“Eadwine. I’m sorry… I…”
“Shhh, my love. Edith,” her father murmured, bringing Edith’s palm to his cheek. “Take my love with you. We will meet again.”
As if she’d been waiting for permission, Edith’s chest rattled with a shuddering, gasping breath. All the warmth in her eyes dimmed out, her hand going limp in Elara’s.
Short, sobbing breaths left Elara as her entire body trembled.
She glanced through wet lashes.
For the first time, her father cried, openly wept over her mother’s body, brushing the sweaty strands of hair from her face. Grief sapped all the love that had once enveloped the space.
It stabbed her, making each breath more impossible than the last.
It felt as though she was intruding on something private. Something she should not be witnessing. She might have been Elara’s mother, but her father loved Edith first.
Quietly, she rose to her feet, careful not to disturb her father, and slipped outside.
Eventually, they’d need to tend to her mother’s remains.
But it could wait.
Each step dragged on until she reached a massive oak, the bark digging into her palms. The last of her strength faded, and she collapsed to her knees.
In the forest's shadow, Elara wept, wrapping her arms around her waist and sobbing until she passed out.
One
Elara
Time ceased to have meaning, each day bleeding into the next. Elara moved like a shadow, her father not faring much better.
Thankfully, their neighbors chipped in, bringing meals and tending to their farm in the days and weeks that followed.
They had since laid her mother to rest underneath a willow tree, but the hollow ache in Elara’s chest only grew.
Sometimes in the darkness, whispers called to her, their voices indistinct. At first, Elara had wondered if it was her mother seeking her out. That belief faded as quickly as it came.
With each hushed voice came an unnatural chill, reminding her nothing of her mother. Instead, it only festered the loneliness devouring her, feasting like a parasite until nothing was left.
Whatever murmured to her from the shadows was not of this world. Not something she wanted to acknowledge, secretly hoping if she ignored them long enough, they’d disappear.
As the weeks dragged on, Elara forced herself into some semblance of a routine. She often stared into the distance, eyes unseeing as she completed the most menial of tasks.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Like her, her father still struggled, finding it difficult to get out of bed most days.
Elara committed to her promise, making meals and ensuring her father persevered.
Around him, she smiled, burying her own pain.
She had not seen him this despondent in many seasons. Not since she was barely old enough to hold a hoe.
Elara had not always been an only child. When she closed her eyes, she still saw flashes of Edmund—her older brother.
Bright green eyes twinkled, his smile flashing in the sun beneath chestnut locks. He had been much older than her, already strong enough to wield a blade.
It had been the warm season when they came. While Elara sat in her mother’s lap, watching as her father and brother skinned a deer, shouts carried from their village, plumes of smoke darkening the blue sky.
“Edmund,” she cried, breaking free from her mother’s steel grip and jumping into her brother’s arms.
