──────────────⋆˖☽ ​​​𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝑾𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝑺𝒆𝒆 ☾˖⋆──────────────

He didn’t leave. Framed by the open door, Mikaeus was a silhouette against the hall’s gloom, one shoulder leaned against the heavy wood. He watched me enter, his stillness a question I refused to ask aloud.

When I turned, my own thoughts hung between us: Why are you still here?

He pushed away from the doorframe, his movement a fluid, conscious uncoiling. The silence shivered as he spoke, his voice a low vibration against the walls. “Alanah.” He closed the distance until only a few feet separated us. His gaze was sincere, yet it felt like a physical touch, probing the shadows where I kept my face hidden. “There is no reason to hide from me.”

A reflex, sharp and swift. My hand shot to my hood, fingers clenching the fabric, pulling it tighter. My gaze dropped to the floor as he took another deliberate step.

“I would like to see you,” he insisted, his tone gentle, yet underscored with the unyielding authority I was beginning to recognize.

My eyes snapped back to his. And what will you do then? I thought, a surge of bitterness rising in my throat. Gawk with pity? Or with disgust? But I would obey. For now.

With a slowness that felt like a surrender, my hands rose and pushed the heavy cowl back. The room’s dim light felt like a blazing fire on my skin. Mikaeus’s golden eyes narrowed, tracing every line of my face with an unnerving intensity. He stepped closer, so close I could see the flecks of amber in his irises, so close I could feel the warmth of his body. His focus drifted down, and I knew—he saw the bruise mottling the skin of my neck.

His hand lifted, fingers slightly parted, stopping just shy of my skin. It hovered there, an inch from my throat, and I could feel the heat radiating from his palm. A traitorous warmth bloomed across my cheeks as a thousand tiny pinpricks ignited along the path his eyes had taken. I forgot how to breathe.

Then, with a sudden, sharp motion, his fingers curled into a tight fist. He let it drop to his side, his jaw tight.

The breath I was holding escaped in a ragged, shaky exhale. What is wrong with me? my mind screamed. Move! I forced my feet into a single, clumsy step back, breaking the spell that had held me pinned.

“I… should go,” he murmured, his voice strained. He took a steadying breath. “I will see you later, Alanah.” A ghost of a smile flickered across his lips – brief, uncertain. “I hope you come to see that Luminethra isn’t what you believe it to be.”

I offered him a tight, forced smile and a silent nod in return. He inclined his head in a shallow bow before turning to leave. The heavy door swung shut behind him, and the sharp click of the lock echoed in the sudden, suffocating emptiness.

The sound jolted me. Shaking my head to clear the fog, a cold realization settled in my gut. For a moment—a dangerous, foolish moment—I had forgotten the lock. I had forgotten this was a cage. It could never happen again. I crossed the room to the window, needing the cold, hard truth of the world outside.

Through the glass, two dragons coiled through the sky, circling one another in a silent, hypnotic dance against the bruised sky. A light drizzle began to fall, slicking the windowpane and blurring the dark clouds that gathered on the horizon.

The freedom of their flight was a stark contrast to the pressing weight of the dagger against my leg, a cold, hard reminder of my own grounded reality. A gift. A test. I reached into my pocket, my fingers closing around the familiar contours of the hilt as I drew it out. Why did he really give this to me? Is he that desperate to build a trust that doesn’t exist?

I moved to my sack, pulled out the leather thigh strap, and methodically began to buckle it into place. The material was stiff and foreign against my skin. Cinching the final strap, I slid the dagger securely into its sheath. The weight was a promise. 

A sigh escaped my lips. What would Mother think? The thought was a painful whisper. It didn’t matter. I couldn’t change what had happened. I couldn’t dwell.

Restlessness propelled me to my feet. I began to pace, my hand trailing over the cool, smooth stone of the mantle. Is there a part of me that wants to believe him? That this place isn’t so bad? The thought was a dangerous poison. No. Don’t let a moment of kindness weaken your resolve. My eyes drifted to the bed. I walked over, knelt, and looked underneath. The bow and arrows were still there, untouched. A small, cold comfort. I have to leave. Before a part of me decided it wanted to stay.

I stood again, lost in a churn of thought as hours bled into one another, marked only by the shifting light as the sun finally surrendered, painting the sky in violent shades of purple and orange.

