There is nothing here for you to fear.” Lina tore her eyes from the body that was decidedly not hers. A few feet from where she lay were two women. The one who had spoken was tall, thin and had gray hair that was pulled back into a severe knot. She stood beside the silent one. The silent one sat on—Lina blinked rapidly, her mind not wanting to believe what her eyes reported—an enormous throne. She was draped in cream-colored linen. Her blond hair was wrapped around her head in a series of complicated braids, and an intricate crown of delicately carved golden—Lina blinked again, but the image remained the same—golden ears of corn rested regally atop her head. In one hand she held a long scepter, in the other she had a gilded goblet. The seated woman was beautiful, but her beauty was fierce and serious, what history described as a “handsome” woman. She was watching Lina intently. “Welcome to my realm, Carolina Francesca Santoro, daughter of man.” Questions warred in Lina’s brain and she struggled to shift through the teeming confusion and the lingering sense of physical displacement.
