Part 1
Chapter 1
The First Journey
The day unfolded as usual, but a subtle restlessness stirred within Simon. He eagerly awaited bedtime to test the effectiveness of the potion prepared by the sorceress. After a steaming hot shower, he placed the quartz crystal on his nightstand and reread the instructions one last time: “Two or three sprays under the tongue while already lying down.” He pressed the sprayer—twice, to start.
A mist enveloped him almost instantly. He blacked out before he could even adjust his pillow.
The pull into the astral was so sudden that he felt no transition. No tunnel, no buzzing, no vibrations, as described in classic accounts. Just a swift plunge into unconsciousness followed by a gradual reappearance. When he fully regained his senses, the feeling was like waking from a deep sleep.
Simon opened his eyes to a small sitting room cluttered with trinkets and memories. A gentle fire flickered in the fireplace, its crackle so soft it seemed to shy away from being heard. The dark walls were covered in outdated tapestry, partially obscured by numerous paintings. Though varied, they all carried a tragic, unsettling mood: a ship battling a furious storm, a Far Eastern beach bathed in blood-red light. Elsewhere, a turtle shell and crocodile skin hinted at travels through Asian colonies. In one corner, a Chinese screen painted with a dragon, a child with a shaved head, and a long-mustached sage gave the place a mysterious aura.
Near a Voltaire armchair stood a headless dress form, proudly upright. Its red velvet torso, mounted on a metal base, seemed to watch over this room frozen in time.
The overall impression was curious—a quietness tinged with nostalgia, as if the space belonged to an old woman trapped in a bygone era, with nothing to disturb the stillness of the 19th century.
As his senses slowly awakened, he became aware of a lively conversation.
Standing on a stool, a young woman fidgeted while another, focused, pinned fabric to her black tulle dress.
— "It’s disheartening! I’m devastated! Do you realize, Madeleine? I’m almost twenty-five and I’m neither married nor engaged! I feel like a rotten apple! My life is just one disappointment after another!"
— "Eugénie, my dear, you're being dramatic! You’re beautiful, and you have plenty of suitors! I’d say you’re spoiled for choice!"
Eugénie huffed, clearly upset.
— "Spoiled? With that bunch of nobodies? Those pathetic, unimpressive boys? I wanted Armand! But that witch, Violette Gonthier, stole him from me! She’s a witch, I tell you! I’ll never forgive her!"
Madeleine shrugged, then froze, a worried look in her eyes.
— "Wait… how can you say you’re almost twenty-five? Think about it… That’s nonsense. We’ve been here for… at least a quarter of a century."
A heavy silence fell. Eugénie turned pale.
— "What… what did you say? That’s no way to cheer me up! But… it’s true… I remember now! Look at the clock on the mantel!"
She pointed to a golden mantel clock. Its pendulum swung back and forth, but the hands were frozen. Eugénie swallowed hard but clung to her obsession.
Suddenly, she turned her eyes to Simon and, without the slightest surprise, addressed him:
— "Don’t you think I’m still beautiful, young man?"
She puffed out her chest, waiting for a compliment. Then, impatient, she grabbed his hand and pressed it to her bodice.
Simon recoiled. His fingers touched only emptiness. A chilling sensation like cobwebs crept over him. He stifled a shiver. Eugénie exclaimed in frustration:
— "Another one who looks at me like I’m some kind of freak!"
That’s when it clicked: they were ghosts.
The clues now made sense—the outdated decor, the heatless fire, the unmoving clock, their unchanging appearance. These women were wandering souls, stuck in the astral, refusing to accept their fate.
And they hadn’t been there for twenty-five years. It had been… a hundred and fifty.
A wave of compassion washed over him. He felt connected to them, especially Eugénie. As if a deep bond tied them together.
He had to help them.
Simon opened his mouth, but his spontaneity backfired.
— "I can free you from this place…"
— "Leave?" Eugénie choked. "Out of the question! I have a ball to prepare!"
Madeleine nodded in agreement.
Simon tried to correct himself, but it was too late. A sudden vertigo yanked him backward.
The awakening was brutal. He was back in his bed. The sorceress had been right: the return was as simple as it was involuntary.
go to chap 2 : buymeacoffee.com/sibeliusletheurge/the-astral-quest-3707051
