Page 45 of Threads Of Madly Whispers

And in that boundless expanse, I find myself, anchored, whole, and more than I ever dreamed I could be.

How precious indeed is this life of ours,

a world we created with our own hands, and the quiet promise that, together, we shall hold it forever.

When words were too great a mystery to be spoken, they wrote their unsaid thoughts on paper. And like a fragile heart, their love was silvery and sweetening. But one letter in particular stung like a wasp.They knew my mother.

“I think that’s enough for today, my mind can not harbor much more formidable stories.” Naseria shuts the thick centurion book and shuffles it in her bag. “I can all but feel my blood curdling.” She shudders. “The past is in truth, ugly”

After class, we had lunch in the garden and locked ourselves in my room. And as I peek outside, l realize justhow long we have been going over the articles we found. The sun has set and stars are slowly filling the sky. A blackboard lies on the floor, between us. Plastered with notes, connecting dots and pinned chronicles and annals, which all frankly appear much more bemusing than it actually is.

“My limbs feel limp, unlike the curdling of others’ blood.”Miro pops his neck, ridding it of strain.

“I can feel the mockery, Miro.”

“Good ‘cause for a second there, I thought I had to voice it.”His lips stretch to a boyish smirk.

I wonder if he ever misses his voice. On most days, he acts like the loss of it was a walk in the garden, and on few of them do l see past his guise. Hidden behind the deprecating humor and sarcasm that laces his wounds.

“St Parish honor the Blood Oath, Zakraion Woods heed the sacrificial lamb, Bouretherna institution houses the Creed Paragons and, well, question mark on what the fourth circle is —,” I think out loud. The articles mentioned about the Oracles Of Gryclusm. And while we know of only the Stamatoties and their four clans, I question where the Gryclusm comes in place and what they are.

“— Oracles Of Gryclusm surely is not the fourth circle, but somehow it’s linked to the larger scheme of plays, right?”

“The chronicles say little, so hopefully Ann might know a thing or two.”

I nod, hopeful.

As soon as the rooster crows, we’re taking a small visit down north to pay Lady Anne a visit. In a small town outside of Sybactus, a weekend getaway, if you may say, is brewing. Who knows what we will find but I hope the odds will be forus.

“Last night I went down to visit Holly” Naseria gazed out the window, her mind drawn so far off.

Their adoration for her is a testament of how much she sickeningly loved the most to bits. She cared unfeigned, and she cared with everything she was. My mother was pure personified, smothered with warm words and soft embraces. And for such a paragon of virtue, the woman who birthed me to be reaped away from me so viciously is a cruelty that old Nick himself has never experienced.

Miro’s mother passed away when he was young, while Naseria’s mother was one by title alone, leaving my mother to become theirs in every way that mattered. She nurtured them as if they were born of her own flesh, loving them with a depth that spanned lifetimes, as though she had held them from the very beginning. Holly was God’s gift to this world, a light that touched all who knew her, and she was my father’s truest friend.

Naseria sighs, the heaviness settling in my pit, a reflection of hers. “I read herTwelfth Night”

“If she weren’t asleep, she surely would have fallen into one”Miro signs, and staggers himself off the bed and into his boots. The corners of my mouth twitch. Mama loathed classical literature like she did watching roses die.

“And do not forget the sailor curses she would spill under her breath.”

How can I, when I was the nuisance she chased around the house. It’s a shame to know what love is and lose it. My childhood was magical and soft, yet now all I know is the roughness and brutality I’ve suffered from the hands of others. To be held in one’s palm and suffocated like an ant would be almost comical if it weren’t misery clothed in animosity.

A knock echoes through the room as Mariah steps in, pushing my bedroom doors open.

“Good evening, Odessa. Mr. Moretti has requested your presence in the gardens for dinner.”

“Thank you, I’ll be out soon.”

She nods in acknowledgment and quietly closes the door behind her.

Naseria packs up what little is left and when I wave them goodbye and watch the car lights disappear into the night, I make my way to the glasshouse. Just like my first night, the place is lit with candles and the table is decorated with blossoms, along with the ones hanging above. The aroma of freshly cooked food smears the air and I can not help but water at the delicates and wine splayed on the mahogany table. But I suppose it’s nothing compared to the man seated at the end. He sips the alcohol in his hand seductively with his eyes never straying away from my own.

His shirt stretches over his arms, revealing the tattoos hidden under the charcoal material hugging his neck. Every night he enters my room and every night I let him. The cloudless belief that it is to my will is a false understanding, or more so a lie I tell myself. Sebastian doesn’t seek my sanction to enter my room or to, maraud my life, for that matter. The man bursts through locked doors because a key simply is not something he will willingly question its meaning. Rules do not apply to him, and I do not doubt neither does the word alone. Sebastian lives in his own world and how the thought to be part of it sends my head swirling.

“You’re quite a breathing enigma.” I say, as he stands and with the gallant manners of a butler he pulls my chair for me to sit.

“And here I thought I was as open as a book can get.” He whispers into my ear and shivers marr my skin to hisrich accent and gravel voice. Rough fingers slowly wrap around my throat, holding me to a bruising touch. “And here’s a thought —” his hold tightens and I do notfight against him “— the feel of your breakable neck in my hand makes me long to do wretchedly cruel acts to your delicate flesh.” His calloused words flatter moths in my belly, rolling and swarming so viciously.

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