“Just before the grass this morning, or is it yesterday now?” she admits, and my heart aches for her.
My earliest memory of my connection to my magic is before my earliest memory of my parents.
“That's okay. What color is it?” I push, and a soft smile curls the corner of her lips.
“Purple,” she offers, and I grin, despite the jitters in my chest.
“It's a fitting color for you, Echo,” I state, and she hums in agreement, attempting to pry her eyes open, but I shake my head and she closes them quickly. “I want you to connect with that magic right now,” I state, and despite the frown that returns to her face, her body stills. No more fidgeting, no more unease, just awareness. I give her a few moments while I try to calm my own breathing before I push for more. “Have you felt it?”
She nods, her heart pounding so loud I can hear it from here, but she seems too scared to speak.
“Okay. Now, I want you to imagine that magic growing bigger,” I explain, my heart rate matching hers, but she shakes her head.
“I can't do that,” she whispers, and I instinctively want to run toward her, wrap her in my arms and promise her that it's all okay, but I can't move. I'm rooted to the spot, and doing so would interrupt her connection with her magic, which is the last thing we want right now.
“You've got this, Elodie. Just imagine it growing. Imagine it being big enough to circle around you,” I encourage, and she takes another deep breath.
“Is that something that scythes can do?” she asks, and I gulp.
“No,” I rasp, opting for the truth. “But try anyway.”
Seconds drag into minutes as her fingers twitch at her sides. I remain quiet, giving her the space she needs to search and attempt what I'm asking. But when nothing happens, I'm certain I'm wrong. I can’t decide if I’m relieved or disappointed. Either way, I’m confused and still without answers.
I exhale, cutting the distance between us, but when I place my hand on her shoulder, I’m jolted back as purple smoke envelops her defensively. I skid across the floor, grappling withthe stone beneath me to make me stop, and I thankfully fall still before I can smack my head on the edge of the balcony.
“Holy fuck, how is this possible?” I breathe, gaping at her as she snaps her eyelids open.
The smoke lingers for an extra moment before it evaporates, and she drops to her knees with a heavy exhale.
“What's happening to me?” she asks, fear in her tone, and all I can do is stare at her with no clear answer.
“I don’t… I don't know, Echo. All I know is that in the real world, you're a scythe. You've seen it, I've seen it. But in here, you have the traits of a shadow fae. Traits I haven’t seen for a very long time, apart from in myself.” The words sound insane on my tongue, but it’s the only explanation I’ve come up with.
“How is this possible?” she breathes, shaking her head in disbelief as she throws her arms out at her sides. “It's just a dream,” she insists.
My heart hammers wildly in my chest as I walk around her to the balcony doors. The round brass doorknob stares at me expectantly, and my fingers tremble as I reach for it. Before I can change my mind, I twist the handle and let the door fall open, edging it with the tip of my finger until it's opened all the way. The room stands frozen on the other side, dust glinting in the air, while I remain frozen in place.
It's been a very long time since I've seen inside these walls, but the familiarity and the safety that once greeted me remain. The only thing that's ever stopped me from walking these halls again is the acknowledgement of the loss that comes with it.
“Are you okay?” Elodie asks, gently placing her hand on my arm, and I nod.
“I just need a minute,” I admit, trying to build the courage needed to step inside as I watch her stare into the room. To distract myself, I try to see it through her eyes.
A four-poster bed sits in the center of the far wall, with drapes hanging perfectly and a floral bedsheet spread across its surface. An ottoman sits at the end, with my father's slippers tucked underneath. My mother's dresser is to the right, mirrors in place, trinkets lined up, and her favorite bottle of perfume on the edge, out of place.
I imagine it's there because my sister got her hands on it. There was always a running joke in the house about how she would always steal it to smell like Mummy. And now, as I stand here staring at my parents’ bedroom, I’m transported back to that time. It makes my breath lodge in my throat. It’s impossible to step inside.
Elodie, however, doesn't seem to harbor the same problems as I do as she tries to step into the room, but before her foot can land on the other side of the doorway, I grab her arm and tug her back.
“Thorne,” she breathes, her eyes crinkled in confusion as she frowns at me, and I shake my head.
“Don't touch anything,” I bite, and she gulps.
“I have to,” she replies, startling me, and my hold loosens enough for her to slip from my grasp.
My hands curl into fists at my side as I watch her hurry across the room like it's not the sacred time capsule that it is.
“I said?—”
