I grip her top, clutching it tight in my fist. A whimper escapesfrom my lips before my body seizes with pain once more. Ice courses through my arm, and I writhe in agony, my vision fades as my hand loosens its grip.
A hand brushes my hair, and I drift into a dream, so vivid I believe it to be real.
I am transported in front of my cottage, looking through the open door. Mum potters around the kitchen, humming to herself while she preps supper, swaying as she dices vegetables.
The familiar smell inside comforts me: the cooking stew, Mum’s lavender perfume, and the oaky wood smell of Dad’s newest creations.
Elana is snuggled under a blanket on Dad’s armchair, engrossed in her favourite story, ‘The Tale of Armon.’ A book she reads so often, she could recite it word for word. Wyatt and Dad talk in hushed tones as they step into the cottage behind me, joking together as they usually would; the son he never had.
I reach for them, but they don’t see me or feel my touch. I’m a ghost, a fly on the wall of my old life. My heart cracks, threatening to split open any second.
Feeling my way around the room, my fingers brush the edges of the bookshelves, the soft plush of Dad’s armchair, and soft blankets draped across the couches, even the old scratches on the dining table. I don’t understand. Why can I touch the inanimate objects but not them?
Dad walks up behind Mum, wrapping his arms around her waist, and sways with her in the kitchen. She continues slicing while giggling. Tears slip down my cheeks as he spins her and pulls her into a dance in the middle of the kitchen. Swaying to music only they can hear, like they used to do. I don’t think I have a memory of them without at least one of them dancing to silent music. Until Dad died. Then the dancing stopped.
This is how I remember them, how Iwantto remember them.
Happy, optimistic, and carefree.
Elana rolls her eyes when Mum’s dress hits her on her shoulder during a spin with Dad. She lifts her book high, covering her eyes. Wyatt sits in the corner with a small piece of wood that Dad had been teaching him to whittle. He hated the little carvings, but he longed for Dad to be proud of him. What he didn’t know was that we were all proud of him for being himself. For the man he had become.
I walk over to where he sits, kneeling beside him. The little carving reminds me of a horse. Misty. Everyone I have lost, is in this room. I’m dying, that’s it. It makes sense now. At least, I’m with everyone I love.
I lean against the window frame, gazing out the window at my town. Lanterns are being lit along the streets, but the happiness turns to ash in my mouth as the flicker of light from the lanterns engulfs the entire town.
Backing away from the window to warn my family, the words stick in my throat as guards stand behind them, swords poised to strike. The swords rise higher. I scream until my throat burns, but no one hears me. Drawing in a sharp breath, a guard strikes my arm. The searing pain wakes me from my dream, or nightmare.
Folk around me rush to my side, restraining me. A ringing sound fills my ears, growing louder until it’s all I can hear. Drowning out any muffled words, I desperately try to listen.
My arms spasms, and an acrid sensation shoots up my arm, drowning me in agony. I howl when an icy liquid is applied to my arm. The sting intensifies as it forces its way through the poison. I feel the battle within my blood as the poison resists, unwilling to leave its host.
A cold compress is placed on my head, and the cooling sensation feels nice, as chilled water drips down my face. My moan becomes a whimper, while I settle back down onto the soft bed, a velvety blanket caresses my skin, leaving me feeling serene. A hand strokes my sweat-covered head, tucking in the soft blanket. I drift off into another dream.
My eyes flutter awake. I’m in my room, on my bed in the cottage. Elana mumbles something about being late. Her mouth moves as she whips her arms around the room, her pale, pink silk dressing gown, flows behind her, I try to hear the jumble of words. I don’t think I have seen her so angry before. I’m not sure what’s going on, late for what? Did I dream it all? The magic, the guards, the Hundicans?
Jumping out of the bed, I wrap my arms around Elana, but she bats me away. She turns back to the mirror, fixing her hair into a half-updo with the rest cascading into soft curls down to her waist. Flowers and gems are woven into her hair, and atop sits a beautiful sparkling silver tiara, with light pink gemstones. She looks beautiful, like a bride.
Meeting my eye in the mirror, she says sternly, “Come on, Andi.”
I do as I’m told. The bedroom door swings open into the living area where Mum and a few of Elana’s friends sit, styling each other’s hair and making themselves look pretty with some blush and eyeliner, wearing pastel coloured silk dresses.
Confused, I walk behind El as she heads to her friends. I pause in front of Mum, taking her in. She is dressed in her finest emerald gown, with gold lace detail along the bodice, withflowing sheer sleeves. Her hair, usually in a neatly tied bun, is flowing freely, her gold hair glows as the sun sparkles off her natural highlights. I pull her in for a hug, taking in her sweet scent.
“She’s so beautiful,” Mum says, wiping away a tear. She hooks her arm in mine. “It’ll be your day soon.”
Would it? Did Myles propose when he was dying, or was that a dream too? My fragmented mind struggles to piece together what’s real and what’s not.
Elana moves about her friends, laughing and teasing everyone. I confess, I don’t know who she is marrying, but she looks happy, and that’s enough. Mum places her hand behind my back and ushers me towards the front door. I’m not properly dressed, but Mum doesn’t seem to notice.
The door opens into the light and airy temple of Pria, with floor-to-ceiling windows allowing in a steady stream of sunlight to illuminate the hall.
The enormous room is set up beautifully with pink and coral Dahlia garlands hanging from the ceiling, and the chandelier glows with silver candles lighting the way along the aisle. My stomach sinks, realising this must be a dream, but it’s so vivid. My subconscious is playing tricks on me with Elana’s wedding, the one thing I have been most upset about missing.
The seats around the temple are draped with a light pink ribbon tied gracefully in a bow at the back of the chairs. Wyatt walks towards me and waves his hand, whistling. I look down at the gorgeous light blue silk dress I am wearing, with a plunging neckline and soft gossamer sleeves. Meticulous lace detailing across my chest, finished with beautiful embroidery and gemstones. My hair has been braided to one side of my head, lying on my shoulder. I’m stunned by the transformation of clothes, it's beautiful.
Wyatt looks me up and down with a one-sided smile. “Are you okay?”
I’m taken aback by his attire, very un-Wyatt-like: a striking charcoal three-piece suit, with a grey scarf draped over his shoulder. His usual boyish face is covered with a gentle stubble. Looping my arm in his, we walk down the aisle towards the altar where a man stands facing away from us. Standing regal in a nicely cut, black suit, a leather sheath hangs at his side housing a large sword.