The sudden, sharp click of the lock snapped me from my trance. My body tensed as I turned toward the door.

It swung open to reveal Celia, a tray balanced in her hands. “It’s just me,” she said. “I brought some dinner.” The strange miasma that always clung to everyone seemed heavier today, a sluggish, grey haze swirling around her and the food she carried.

“What did you think of Luminethra?” Celia chirped, her voice a jarringly bright note in the gloom. She carried the tray to the table and began setting down several steaming dishes, along with a pot of tea and two cups.

“It was fine,” I said flatly.

She paused, looking up with a warm, knowing smile. “I figured you would say that. And I know you won’t eat unless I do, so I brought enough for us both.” She set the empty tray aside and slid into a chair. I took the one across from her. She wasn’t wrong.

“So,” she began again, her eyes bright with a relentless curiosity, “what do you think of the dragons?”

Should I be honest? “They were different than I expected,” I conceded.

“Yes, they are different here,” she agreed, pouring tea. A dark stream of liquid sloshed over the rim of my cup, spilling onto the dark wood. She gasped, hastily grabbing a napkin. “Oh, sorry!” she mumbled, her focus entirely on the spreading stain. “So clumsy.”

“It’s fine, Celia. Don’t worry about it.” I was used to her fumbles, her nervous energy. But I still couldn’t figure her out. Something about her felt… rehearsed. As if the cheerful, clumsy girl was a carefully constructed mask.

“What is it?”

Her voice snapped me back. I hadn’t realized I was staring. A deep blush colored her cheeks. “I truly didn’t mean to make a mess.”

“It’s not that,” I said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just lost in thought.”

“Okay.” She nodded slowly, setting the damp napkin on the tray before placing a piece of chicken on her plate. My own eyes settled on a dish I hadn’t noticed before—a wedge of something dark as rich earth, held together in a perfect triangle.

“That’s chocolate pie,” she chirped, her smile bright. “I saved a piece for you.”

They eat mud? My stomach churned.

She must have seen my expression. “It’s better than it looks, I promise.” She slid the small plate in front of me. “Try it.”

I picked up my fork, the cool metal a familiar weight. I could feel Celia watching me, her excitement a tangible presence in the room. I slid the tines into the dark dish and lifted a small amount to my mouth, my brow furrowed in suspicion.

Then, the flavor hit. It was dull in flavor but sweet, with a bitter, earthy depth that was entirely new. What would this taste like if it had full flavor? It wasn’t like anything I had ever tasted. I felt the tension in my shoulders ease, my guarded expression softening in surprise.

Before I looked up, I knew she was smiling. Celia rested her chin in her hand, her eyes dancing with victory. “It is good, isn’t it?”

“Yes…” I admitted softly. “Yes, it is.” I took another, larger bite.

“I’m glad,” she said, her voice filled with genuine warmth. “Worth saving, then.” She finally turned her attention to her own plate.

We finished the meal in a silence that felt less strained than before. I was sipping the last of the green tea when Celia began to clear the table with quiet efficiency. Her movements stilled as she glanced toward the window, where the last vestiges of daylight were bleeding from the sky.

“I should get going,” she said softly. “The sun will be down soon.”

“Okay,” I replied, setting my empty cup down.

She stood by the door, holding the tray, that bright, unwavering smile fixed on her face. It didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Alanah,” she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, “I hope the tea helps you stay awake tonight.”

─────────────────◯ ☽ ◑ ● ◐ ❨ ◯─────────────────

𝓓𝓸𝓷’𝓽 𝓯𝓸𝓻𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓪𝓭𝓭 𝓽𝓱𝓲𝓼 𝓫𝓸𝓸𝓴 𝓽𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓵𝓲𝓫𝓻𝓪𝓻𝔂 𝓼𝓸 𝔂𝓸𝓾’𝓵𝓵 𝓫𝓮 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓸 𝓴𝓷𝓸𝔀 𝔀𝓱𝓮𝓷 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓷𝓮𝔁𝓽 𝓬𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓭𝓻𝓸𝓹𝓼. 𝓐𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝔀𝓪𝔂𝓼, 𝓽𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓴 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓯𝓸𝓻 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓼𝓾𝓹𝓹𝓸𝓻𝓽!