Page 88 of Unravelling: Aria & Crispin
They made two pitstops, both at Lule's insistence. One for toilets, the other for snacks. "Crispin, you're not yourself when you're hungry. Or maybe you are, and that's the problem.", Lule explained.
By the time they neared the sleepy Welsh town, Crispin had aged a decade. They pulled into the car park beside the Lion's Mane Inn under a brooding sky. The innkeeper informed them that Aria had left a couple of hours ago as it was her afternoon off. She had said she was heading to Harlech Castle.
The mist began to roll in like a ghostly wedding procession as they drove the winding road towards the castle. The hills grew steeper, the sky darker, and the castle's crumbling walls loomed on the horizon.
"Of course she was," Lule muttered to herself, brushing crisps off her hoodie and licking her fingers. "Brooding heights, windswept battlements. Just the place she should be going in her condition..."
Crispin's head snapped up. "What condition?"
The car went quiet. Even the rumble of the engine seemed to drop into background static.
Lule blinked. "What?"
"You said 'in her condition.'"
Rahul gave Lule a long, sidelong glance.
"Oh. That," she said hastily, waving a hand. "You know. Heartbroken. Just generally weepy and upset. Aria's been a bit dramatic of late, thanks to your fuckups, hasn't she?"
Crispin didn't answer. He was watching her too carefully now, with a slow narrowing of the eyes.
Lule shifted in her seat, suddenly finding her cuticle very interesting. "I mean, she's fine. Physically. You know. She's just...been through a lot. Like, emotionally. The usual post-breakup spiral. Chocolate, crying. You know the drill."
His bullshit radar was blaring.
Lule was many things, but subtle was never one of them.
He didn't press the issue, but questions had begun to burn in his chest. Was Aria ill?
As they drove the winding road to the castle, Lule tried calling her sister again. Once, the call connected but all she could hear was wind.
At the castle gates, the ticket attendant was already half-packing up. "We close in half an hour, yeah?" he called out. "Better get cracking."
They agreed to split up. The air was thick with salt and mist, and a creeping fog flowed in from the sea like a living thing. Crispin made his way towards the round tower that overlooked the cliffs, his steps picking up pace as unease turned to urgency.
He didn't know why, but he knew she was there.
And then, through the curtain of mist, there was a blur of white. A wisp of a dress. A braid tumbling down a woman's back.
His heart lurched.
"Ari!" he called out, breath catching in the wind.
She kept walking.
"Aria!" he called again.
This time, she stilled, as if she'd heard something in the wind.
He broke into a run, sprinting up the steep slope to where she stood near the crumbling wall, her back to him.
When she turned, the breath left his lungs.
She was even more beautiful than in his dreams.
Her cheeks were fuller, her golden-brown eyes luminous. The wind played with the folds of her white dress and her lavender cardigan. She looked ethereal.
And Crispin-rumpled, pale, with hair tousled and eyes hollow from sleepless nights-felt like a bagman in comparison.
