Prologue
"You're not the one who found her. She doesn't even want you, remember?" A voice through the blackened cosmos speaks into the void, echoing like a sharpened chime on a dull chainsaw.
"You think finding her matters?" Another voice—dismissive and assertive. Yet, the drums of its tone are calming.
Such bothersome troubles within the mist of this darkness. An unwanted disruption of peace and tranquility. But, what is to be found within this…void? Comfort? A sense of nothing? When all I feel is darkness and warmth—or is it cold?— why would anything matter to me other than this.
Nothing matters.
Only blood and this depthless darkness that holds on like a clenching hand to a needing throat is what remains.
"I think after what happened, finding her is all that matters." The chainsaw of a voice again, and still, it rattles on, grinding through my peace.
"Would you two shut up already?" a woman's voice cuts in. It's exactly what I would love to yell. "Do you think she'd appreciate waking up to you two fighting over her lifeless body?"
"She's not lifeless." The comforting voice protests. There's a defiant curve in his vowels, a gentle hint of an accent. He sounds strong but worried.
"I told you, it wasn't your fault." The woman speaks again.
"Then whose was it?"
Silence.
"There's nothing you could have done. Be thankful that she's still here with us."
"Thankful for this?"
Whatever they're arguing about must be important, but it's exhausting. Life is exhausting.
"What other option is there?" She sounds like reason itself. The grinding, mouth-breather begins a low grumble, and then she adds in a softer tone, "You did exactly what you could. What if she hadn't been found at all? Or worse?"
"It's…" He pauses. I hang on his hesitance. "It's unthinkable."
"Exactly. She'll wake up. The body is strong." Vibrations buzz against the blackened space around me. "She knows she is needed."
Calloused hands grasp at skin. Or my skin. I search for a hand in the darkness, but there's none—just the sensation, the knowing that someone outside of me is holding a pale hand. It feels so foreign after so long.
Through the void, there's a chuckle, and then, "No thanks to you." More clearly now than before—blunt, sarcastic, cocky. A brutishness that's uncomfortable, an agitation that feels like jagged fingers tearing along the seams of this void.
A great slam, and a rocking of my prison.
Prison? I think. No. This is not a prison.
This is a held breath before a kiss. This place is…it's what a gentle hug from a mother. But with the rattling of this place comes a slight crack of light. It burns my eyes with color and movement.
"Look what you did now," the feminine voice says.
"He isn't strong enough." The jagged voice claims. "They were clear about that. He's had his chance. It's my turn."
"And just who might be saying it's your turn?"
More silence, and then another voice. "Turns don't matter. Especially since the body has been asleep for almost four months now." It's a different kind of feminine tone—sweet and pungent, like gingersnaps before Christmas.
"She'll wake up." The mothering voice says.
"And I'll be here when she does," the grinder replies.
"We'll all be here when she does. Let's not forget why we are all here." Her voice is a poem, dripping into my cocoon, circling, settling—then slipping back through the crack as the light dims and the void swallows me whole once again.
Ω
"Come in, she doesn't bite." A soft voice warms me like sunshine.
There's silence for a moment and then a soft brush against skin. What is skin? A shock of coolness and then the scent of blackberries. It brings forth memories of bursted flavor in my mouth. Little seeds trapped between my fangs. Stained fingers and lips.
"Seriously?" The loving voice grabs my attention once more. "It's not like you'll be late for your lecture."
A muffled voice—different from the soothing one—sounds from further away. The soft vibration of the deeper tones travel only like a muted subwoofer.
Soft skin caresses mine. Mine? A tapping echoes at the threshold of darkness before the warm voice returns. "It's not like anyone will see us here." A brief pause. "There isn't even a sign-in sheet." A beat passes. "It could be good for her—" Another hesitation. "Fine, let me drop these off, and then we can go."
The air around me shifts, stimulating small hairs upon—upon… Air? Colors of yellow and a soft glow of light circles and bleeds into shadow. The tickle leaves—the scent of blackberries with it.
Books and binding glue waft and then a warm press to my forehead before a tickle of hair grazes my cheek and ear. Forehead, cheek, ear… those are—
"Same time tomorrow?" She whispers.
She feels important. She feels safe. Her whispers leave traces of wholeness.
Steps echo away and then come pounding back toward me, "I almost forgot!"
