Page 52 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

Vows to the Dead

The tempest within my mind rages, tearing apart the fragile garden that once bloomed in the quiet depths of my soul. In the stillness of the night, as I lie awake, I wonder how many graves I must dig to bury the fragments of myself that have already died. They speak of the bravest revenge being healing, yet how can I heal when my father’s laughter has been silenced forever and my mother’s embrace is now but a fading memory? How can I move forward when those I loved have left me with nothing but the searing pain of their absence?

And yet, how bitterly ironic it is that I have found the strength to keep moving forward, to resist the pull of an end, when living has proven far more difficult than dying. Each morning, I wake to the yearning for death, a siren’s song that tugs at my heart, as a mother calls her child home at dusk. It is a quiet ache, a blade lodged within me, twisting deeper with every breath. And when I look closer, I see that it is myown hand that guides the steel. Am I my own undoing? Is it not easier to surrender, to embrace the darkness that calls, than to continue mending what others have shattered beyond repair?

But why should I try to mend what cannot be restored? Why struggle to revive a world that has so easily torn me apart? Instead, I should leave, run far from this place, seeking peace. I need to find the quiet that will allow me to uncover who I am beneath the ruins, to learn once again how to love the shattered person I’ve become. This charade, this endless game, will only lead to pain. And in that pain, there is no comfort, no solace.

Death, perhaps, is beautiful in its simplicity. To know true peace, to step beyond the veil where time has no hold, to become part of the earth, a whisper in the wind. There is something compelling about that stillness, that absence of beginning or end. To release the burdens of hurt, of memory, of loss. Memory, after all, is nothing but torment—an unrelenting series of moments that refuse to fade. Perhaps if I could forget, if I could vanish into oblivion, life would finally feel like a gift, rather than a relentless curse.

“Are you okay? That was… I lack the words. Odessa look at me,” she holds my face in her palms. “It is alright to not be.” Naseria has always been the one who felt more, her emotions seat prettily on her sleeves, leaving nothing to the imagination.

“I’ll be alright.” I take her hands into my own, squeezing them with the reassurance I lack.

“You lie as bad as a perjury” Miro gives me a small smile, but as terrible a liar I am, he has never done so well hiding his concern. It flashes in his orbs every time our eyes cross paths.

“Andjust like a lousy hooker, you fail at concealing your worry.”

“Looks like we’re truly not good at stuff.”

“I say so too” He tugs both me and Naseria into his arms and for seconds we lay still in each other’s embrace.

It was a minor task to ease their hearts, but when Naseria hurried off to the library, we crossed paths on our way back. Miro, not so subtly, veered off to see Sybil, and I made my way down the gravel path toward the lake out back. Raindrops mar my skin as the storm grows steadily stronger. I settle on a bench, gazing at the tranquil view before me.

The lake glimmers like an aurora at dawn. It is statue still, yet flowing with a sequestered nature like no other. And a sap sweet scent hangs in the air, reminding me of honey. The chateau from here looks indeed as if it were pulled out of a fantasy. Magnificent and grande.

Mere moments ago, I have come to more candor than I could witness. I have a million questions for Bonnie — my long-lost grandmother, for Sebastian who has known all this time and for my darn mother who should have done better at opening her hornet’s nest. It’s no longer happiness I seek, but just a little less pain. To hold loss in your heart is like carrying the tombstones of your loved ones on your shoulder. You fall, your knees scrape, your hands bleed, and your body bruises along the way.

I feel his presence, like a splendid lightning that will tremble the earth to its core. His scent wraps around my neck, stealing my thoughts and caging my heed to him alone. He takes a seat next to me, his large frame crowding me in such a greedy vulgarity. His silence, as always, speaks more than words ever could.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I should feel ire coursingthrough me with vile intent, but I do not. I feel jaded, my bones are weary and lost. “You had no right to make my choice, and what if I did not want to know of her? Do you not feel the slightest bit of remorse?”

I’m lashing out like a brattish woman, searching for a wrong that is not there. I should be tickled pink to know I have family that wants to love me. Right?

Then why are my emotions running up the wall like a maniac? Something good happened today, and I can not see it. I can not accept it. He stands and falls to his knees before me, gripping my thighs in his hands.

“Remorse,” he spits out the world like it flares his tongue. “You wound me with your words, Wild Rose .”

His pained voice cuts through me like broken glass, and when the tears I had been holding back freely fall I look up to the now tar black sky. A single raindrop splashes on my lips and a thousand more follow, basking us in its pour.

“And you wound me with your lack of,” I grit out the sentence, my teeth grinding like dust. I look back at him and his eyes have darkened to a gravel-grey shade and the cocktail blue he normally wears is almost gone.

“If it’s the harrowing voices in my head you seek, surely you will find them in that darn journal I incessantly write in, with you in thought. And with a disturbing desire that scribbles a myriad of manuscripts.” His grip digs into my flesh, harshly with each word.

“Your riddles mean noth?—”

“Your eyes, they captured my broken heart the moment our paths crossed. From the very first glance, an ache stirred deep within me, a longing I couldn’t name. I am no man of honor, yet I cannot bear to see you face this world without me, even when I am undeserving of your grace. There is nothing I would not do to see you smile, to see you happy.So do not doubt that my remorse for you runs deep. If I could, I would take your pain as my own, my love.”

His words bruise my heart like a lover's touch.

However the rain that soaks us does little to dampen the maddening need crawling up my spine, threatening to leave me breathless and wanting. His voice, his eyes, his confession, they’re like pretty rose vines that wrap around your limbs to draw blood. And, goodness how I want to taint his claws with the crimson that pours from my chest. I want him to bathe in it while I break apart his hidden self and make us one.

I gently place my palm upon his jaw, tracing the contours of his skin with my fingertips, my hand grazing the faint stubble that graces his chin. He leans into my touch, a silent surrender. My gaze falls to his lips—those irresistibly tempting lips that stir a longing within me, urging my own to seek the warmth of his.

“I want to know all of you. Promise you’ll let me?”

“Anything you ask of me, l will give.”

And so I yield. My tongue caresses his lips, tasting them, savoring their warmth, before I pull him closer, my fingers gripping the collar of his shirt, a silent plea to drown in the chaos we’ve created. He meets me with a fire unlike, his tongue a flame within mine, claiming me with a fervor that knows no restraint, each kiss a tempest, wild and endless.

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