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I closed my eyes, picturing those Yule mornings when the world felt a little brighter, a little warmer, all because of Brie's kindness. Yule was the only time of year a student's family was allowed to send them a gift, usually anonymously. But each year, I never got one, except from Brie.
In the quiet solitude of my room, I allowed myself to feel the weight of those memories, to let the emotions wash over me like a tide. Each touch, gesture, and gift were etched into my heart, reminding me of the bond we shared and the love that had sustained me through the darkest of times.
My parents had abandoned me. I’d been given a simple human name for which I had been ridiculed. Ever since we had been taught the meanings of names when we were six I had been ridiculed, the only one of my age group that hadn’t even been given their mother’s bastard name variant.
But Brie had held me through my sorrow. She had given me the confidence to see this name as a gift: I would use their fodder to build my walls. I would use their ridicule to fuel my own strength.
That had all been because of Brie. The woman I was today was because of Brie. Even twelve years after her death I knew that everything I had become was because of her. I had hidden myself away because of her.
And I’d killed her.
I couldn’t escape this hell. Every insecurity I had ever felt ran through me like a tidal wave. My mind kept repeating over and over and over again about how I was alone, I was a freak. I had killed Sister Brie because I was a freak.
No one else could literally steal another’s life force and thrust it into someone else. No one else could control both sins and virtues. I was a freak, set to be thrust into a breeding camp to produce even more little freaks like me. As soon as the world found out what I was, any illusion of freedom would be stripped away with my clothes.
I would be nothing but a womb for the masses.
It would be better for me to let go now. I could do it - simply fade into the blackness surrounding me. It called to me, the gentle peace of the stillness. Somehow, I knew I could just let go, disappearing into the void where the pain could no longer tear me down.
I wouldn’t have to fear the future, it said to me. I wouldn’t have to continue with the pain. I wouldn’t have to accept it. I could just let it go.
I didn’t know how long I’d been sitting there when a heavy hand rested onto my shoulder. It could have been hours; it could have been days - hell it could have been years stuck in that repeating nightmare. But somehow that hand broke through the repetition.
I raised my head from my knees, looking to my side where a man with copper-colored eyes looked down on me.
Pain split my forehead and I shut my eyes tightly, trying to draw forth the memory of who he was. It was right there, at the forefront of my mind, but every time I tried to grasp it the memory floated just out of reach. I cried out in frustration as sharp acute pain ran between my temples and behind my eyes.
“Shh Little Thief, calm yourself.” the man said, kneeling beside me.
I focused my eyes on him again, watching as the scar at the corner of his mouth moved with his words. For some reason I became mesmerized by his lips, and the way they lifted into a half grin when I watched him.
I wondered almost absentmindedly what those lips would feel like pressed to my own, my heartbeat quickening with the thought.
No, I didn't need to wonder. I knew what they felt like.
"That's it, Little Thief," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down my spine as the memories flooded back while my body matured.
Little Thief. This man called me that. Why did he call me that? The words echoed in my mind, each syllable a puzzle piece I couldn't quite fit together. The weight of his gaze bore into me, as if daring me to remember, to unearth the truth that lay buried in the depths of my memory.
The man raised his hand, a glowing ball of flame rising to his palm before it ran up and along his black suit clad arms like a puppy in field. It ran up to his shoulders and around his neck, before cascading down his other arm and landing in his palm.
Without thought I reached out with my psychic tendrils and snapped it up, drawing it into my own essences.
"Thanks, handsome," I said, my voice laced with a hint of appreciation. Handsome? He was definitely that, but why had I said it?
Because I’d called him that before.
Taking my words as an invitation, he reached for me, his fingers brushing against my arm. I flinched back, pressing my head back into my knees.
“Calm down, Little Thief," he said softly, his tone soothing. "I just want to see you." He ran a gentle hand under my chin, lifting my head up to look into his eyes, his warm and reassuring touch.
The copper eyes I had grown to long for, the same ones that had pulled me from the depths of my nightmares when the witching hour refused to take pity on me.
Marik’s eyes.
“Marik," I breathed out, a mix of surprise and realization finally dawning on me.
“Ryn," he replied, a small, fond smile playing on his lips, the scar on his lip tugging up with his smile.
