"Typical, just bloody typical," the dark-haired girl muttered to herself as she flicked through the veritable encyclopedia of theory work she had just been handed to complete within two weeks. "The first chance I get to be on my own at home for three years, and I'm going to be stuck doing homework ..." A low sigh broke from her as the bus rumbled along the less-than-perfect road which linked Cork City to Cobh, her home town, under dim grey skies overcast with roiling clouds.
Let's step back and take a look at her, shall we? A mid-winter child just barely 20 years old, Niamh is rather obviously a Celt on first glance. Pale, unblemished skin, delicate features dominated by big sparkling grey eyes overhung by a mane of curling, unruly dark hair. She is rarely seen without a smile, except on occasions such as this, when faced with the prospect of walking a couple of miles from the bus-stop weighed down with books and papers tied up in her university course.
The bus dragged to a halt in the muddy lane, startling the young woman out of her grump abruptly. In a flurry of awkward movement, she flung herself out of her seat, snatching up her bag with a grunt of effort, and hurried down the aisle of the bus, flashing the driver her sweetest smile as she apologised for not paying attention. He grumbled to himself, but nodded to her before continuing on his route.
It started to rain almost as soon as she began to trudge up the hill towards her family's home. Letting out a low groan, Niamh fished around in her backpack, coming up with a large and not-too-heavy textbook to hold over her head in the hopes that the rain wouldn't get any heavier than the light drizzle which had begun. Her black shirt and jeans would not survive another soaking like this morning's without some serious shrinking issues, she was certain.
Still, it wasn't a bad walk, really, she thought to herself, looking out over the harbour as she crested the hill, as always smiling to see the ships passing by. She was within sight of home when it happened.
Her foot caught in a pothole, sending her cascading forward, her arms outstretched towards the muddy puddles below her. But she never made contact. There was a brief sensation of touch, of something catching her gently, her vision blurred, and with a sudden and not altogether unexpected thud, she landed face first in sand.
Sand? Spitting out the mouthful she had almost ingested on impact, Niamh pushed herself to her knees, brushing her hands together as she looked around in shock and wonder. No more was she surrounded by the lush greenery of her beloved Ireland, cloaked in mist and rain. No, instead there are mountains, a blue lagoon, forests ... even a volcano to be seen smoking away in the very far distance.
"What the hell -?" Her amazed exclamation was cut off by the hailing cry of what she could only assume to be a midget with the worst possible case of scabies she had ever seen, which hurried towards her, smiling and nodding its head pleasantly.
"Welcome to Twilight Island!" it greeted her happily, reaching down to pull her onto her feet once more. To her shame, Niamh found herself flinching back, clambering to her feet under her own steam. "May magic and luck grace your path therein."
"Wait a minute. Did you say 'magic'?"
But the little person was already hurrying away as another hapless being thumped into the sand nearby. Niamh looked around once more, feeling confusion weigh upon her heavily. Where was she?
Let's step back and take a look at her, shall we? A mid-winter child just barely 20 years old, Niamh is rather obviously a Celt on first glance. Pale, unblemished skin, delicate features dominated by big sparkling grey eyes overhung by a mane of curling, unruly dark hair. She is rarely seen without a smile, except on occasions such as this, when faced with the prospect of walking a couple of miles from the bus-stop weighed down with books and papers tied up in her university course.
The bus dragged to a halt in the muddy lane, startling the young woman out of her grump abruptly. In a flurry of awkward movement, she flung herself out of her seat, snatching up her bag with a grunt of effort, and hurried down the aisle of the bus, flashing the driver her sweetest smile as she apologised for not paying attention. He grumbled to himself, but nodded to her before continuing on his route.
It started to rain almost as soon as she began to trudge up the hill towards her family's home. Letting out a low groan, Niamh fished around in her backpack, coming up with a large and not-too-heavy textbook to hold over her head in the hopes that the rain wouldn't get any heavier than the light drizzle which had begun. Her black shirt and jeans would not survive another soaking like this morning's without some serious shrinking issues, she was certain.
Still, it wasn't a bad walk, really, she thought to herself, looking out over the harbour as she crested the hill, as always smiling to see the ships passing by. She was within sight of home when it happened.
Her foot caught in a pothole, sending her cascading forward, her arms outstretched towards the muddy puddles below her. But she never made contact. There was a brief sensation of touch, of something catching her gently, her vision blurred, and with a sudden and not altogether unexpected thud, she landed face first in sand.
Sand? Spitting out the mouthful she had almost ingested on impact, Niamh pushed herself to her knees, brushing her hands together as she looked around in shock and wonder. No more was she surrounded by the lush greenery of her beloved Ireland, cloaked in mist and rain. No, instead there are mountains, a blue lagoon, forests ... even a volcano to be seen smoking away in the very far distance.
"What the hell -?" Her amazed exclamation was cut off by the hailing cry of what she could only assume to be a midget with the worst possible case of scabies she had ever seen, which hurried towards her, smiling and nodding its head pleasantly.
"Welcome to Twilight Island!" it greeted her happily, reaching down to pull her onto her feet once more. To her shame, Niamh found herself flinching back, clambering to her feet under her own steam. "May magic and luck grace your path therein."
"Wait a minute. Did you say 'magic'?"
But the little person was already hurrying away as another hapless being thumped into the sand nearby. Niamh looked around once more, feeling confusion weigh upon her heavily. Where was she?