a letter clutched in its ethereal grasp, floating magically before disappearing into the gray smoky air, leaving me astonished and speechless.

Wiping my eyes in disbelief, I ask, “Did that really happen?”

As I stared at the scroll, unfolding it before my eyes, my curiosity did not kill the cat, but unveiled the answer that had eluded me for so long, yet simultaneously introduced a torrent of new questions into Raven-Wolf’s mind.

A quiet warmth can be how these feelings subtly reveal themselves, offering a sense of reassurance and calm that washes over the individual.

Right now, a powerful and vivid memory is dominating your conscious mind, perhaps one that holds great personal significance.

More than a mere current of air, the breeze possessed a palpable presence, a feeling of something deeper and more substantial.

Many people call the subtle sounds that seem to emanate from the cosmos “the whispers of cosmic winds,” a term that evokes the feeling of something vast and mysterious moving through space.

In my familiar old chair, I ponder the perplexing situation before me, wrestling with the mystery, and then, unbelievably, I find the mythical gem in my hand.

Night fell rapidly. The call of REM sleep was strong, closing my eyes. In an instant, I was walking on clouds within a dream, and I knew I was in the forgotten kingdom of Bhutan, a familiar place from a previous dream.

The morning came rapidly, and Raven-Wolf, who had clearly not slept, moved sluggishly and with disarray to the kitchen, where he put the kettle on. With a soft thud, a messenger owl landed on the table; promptly, it unfurled the scroll, bringing to my attention my regrettable lapse of memory regarding the kingdom of Bhutan.

A shrill shriek, piercing and sudden, sliced through the peaceful morning quiet like a knife, abruptly shattering my sleepy haze and making me fully awake. Instantly, and without a moment’s hesitation, my reaction was to switch it off with a quick, unthinking movement.

The urgent need for a swift departure, picturing a flight and consumed my thoughts, a hasty escape as the only solutions.

With a burst of speed, I raced towards my room, my heart pounding in my chest. I forwent folding and organizing my clothes, tossing them unceremoniously into the suitcase instead, because of a rush and neglect of my usual care.

As I began my journey to the airport, eagerly expecting my flight and the sensation of soaring through the air like a bird, I unexpectedly fell into a deep slumber, which transported me to the enchanting depths of a forest, where I stumbled upon the forgotten kingdom of Bhutan, and miraculously, its gates swung open before me.

Upon waking up, I found myself in Neverlands, also known as the Kingdom of the Netherlands, and now I sit confused in my mansion as the flight attendant calmly approaches me.

The flight attendant, addressing me formally as the “High-Princess of the Druids-Blood Hunter, Cleric,” affirmatively answered my unspoken question, granting me permission to leave and allowing me then to settle into my surroundings by organizing my clothing and building a fire to warm the room.

It was around ten to one in the afternoon, and the pangs of hunger led me to the kitchen where I grabbed a snack, enjoyed a sip of my coffee, and picked up the newspaper, only to uncover a mysterious gem and sit opposite my old friend, Raistlin.

Finding an old friend at my vacation mansion wasn’t shocking. However, the most pressing matter on my mind was understanding the motive behind their visit to my secluded retreat.

The sudden appearance of a gem, which materialized on the table at that moment, explained Raistlin’s actions. I directly asked Raistlin if he would accompany me on the adventure that lay before us.

I produced the two scrolls, positioning them in front of Raistlin, then we put our heads together, struggling to comprehend the reason behind my parents’ gift of this gem, until it hit me that the gem carried a curse.

I awoke to the comforting warmth of the fire, my novel falling to the floor as the dream faded, and in that moment, I understood I was precisely where I should be, blessed with another opportunity to live life fully, having survived a double stroke.