Page 85 of Florescentia

Quickly, my heels clacked against the wooden stairs, disappearing down into the sandy wood. It was dark, the canopy of trees and clouds working to shield the light. A quick flash lit the opening of my path, along with the growing closeness of crashing water.

The mouth of the thin wood opened to the beach, pebbles glistening with each lap of a wave, the ocean angry from a far-off agitation.

In this moment, an electric current ran through me. It numbed my limbs, my face, my feelings. I saw the depths and I ran. My boots splashed, the waves curling around my legs and the sea-foam collecting in my skirts. Each step was harder, more labored, the water swarming as it held me.

Suddenly the water’s weight was mine, the world dense and entirely on my shoulders, laboring my heart, and there was absolutely no way to rectify it. I was lost, clueless. Nothing had worked so far; what made me think anything I did would work at all?

I wanted to find him.

To hold him.

But the only thing left was a perverse shadow of his image.

The world was so loud, so cold. I just wanted to find my warmth again. It was like being dragged under a boat, barnacles cutting me every which way and no escape. I was numb and sensitive all at once. I couldn’t do this for much longer. No one could.

The water was up to my neck, my body becoming warmer as I submerged. Then the final wave put me under, pulling me out to sea.

The silence was sudden, pressing into my ears like the warmest hug. I was weightless, light. The water wrapped itself around me, running its waves over my scalp.

I could open my eyes, just briefly, before having to close them again. The expanse was gray, with muddled splashing above. The current pulled me out before the sand dropped down, the darkness below eternal.

Closing my eyes was easier. I didn’t have to think. Everything was empty.

The water combed my hair . . . then the sensation of fingers, the pressure of the water turning to arms. My heart slowed as my body calmed.

My eyelids lifted, the image of my dearly departed the only thing keeping the current from pulling me out, his legs dug deep into the sandy shelf.

I touched his face, and it blurred before me.

The funny thing about grief was you knew they were gone. There was not one possible way that it could be them. In dreams, you knew it was so, but you chose to bask in the fantasy a little longer, even just to play pretend.

He looked at me with such despair.

It broke my heart.

Altair knew it would.

I leaned in, my numb lips not able to spare even a quiver. My lungs were collapsing; my body hadn’t decided if it wanted to breathe or drown. The honest thought was that I didn’t care at all.

Just as I opened my mouth, I released my last breath—and he caught it.

His kiss came with some assertion, a pleading one. Air filled my lungs, but there was something else. Just his touch washed me with a feeling of peace, like a child’s sleep. No worries, no pain, no expectations. The feeling of never being hungry, never being cold, and no suffering at the hands of others.

Perhaps this was my call to wake up.

My arms floated around his neck, holding tight. Every fiber of my body strained, screaming that if I didn’t do it now, to end on my own terms, he would be my demise. But right now, it was just me, him, and the current.

He could let go, but he didn’t . . . and neither did I.

Chapter Twenty-Six

The Nova

He brought me home through the water. It was the strangest of feelings. Everything went black. Before I knew it, I was taking my next breath while surfacing through my bathtub.

Altair didn’t speak to me. He kept his human skin, the dark markings reappearing as he distanced his appearance from Dorian’s and buzzed around the room, gathering towels before leaving down the hall, I assumed to find clothing that wasn’t stained with ocean salt. Could it be that he felt some way about the appearance? Perhaps guilty for using my husband’s image. Did he sense the pain it was causing me, or did he only feel bad for invoking my husband’s image to keep me here?

I stepped from the tub, my clothing heavier than I expected when I pulled myself out. I began to undress, lest I collapse from the weight. One by one, I placed the garment pieces over the ridge of the tub—skirts, petticoats, corset cover, corset, all of it.