After laying her on her bed with infinite care, I brush her pale hair away from her face.
Her presence fills the space with warmth and a quiet serenity. Though unconscious, she is radiant. Beautiful in a way that steals what breath I have in my immortal lungs.
A sleeping beauty in the flesh, and I am the one who waits.
So I sit beside her, patient and still, watching for the moment her mind catches up, for those white lashes to flutter and lift. When those light hazel eyes find me, I’ll be here to tell her that all she loves is not lost.
I want to see the determination return to her gaze. The hope. I want to watch the fight come back to life inside her.
And selfishly, I want her to wake—so she can give me another chance to see the world through her eyes.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
The Bloody Moon
Orán
Eridessa’s bedroom has, in a way, become its own sanctuary.
White linens, clean and soft, gather in gentle folds around her body. Pillows are arranged to cradle, not confine, and though her quilt couldn’t be saved, I found another one equally as soft to lay over her.
The window is left ajar so the room fills with the scents and sounds of thriving life beyond it. Dozens of wildflowers rest at her bedside, a promise waiting for her upon waking that all is not as it was.
And still… she sleeps.
For days, I have guarded her rest. Each night, I gather her close. Whatever comforts I can provide, I do so, whether that be in a book I read aloud or speaking to her as if she were awake, so that she may know she’s not alone.
I have even gone as far as to sing her an old Irish lullaby my mother used to coax us to sleep with when we were children, with the quiet hope that it might draw her back instead.
Today, there’s a remarkable change. Only not in the way I had hoped for.
She surfaces from sleep to stir restlessly. At times, her small fists clench in the sheets as she thrashes. Pain tightens her features, and though I try to soothe her—heal her, even—little I do seems to help.
Still, her distress undoes me.
Then, an hour ago, at the periphery of the forest surrounding the homestead, something shifted.
Not a sound. Not movement. A pressure testing the edges of what I had woven into this place, drawn, perhaps, to the power that lingers here.
Subtle at first, then stronger.
I stilled.
Met it, and yet it did not retreat.
Instead, it pressed closer, moving through her woods with quiet intent toward us.
I linger by Eridessa’s side as long as I can, my gaze fixed on her, torn between staying… and protecting her from whatever draws nearer by the minute.
In the end, the entity gives me no choice.
I leave her with the hope that whatever terrors haunt my Eliora do not continue to do so in my absence—and that I survive whatever awaits me.
After walking the perimeter of the homestead, I remain outside, turning slowly in place, my senses stretched thin as I scour the treeline and the sky beyond it.
Some stars still burn above, but all that once marked the graveyards of the old gods are gone.
More troubling still is that the sun has not risen since the day the gods fell. A blood-filled moon hangs heavy over the world, casting an eerie glow over all it touches, turning Eridessa’s beloved, majestic woodlands into a forest that glows… and bleeds crimson.