Scraping against glass and water spilling sounds to my right. A fresh aroma fills my senses. My senses…?
I push forward with that thought.
Aromatic and fresh. Dew in the morning. Sunshine. A field of yellow flowers and a fresh breeze licking my lips. I can almost feel my body, feel the grass under my toes, smell the flowers aroma as the breeze picks it up and brings it to my nostrils to fill it with—
The image fades. The beautiful thought of what I am, what I could be… it fades with it. A comforting blanket lays over me like a voice soothing me back to sleep.
Ω
A tree blinks into existence.
It rises above me with impossible grace, its canopy breathing with the rhythm of a world untouched by time. Every leaf glimmers as though sunlight had been trapped beneath its veins, catching the air before drifting lazily around us. I lift my hand toward its branches, and the tree seems to answer. The leaves dance downward as if gravity itself had softened into something gentler. Just for me.
Each breath of wind carries the scent of rain-kissed earth, wild blossoms, and something old and new. It slips between my fingers, curls through my hair, and settles against my skin with the tenderness of a blessing. That very same blessing stretches forever in the sky. It is an ever changing blue, too brilliant for words. Its clouds spun like fresh cream across an endless canvas. Gold bleeds into sapphire at the horizon, while ribbons of impossible color shimmer between them, hues with no earthly names. Like staring into infinity itself.
That endless breeze sways over my form, gentle and soothing. Reminding me that I am his. Created just for him. I know I am his. I know this. I know this.
The leaves continue their slow descent around us, each one catching the morning light before settling into the grass beneath me. It's impossibly soft as though the earth itself refused to wound me. My heart aches with a devotion I cannot explain as he draws me closer once more, every movement echoing with the rhythm of the world around us.
My heart aches, full of love and devotion as he slides into me again. Forming us as one. One being to fill this world. To rule all worlds and generations.
Looking back into the brilliant morning sky, I know—
One day we will be together. One day I promise myself.
I'll always be his.
Ω
A spring breeze awakens me from my dark slumber. Not enough for me to open my eyes, nor to move, I'm too tired for that.
"I told you she needs the windows and drapes open during the day. She needs the sun." A sweet mousy voice, urgent but girlish.
"I'm pretty sure she likes the dark better." A voice like the first one sounds, but this one is much more masculine.
"She loves the dark, but she thrives in the sun." She says sweetly.
The boy tries to argue, "She told me—"
"Bernard and her always talked about basking in the sun." The mousy voice rasps, "They tanned together all the time last summer, don't you remember?"
Bernard? An image flashes, one I don't fully understand. I almost jolt awake terrified, but the darkness pushes it away like a protective ward.
"Fay, when are you going to move on? It's been—"
"No matter the time, Henry… I don't think—I don't think I'll ever move on."
Fay… Henry… Names. What lies within a name, but memories and pain. Why did I think that? If names are memories and pain, why do I feel such joy rolling their names over in the dark? There's laughter and smiles and things so foreign, so unseen. But…the names are so familiar, so…
"Help me with the pillow now and throw out those flowers. She needs new ones. Can you pick up her favorites today and come by later?"
"What are her favorites again?"
"I'm pretty sure they are sunflowers."
I hear the uncertainty in their words. It makes me want to giggle.
"After class I'll come by." A pause. "I promise I'll do it." Another pause. "Seriously, I got it."
Drifting back into blackness and slumber, I smile.
Ω
A movement of space and closeness presents itself, but a voice and name awakens me.
"Princess."
There's only one person that called me that. Calls me that? In this space, I'm unsure of the past and present. Time is but a linear noose dragging me to unknown lengths of time. No… I am sure. I am. The one who calls me princess is… is my— mother!
Mom! I drag the word from somewhere deep inside me. Can you hear me? I'm right here! I… I don't know what's going on. But I am here, can you help me? Mom?
A warm hand encompasses my own. The heat spreads up my palm, my wrist, and then my arm. It tingles. I use that feeling to try and open my eyes, try to move, try anything. But all it does is spread around like a voided echo.
"Looks like she needs some flowers. Tomorrow I will get you some." I can hear it in her voice—a soft sad smile. More sounds shift beside me. Paper moved. Wood against wood. Other things that I can't quite put my fang on. "She has good friends."
