“You’re right,” I tell North and Leo. “It is none of your business.” Then, softer, I admit, “I’ve been locked in this building for so long, I’ve forgotten what birdsong sounds like. I’m going.”
Taking a deep breath, I knock briskly on the door. “De Wallen.”
It swings open, and I force myself not to look back as I take my first step onto the brick-paved street beside one of Amsterdam’s many beautiful canals. I can already smell the fresh, outside air and envision the gentle caress of a breeze over my skin. There are swans on the water, tobacco on the wind, and?—
My entire body jolts like I’ve been electrocuted. The sensation of being stretched, like an elastic band pulled too far, eclipses everything else. My toes have barely crossed the threshold, yet pain steals my breath, immobilising me.
A bicycle whirs past, granting me the distraction I need to shove forwards, but with every determined step the stretch gets worse and worse.
Focus on the red glow,I order myself.A few more steps, and I’ll be able to see the swans properly.
I’ve made it four paces. I can’t breathe, but still, I fix my gaze on the streetlight ahead.
Five paces, and my eyes are watering.
At six, I start to backslide. My feet lose their purchase on the stone, my form losing solidity as I’m dragged back into the Arcanaeum by invisible hands.
No. Magic.No!
Not again.
Please.
I clutch at the doorframe, tears blurring my vision as I lose the battle and am wrenched back inside.
Something in my chest crumples as my knees give out, and I hit the floor. The door swings shut, slamming in front of my nose. One last waft of real air hits my face in a mocking backdraft, tainted with scents I don’t recognise.
The Arcanaeum sags sadly around me as my forehead thunks against the wood.
Silence reigns.
You could hear a pin drop as the others in the room try, and fail, to come up with something to say.
I’m glad for it. Taking a shaking breath, I switch to my ghostly form, shoulders dropping as all of my sorrow, grief, and humiliation fade from a choking mess to a more manageable intellectual pain.
If only it could last.
“Kyrith,” Eddy begins. “Hey, look, we can?—”
She cuts off as warm, large hands cup my shoulders, forcing me solid again with nothing more than a touch as Dakari drags me back against the hard planes of his body.
The contact is the final straw.
I lose it.
With a shameful sob, I turn my face into his chest, and cry.
“Shh,” he murmurs. “Baby girl, I?—”
“I wanted to see a beach.” My breath gives an embarrassing little hiccough. “Pigeons. I was going to touch snow.”
I’m babbling like a fool, clutching his shirt like a lifeline.
He holds me tighter, like he can squish all of my shattered dreams back together with his embrace alone, and I crumble a little more. This is undignified, but I cling to him anyway. I’ve not truly felt this kind of loss in centuries, and now… I have no idea how to process it.
How do I stop this?
What must they all think?
