“Child—what’s happened?”she whispers softly, a shadow of concern passes over her expression, making the lines on her face deepen.
“He’s—” I don’t want to finish the sentence, but I know that I must.This is all my fault, the least I can do is accept it and give him the respect he deserves.I swallow hard, the admission a bitter, metallic taste in my throat.“He’s gone.”The sound of it slices like a fresh cut.
She pulls me further in, her heel scuffs against the floorboards as she diverts me into the back where her living quarters are.
Trinkets in all manner of containers crowd the shelves, while a multitude of concoctions swarm the worktops.Herbs hang in bundles from the ceiling, draping like bunting on the night of the Great Pale Mother.Scattered candles flicker, sending shadows into a frantic dance across the walls.My lungs drink in the scent, finally remembering how to expand.
Mismatched upholstered chairs enclose the hearth, their fabric moth-eaten over the years.A well-trodden path has been ground into the timber, the wood pale and bleached compared to the rest of the floor.
An assortment of aromas fill my senses; camomile, nettle, lemon balm and peppermint, with a lingering scent of lavender.
It’s not much, but somehow Yara has made it a home.
She eases me into the chair by the hearth and presses a cup into my hands.“Sip,” she instructs.
The steam smells just like the aroma in the room, but with a hint of something sharp and clean.I take a tentative sip as it’s warm, gentle heat smooths the raw edges of my throat.
It tastes light, subtly grassy, with a sudden, invigorating kick of ginger that blooms on my tongue, the spicy warmth a stark contrast to the cold void in my chest.
It’s a strange, comforting sensation: an internal warmth that starts at my core and spreads outward, chasing the unease from my extremities and leaving a deep sense of calm in its wake.
I melt into the chair, my head leaning against the backrest, as I stare up toward the littered ceiling.
She doesn’t speak, but stands and waits for me to begin—like she always does.
“I didn’t mean for it to happen…” I say, voice raw, choked with regret.“I told them not to, I tried to stop it.”My hand raises, palm flat, hovering in front of my face as if I expect to see blood there, as if I can still feel the weight of his life I just ended.
Her hands trace the furniture as she guides herself toward me, her feet skimming the floor boards.With surprising ease, she sinks to one knee until we are eye-to-eye.Her cloudy, searching gaze flickers across my face before slowing, finally honing in on me.
A warm, rough hand lands on my knee, settling the tremor that I didn’t know began.
“Tell me.”
“The shadows have been with me since I can remember, small wisps of black smoke that have grown in time with my own.”Yara leans in slightly, her eyes attempting to track every movement of my lips.“When I was little, I used to talk to them.Play with them.They were my only friends—are my only friends.”
My thumb traces idly over the rim of the cup, focusing on a sharp edge of the chip in the ceramic.I can still feel their tendrils under my arms, forcing me to stand.My brow furrows as I try to think back to a time when they’ve ever been sotangible.
“Lately,” I begin, clearing my throat.“They’ve changed.”
Silence hangs heavy between us, the words laced with uncertainty.
Yara stands, rubbing her knee as she makes her way over to the chair opposite.“How so?”she says, landing with a thump, as a plume of dust motes rise into the air.
“They seem hungrier, angrier—as if they’re waiting for something.Or someone.”I stare into the cup, watching the oils spiral through the water.“They’ve never been able to touch me like this before.They turned so…solid.That’s what they did to him.To Sylas.”
Bile rises in my throat, a bitter protest against the words, but I force them out anyway.
“They did it so easily.A whirlwind of smoke that solidified at the touch.Coiling and squeezing until the rattle in his chest simply…stopped.”
Yara’s thumbs twiddle restlessly in her lap as she listens, the lines on her forehead deepening as she stares at them, deep in thought.“Perhaps—” she begins, clearing her throat, “—perhaps they’ve seen how much caring for him weighs on you, and so…wanted to end his suffering?”
“They should know me better to know that’s the last thing I would want,” I bite back.“He was my only family, and now he’s gone.Because of me.Because of whatever I am.”
Tension begins to coil tighter in my chest, it’s fingers squeezing around my heart.
Gritting my teeth, I take another deep pull from the cup, commanding the warmth to ease the internal grip.
Yara falls silent, her head tilting to one side as she considers my words.A thoughtful quiet settles on her face, a subtle movement in her jaw the only sign she’s mulling over what I said.