"Not all." Another voice says, jilted with opposition. Father! He's here too! Again I try to will myself to move, to leak open a crack of light, but nothing. So, I shout into the void. Father! I want to cry, but the void doesn't let me.
Mother's hand tightens and then softens and then after another moment tightens again. "You don't have to be so…" Her breath turns tense, short clipped. The opposite of her usual soft tone. "Not now. Please."
"No, not right now." Father makes the words sound like he's given in, but his tone tells me differently. He's still holding onto that same restraint. Even with me—
"The Verrone's should be coming this week to visit." Another squeeze to my hand. "Arabella decided to stay here in the dorm for summer vacation. She's been working closely with some of the professors and the other nocturnals. You know, keeping things calm and steady—like her. Oh, and Fay and Henry are leaving this week, but should be back soon. Everyone else has been coming in sporadically. There has been so much support. So much love." She giggles faintly—sadly.
I want to reach her. To hold her.
"Oh, that's right! Your father and I have decided that we will be holding a fundraiser next school year to support another influx of nocturnals joining. While you have been away, Victor has been doing so much good. There is so much to discuss! So… it's time for you to wake up!" Lips press against my fingers. The dampness pools in the darkness, cool and grey-blue like my mother's eyes.
"We need to get going, the meeting for the close out of this school year is tonight." Feet pad against floor.
"Aren't you going to say goodbye to our daughter?" This time, Mother's voice is hard, anger bleeding through the darkness.
A pause, then feet shuffling, and then a lukewarm hand to my cheek and a scruffy chin with chapped lips touches my forehead.
Father never leaves scruff on his face.
Ω
There's a subtle shift, but enough to pull me forward. Warmth pools at my hip while my hands stay ice cold. I expect something to touch me, hands, fingers, lips, but nothing grabs for me. I reach instead for scent but whatever governs this place denies me that, too. All I'm left with is proximity and the quiet certainty that someone is here.
The cushion underneath—what both I and whoever is sitting next to me—caves inward. Not quite touching but also, not quite not. That is what unsettles me—not the heat, but the restraint of it. The deliberate hover over me, as if they are choosing not to close the distance.
I lean into it anyway. Inside the dark, something tightens. The walls—if there are walls—strain, thinning just enough for a seam of color to slip through. Blue. Gray. White. Light begins to flicker. Reaching for it—for them, for anything—but the void reacts like a living thing. It recoils, then surges, swallowing it whole. Gone like it was never there to begin with. Just upon my lips though, hesitation lingers. I can feel the pull of warmth. So close!
But as the darkness always overrules, it snaps their warmth away.
The heat leaves my lips, and the mattress shifts beneath me once again. This time it's my entire side that's heated. Not over top of me, but just enough that I feel the presence lying beside me.
Still. Quiet. Breathing.
A soft chuckle leaves their lips.
A boy. But, I—I turn toward him, or at least I try to. Something in me curls in his direction, drawn by instinct stronger than thought. He won't feel it. I know he won't. I know it's pointless to try.
Still, I lay here with him, drawing in his quiet comfort, hoping he understands that I am trying.
The shoulder pressed to mine begins to shake, and his breathing turns unsteady. His hand tightens around mine, and I wish I could return it, hold on just as fiercely as he holds me.
Useless.
He draws in a deep breath, then exhales from the depths of his hollow chest. His weight presses into the mattress as he pulls himself up, and the warmth of his body slips away from mine. The space he leaves behind lingers for a moment, the mattress still holding his shape before it slowly rises, like a gentle inhale.
Water pours in the distance. A few steps. Then a thrashing of something light weight hitting a plastic bin.
I sense him beside me then, a tinkling of glass and then water filling it. A fresh smell of my favorite aroma seeps into my nostrils. It floods in, stronger than anything before, dragging something with it—something close to waking. Light fractures through the dark again, stronger now. Closer. Blue, gray, white once more. I push toward it. Force myself toward it—
If I could scream, I would.
If I could move, I would tear my way out of this—
But the moment breaks as his presence pulls back. Quick. Abrupt. Like he's chosen to leave before something happens. His hurried footsteps shuffle out of the space. A door closes. And just like that, I'm alone again. Waiting for the next moment the world almost lets me back in. Waiting for the next paralyzed wake window of—
0 comments