I stare at my great-grandson, who looks back at me in exasperation.

Handsome lad, but oh! So inexperienced, so young and stupid, still! After all. He's only seventeen. Or twenty-seven. I can't very well remeber. Either way, he's young. Too young to be telling me what to do.

"Gammie, please listen to me this once! If you do this, you'll be buried by next Monday." Charles huffed, clearly upset.

I readjust my pince-nez, golden framed glasses and meet his stern glower with a severity I believe he didn't expect.

"Charles Cassian Chill!"

He snorts, and I supress a smile. He hates being called by his full name.

"I'm going, and that's it. Call Darla. And no backchatting me, young man!"

I hear him fiercely dialling a number and smile to myself. I haven't seen Charles this upset in a long time. He had better not attempt some sort of trick to stop me.

I'm only one-hundred-and-one. And even though I probably have thrice as many wrinkles, I know there's nothing stopping me from making my dream a reality.

I'm going to see what is lurking in those long-forgotten dungeons, even if it means I'm buried by Monday.