“The crown of the Elf Queen is the only treasure left because the elves set a curse on it,” Lavender said.
“How do you know?” Osric asked.
“It is a story we are told from the cradle,” she said. “Look around you, Osric. All else is taken. Only the crown remains.”
“What kind of curse?”
“No one has ever dared find out.”
“Then why are we here?”
“Because you used your ring to trap me,” she said. “It would have been my triumph, but now it is a symbol of my shame. My sisters and brothers in the Fellowship mock me, tell me that I’ll never be in the circle. This crown would show them all that I am worthy.”
“It wasn’t personal,” Osric said. “Trapping you. My master commanded me. I’m an apprentice, and he’s testing me to see if I’m ready to go out on my own.”
“We have the same challenge, do we not? To prove that we are worthy?”
“I’ve come this far,” Osric said. “What do I have to lose?” He reached through the column for the crown; it felt like placing his hand in warm water. It came out with no resistance, even more resplendent in his hands. He turned to Lavender, smiling, only to see pure terror on her small face.
“What is it?” he asked. She pointed behind him. When he turned around, an immense ghost, pale, icy blue, emerged out of the column, towering over them both.
“Run!” Lavender cried.
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