We follow the ramp descending at a shallow incline until doors appear, lining the hall at irregular intervals. Lucien stops before the first one, his hand on the handle, and looks to me for confirmation that I’m ready for whatever we’re going to find on the other side of it. Whatever he sees on my face has him patiently waiting; not questioning, but giving me time to psyche myself up.
Whoever lived here...I didn’t know them. Even if they were my parents, grandparents, or cousins, I don’t know any of their names. No memories, no stories. I’m connected to them through a dying legacy and blood alone, nothing more.
“Open it.”
He pushes in the door, white knuckling the handle as he tenses, expecting something to jump out at him. When I step inside the small room behind him, a semi-hysterical laugh slips out.
A broom closet. Bottles of soap, a bucket and mop, and some dusty rags are all that are inside, what I was so worked up about. An incredulous breath of amused relief rushes from my lungs and I shake my head. I’m beyond grateful when Dorian takes my hand, gently pulling me from the room like he’s aware that an old closet has the power to tip me over the edge in my rising, manic state.
“Let’s see what’s behind door number two, shall we?” he offers, and Atlas joins in.
“Nah, third one’s the charm.” He crosses his arms and leans back against the wall. “Let’s just skip right to that one; we might win a new washer and dryer set.”
Frowning, he kicks off from the wall and fumbles behind him. A second later, lights click on and hum to life as he flips the switch that was poking him in the back. The single bulbs kick on in a series of waves down the long hallway, the occasional one blowing and sending glass shards to rain down, tinkling softly against the stone paved path.
The ceiling is high enough that it keeps the claustrophobia at bay, though it still feels too much like a tomb for my liking. Honestly, I have to commend whoever designed this place though. Despite the fact that they kept the changelings contained instead of letting them run rampant throughout the island, my ancestors at least realized how little difference there is between them and us, choosing to live in a similar set up. The changelings may live in shallow caves in the walls, but so did they; their chambers just had doors.
Humoring Atlas, we skip the next door and open the third into the hallway, but it steals the air from my lungs. It’s a simple bedroom set up, but the ceiling is what captures my attention instantly. Painted to replace the sky, a myriad of stars arc through a sunset, the colors so vivid even after all of this time that I forget how to breathe for a moment.
Without wanting to risk the emotional blow of what I might find if I dig too deeply into the abandoned belongings, I move on to the next room, and then the next. Each ceiling is hand painted; some stormy, some a sunrise, and others a night so vast, the inspiration has to hail from the shadow court.
But the next room has me choking on a sob before I can stop myself, my hand covering my mouth as soon as I spot the small crib against the wall beside the bed. I know better, yet still, I can’t stop myself from scanning the room slowly, soaking up every detail and committing it to memory.
The dusty bedspread that never got a chance to be made, the clothes scattered about the room like they were exhausted with their newborn daughter. And the ceiling, a colorful blend of clouds concealing the majority of the sun, the shades the same vibrant tones as the ones in my hair, like the first thing they deemed important wasn’t the laundry piling up, but brightening the room so I wasn’t trapped in the darkness with them.
“Hey, hey, hey.” Atlas is suddenly there, arms wrapping around my stomach and chest to keep me upright. My hands curl up to grip his forearm at my chest and he removes the band from my stomach to stoke a hand over the side of my face, cupping my cheek and gently scratching my neck. “If I don’t get to fall apart, neither do you, princess. Deep breaths.”
It’s hard to draw air into my lungs, my tears blurring my vision as I gasp through my sobs. So much; I’ve endured so goddamn much, but a fucking painting wrecks me.
I couldn’t tell you how long we stand there with me clinging to Atlas, but by the time I can breathe without my lungs protesting, I feel like hell. My eyes burn, are puffy and swollen, and my limbs feel heavy. A splitting headache has already made itself at home, and nothing but sleep is going to be able to put a dent in it.
When I finally can feel my feet beneath me, I pivot in his arms, finding us alone and panic sets in as I croak, “Where are the others?” I clear my throat, desperately hoping we find at least a bottle of water in this place soon.
He scans my face, eyes hard and jaw clenched. “I think the changelings might have been more upset seeing you like that than the three of us were. You were projecting pretty hard and they weren’t handling it well, so Dorian and Luce took them out of here to keep exploring the place.”
Swallowing, I nod, swiping away the drying tears on my face. “Sorry.”
His arms tighten around me as he growls, “You don’t need to be sorry, damn it.”
I murmur the words against his collar since he’s crushing me. “Sorry.” His chest vibrates beneath me with his annoyance and I grin, just a little bit. “There has to be a water source here somewhere, maybe the others have already found it.”
Taking the deflection in stride, Atlas pulls back enough to scan my face with a pinched look before grabbing my hand. We head back out into the hallway and follow the winding path that seems to make little sense. It rises and falls with multiple, smaller paths branching off of it. We stick to the larger main path for fear of getting lost, though I still have a small blip of fear that we’ll be trapped underground forever. Even though we’re technically on a floating island.
My head hurts too much for this.
“Damn, how far did they go?” Atlas complains, as we follow yet another swell upward.
“Maybe they took one of the smaller side paths?”
He sighs, staring at the seemingly endless path in front of us. “Okay, from a constructional standpoint, I’d wager this center path runs in a wave around the entire circumference of this place like a giant, caffeinated oval. Each rise and dip allows for tunnels to branch off on the different levels here without having to go too long of a stretch before having access to a different floor. So if we stay the course, we’d just end up back where we started, but I’d imagine we’ll come to an opening to the center space soon; an access point on each of the four main sides.”
“Have I told you lately how much I appreciate you?”
He rolls his eyes at me, but a small smile twitches the corner of his mouth. “Not like I built the damn thing.”
“Yeah, but your brain is creating a map as we walk to get a layout. My mental map is just a pile of spaghetti after those twists. Couldn’t tell you which way is west to save my soul.”
With a snort, he kisses the back of my hand and urges me to keep walking. “You couldn’t tell me north or south if you were holding a compass.” Flipping him off with a smile, he chuckles.
