I strive to ground myself.
My fingers trace the delicate green tendrils of creeping ivy. I observe the way the scarlet hues of sunset paint warmth across the room. I smile through pain and exhaustion—a smile that cracks as the glow fades into night. Lanterns are already lit, casting shadows and light in equal measure. I hear the first tings of scattered rain as I try to find my center.
I move without purpose, lost as the rain falls more steadily now.
My reflection faces me in the foggy glass as I reach the far end of the space. A single drop trails down the inner pane, splitting the image in two. Something in me shifts.
I cannot abide the broken self staring back at me. I brush my hand against the cold glass, smearing the image with it.
I barely register I’ve begun pacing.
He’s still not here.
The words stoke the fire within. He should be here. He knows how important this night is to me. He promised.
I’m not angry with him. It’s whatever cruel twist of fate has kept him from me: storms, destiny… I do not care.
I felt such peace before he left. Even once he was gone, I pushed myself to belong—to claim each day as my own. To be the flame he cherishes and desires.
The call that has been so unrelenting in his absence was almost bearable when his arms were around me. But now—now every part of me rails against it.
Anger begins to fill my chest.
Through it all I steeled myself. I stood tall. I stepped forward. Only to have dark clouds and anguished nights try to stifle me.
And that call—that damn call that no one else seems to hear. The one reaching for and snarling only at me.
My hands curl into fists.
I spin on the spot amid the lush garden that surrounds me, nostrils flaring. Furious. I decide it. I am furious.
I feel the rush course through my veins, heat pulsing beneath my skin. I shove open the doors, abandoning the usual comfort of the conservatory. My steps grow sharp and purposeful upon stone, each strike echoing like a battle cry meant only for me—and for it.
The Sanctum.
The call.
I will not let it be my undoing.
My mind locks onto all it dares to take from me—the pain that tears through me, the pit in my stomach, the fog clouding my thoughts until I cannot think.
All for what? A call I cannot answer?
The guard stationed across from the library shifts backward—perhaps knowing well enough to keep his distance. In hindsight, I realize the path here has been remarkably clear. Surely others must be awake, even at this late hour—yet nothing has deterred me. The storm presses harder against the stone, as if driving the castle inward.
My focus drove me here without a single nod or glance.
The library is still as I enter—none of the quiet comfort I find here with Ace. This is a reckoning.
The towering stacks keep silent watch as I move with purpose. I stand before the Sanctum as though waiting for it to strike. Nothing. Just the blackened abyss before me.
My fingers wrap around the bars, heat blooming beneath my palms where cool iron should meet them. I tighten my grip as pain pierces into my skin; it brings more comfort than the silence.
Agony and ire twist within me, my knees unsteadied. How can something draw me so near and remain so far?
Each breath cuts deeper, hotter in my lungs. The nagging pain in my shoulders burns now as they draw back, every muscle tense and coiled.
Raw power seethes beneath my skin as I stare into darkness.
