Page 9 of A Love of Wrath and Rapture

My eyes open.

I am encased in a weak mineral coffin, the sounds of the water dripping outside my prison tethering me to reality. My skin is hard and moist, like my more literal cell.

This is not a dream, I think. This can’t be a dream.

I cannot move. I am still trapped, but no longer encased within my own mind. I can feel my own body in totality.

Even if I never left this cocoon, I could take solace in knowing I’d joined a more pleasant existence.

I clench my fists and tighten my muscles, then begin to vibrate my being. The rocks around me start to become clay-like, tearing slightly with my every movement.

I feel the cool air of the cavern upon my jet-black skin, hear the cracking of rock as it falls to the cavern floor, and see a faint emanating light beyond the cavern entrance.

I am dumbstruck, expecting the dreamscape to return. The cruelest of all punishments would be to torment me with the memory of what I lost, intermittently teasing me with something I’ll never again experience.

But my bright blue eyes reflect against the cavern wall, illuminating me. And I can feel my heart beating for the first time in centuries, though its rhythm is different—somehow stagnated.

“Evangeline.”

I say the name aloud, at first not knowing what it means.

I repeat it. It’s such a beautiful name, it feels like nectar on my lips.

“Evangeline.”

I stride forward toward the light of the cavern, looking out at the distant horizon. My wings are tired and stiff due to lack of use. As the cavern entrance widens, I hear them flap out behind me, begging for exercise.

I am groggy, but I am alive—truly alive. No longer do I yearn for the sweet release of death.

I only hope I’m not pulled back toward my dream prison. I will fly as far away as I can from here to ensure I am no longer bound.

“I should thank her.”

I heard her voice in my dreams, I realize. I don’t know how I know that it was her, or what her name is, or what she looks like. But magically, awareness creeps into the deepest recesses of my mind, as though she’s a memory that’s only now returning to me.

What is this connection?

As I flap my wings with staggered remembrance and feel myself gradually lifting off of the solid ground, I ponder over the nature of our bond.

Did I call out to her? Did I succeed in forming a link?

The world is different. I vaguely remember this cavern and the world outside, recalling the vast forest that covered this area. Now it’s far more sparse, and I can feel the thickness of the air now filled with a smoke that burns my lungs.

How much time has passed? How long have I been kept in my slumber, perpetually hungering for release?

Are my captors even still alive? Do the dark elves still rule over this realm without mercy?

“They might be looking for me,” I realize. “I don’t know how long I’ve slept.”

And I bring myself back down to the ground, stopping myself from taking off into the unknown distance.

I long to seek her out. For however long I’ve slept—what feels like an eternity and a half—she’s the only true being I’ve formed any connection with.

I want to thank her for freeing me, to reassure her of her importance. I long to see her face for myself, to bring my claws toward her ruby cheeks and dark flowing hair.

Yet I cannot. As soon as I leave this cavern, I risk reigniting the same vile hatred that once pushed me into eternal solitude. I risk reopening the wounds caused by lost and stupid Astreldi, who ruined me and brought shame upon my name.

For now, I must cling to this cavern, biding my time in obscurity.

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