Page 75 of Palingenesis

And Ilios is exactly what I needed.

Somehow, among the daymares and mind poking, I found the voice I’d lost a long time ago. The ability to shut him out when I never could cut off anyone that didn’t instigate it on their own.

I run, not just toward the intentional brushfire being set, but to the version of myself that only someone like Ilios could have mined from beneath the depths in which I’d buried it; to him and his flaming wings formed of seared feathers that carried me home.

Never once did he make me feel like I couldn’t compare. That I wasn’t good enough to chase or stalk or watch.

“To him, I was good enough.”

A wave of heat rushes me, the night sky alighting in a sickening orange that leaves me coughing from more than just the smoke that trails ahead.

Like a moth, I flock to the flickering lights that draw me in, waiting for their chance to take their licks at my skin.

Emotional. Irrational. Illogical. It’s everything that Henry had called me, yet is exactly what’s driving me to walk right into the flames overtaking the forest around us. I’m just… ready. Let the heat consume me. It’s the only thing that’s ever made any fucking sense.

To recognize the difference between feeling the burning and being on fucking fire.

And being with Ilios… it’s set me ablaze.

Scorching me until there’s nothing left except for the ash to rise from again.

Better. Stronger.

In love.

And isn’t that worth igniting for?

Epilogue

Shannon—18 months later

Waking up on an ordinary Tuesday, alone and in my Chicago apartment, probably shouldn’t feel as freeing as it does.

But my smile is wide as I stretch out the rest from my limbs and pad across the studio I call home with my phone in hand. On it is the email I’ve reread probably a hundred times by now, a contract already signed, and my future laid out.

It feels good. Right. To finally have the thing that I didn’t believe would ever come.

Almost a year ago, I put pen to paper and wrote down everything that happened to me when I was in Montana. From the barb to the wings, the fire to the friends. It all went into the story of a man that falls in love with a legend of the mountains that all ends in a pile of ash. It was completely off genre for the readers I started out with and lacked the happily ever after that’s required to call it my usual, but posting about it went viral, demands for the story too big to ignore, and I published the book when I made it back to Chicago.

Though that’s not the only thing that clicked into place when I came home.

My phone buzzes with a reminder that has my cheeks aching from the smile I can’t seem to tamper.

Coffee, 9 am.

That left me just enough time to shower, dress, and comb my hair back before heading out the door to meet up with a former school pal of mine. She’s an independent author, too, and there’s been talks of a cowrite that has excitement buzzing beneath my skin.

Avery thinks it’s a great idea and swears he’ll read it.

It even starts around a campfire, stories of the legends we never knew being passed around between pals.

And after that, I have a weekly call with my sister. Turns out, being in a relationship with a piece of shit will cause more trouble than you could ever realize and sticking with said POS puts a real hindrance on the people that do care about you. Who knew? I’m still working through some shit with the rest of my family, but I can at least count on my sister to be supportive.

I missed her more than I let myself realize.

Which is just another thing that I’ve learned does no good when it’s bottled up and held so tightly: Not even the person with the feelings knows what’s going on.

Ilios taught me that.