Something she didn’t quite trust. Something too fragile to revel in for too long.
An uneasiness swam in the pit of her stomach, no matter how much she tried to ignore it.
The panther followed her, materializing and vanishing with the mist. Soon, Elara realized no one saw the creature but her.
It comforted and unnerved her.
At meals, her father spoke, more relaxed than he had been, unaware of the panther curling at Elara’s feet under the table.
With Alruna’s presence, the whispers of the draugar relented, leaving a foreboding silence in their wake. Despite not hearing them as often anymore, worry still weighed heavily on her.
She couldn’t see them, but it didn’t mean they weren’t still there, watching her.
The warnings of the woman played on repeat in her mind. These draugar were people who had passed on. Envious creatures who wanted her soul. They saw her as weak, as someone they could break.
Alruna may have quieted them, but Elara doubted they would be easily deterred.
After one night of dreamless sleep, the visions returned.
Vivid. Repetitive ones.
Always the same massive figure, looming over her, most of his form cast in shadow with the sun glaring behind him. The only thing she saw clearly were two eyes—one striking silver and the other a blend of lush moss and chestnuts.
Elara continued to weave the basket in her lap, trying not to dwell. It became increasingly difficult. Whenever she closed her eyes, she saw him.
His toned body. His scarred face. His chiseled jaw.
Heat rushed between her thighs. She squirmed.
A thorn pierced her thumb.
“Ouch,” she hissed. “Stop daydreaming about gorgeous, imaginary men.”
Elara sucked the bead of blood from her pad. The taste of metal lingered on her tongue as ominous clouds rolled in, darkening the midday sun. Shaking the sting out of her fingers, Elara continued to weave wildflowers into her basket.
If only to keep her hands busy and her mind occupied.
Granted, she was failing horribly at the latter.
She hummed a familiar tune, bringing with it an onslaught of painful memories. Of bright honey-colored eyes and laughter. Emotion choked her, making her hands shake as she thought of her mother.
They told her it took time. Eventually, the day would come when she would think of her mother and it would bring joy, not pain.
They lied to her.
It had been a year, and the ache never left. It hollowed out a spot, leaving her cold and empty, until she grew around her grief like a gnarled oak.
The promise she made to look after Papa was the single hopeful thing she clung to. It was the only thing keeping her from breaking.
Soon, she prayed she’d allow herself to feel genuine happiness again. The kind that made her cheeks hurt and her eyes crinkle.
When her father smiled now, it touched his eyes.
It gave her hope.
Even as her loneliness gnawed at her.
A cold seeped into her fingers, making them sting before spreading through her limbs until she trembled.
