Star of Silvaria: Chapter IV

Suicidal

Image by AGNIESZKA WEN from Pixabay

“Lovely work, aspen, was it absolutely necessary to block the entire road?” Rolf grunted.

He had hitched his stallion, Ashtægo, to the offender. With Raphael’s assistance, they were heaving at the branches, endeavoring to shift it aside so we could pass. Mirala and I waited, mounted; I held the reins of Seidon, Raphael’s stallion, and was glad he was a calmer steed than Rolf’s.

It was early morning, with a clear glaucous sky and dew pearling everywhere; the kind of day storms always leave behind. It had also left behind a trail of debris, strewn all across the path, and a strange sense that there was something more real about Silvaria than my fears.

The storm had thundered all through the night, rattling the doors and windows, and anything lying loose about. I’d hardly slept, and when I did, there were nightmares of monster waves and suchides, and people I couldn’t find, with all my calls silenced before they left my mouth. I must have actually cried out at one point, because I remembered starting awake and seeing that the lights were still lit in the other room. I heard Raphael and Rolf’s voices stop.

Mirala had entered, her hair down, and dimly lit the lamp by the door.

“What’s wrong?” she’d whispered, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling me closer. Raphael was standing in the doorway, now, too.

“I keep having so many nightmares, and they feel real,” I whispered back, pressing my hands against my eyes to try and erase those dreams. “This feels like a nightmare, it feels real, but I can’t wake up!”

“Why would you think you’re dreaming, dear?”

“Sometimes in dreams I can feel hugs, and I can hear things,” I trembled. “But…never this much.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” She hugged me. “I promise that you are awake, love. I’m sorry.”

Part of me had known that. I didn’t know if I wanted to believe it.

My head and neck had still been throbbing, and Mirala had placed her cold hands on the aching muscles, easing a little of the tension.

Raphael had knelt beside the bed. He gave me his hand.

“Take it,” he encouraged me quietly.

I did, and he carefully pressed my fingers, gradually tightening his grip, watching my eyes. I’d felt in dreams before. Yet, no matter how real nightmares seemed, none of them triggered my senses as much as reality.

“This can’t be real,” I’d insisted. “There must be something wrong with me…I can’t be-”

“No, sweetest, there’s nothing wrong,” Mirala murmured. “You’ve been through so much, I know it must be awful. Try to trust us, dear, please.”

I’d finally met her gaze.

“But what if it’s not okay?”