Page 86 of Light As A Feather
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
I lock the mausoleum behind me with resolution; I could never be too careful with something so precious. As I step into the fresh air, the breeze carries clarity, but something else is there too. From somewhere distant, I can hear the soft echo of Sol’s voice, and she’s calling for me,reachingfor me. With all the certainty one can have in these matters, I know in this moment that she’s not gone forever, just hidden. Fortunately, finding Solaneen is a skill I’m well equipped with.
The sentiment of Poe’s words rings true. There is no separating us, tangled like overgrown roots and just as stubborn. Iwillfind her. Wewillbe together again.
Is this Hell?
I roll the question over in my mind, preoccupying myself with the possibility that we were wrong. That there was never a chance to reunite after death. That lingering beyond the veil wasn’t a choice everyone gets to make.
Expecting this to be a slight variation of life—confined, sure, but similar enough—was foolish. To think that Ivan wouldn’t have something deranged planned for me was shortsighted. But what other choice did I have?
Hawthorne choosing between me and Jayden was never an option. I already know he would have offered himself up for possession. I would sooner kill him than allow Ivan to freely use his body. The thought alone is a violation.
This is the only way it was ever going to end.
Everyone makes terrible decisions as kids. The difference is that mine eventually cost me my future. I’ve regretted it every day. But choosing his life over mine? That’s a choice I’d make again, and again, no matter how many chances I had. He’s the only person who ever really understood me, the only one whogenuinely tried to. And because of that, he saved me more times than he’ll ever know. Sacrificing my life for his is the easiest decision I’ve ever made.
But the reality is unlike anything I imagined.
“Are you ready to apologize, Little Dove?” Ivan’s eyes are full of disappointment. I don’t understand.
“For what?”
“For robbing me of what’s mine?” he says matter-of-factly. “For stealing the sweet satisfaction of finality from me.” His finger drags up the side of my arm, leaving a trail of repulsion behind it.
Remaining silent, I refuse to take the bait.
“So long I waited to feel the last breath leave your lungs, to swallow it between my own lips, and finally collect what I was promised. Ivan shifts so he’s leaning over me, his mouth just a hair away from mine. “Selfish, as I’ve always said.” He clasps my cheeks. “That’s always been your problem, Solaneen. Your self-importance. Always have to have the final say, don’t you?” Hetsks. “Women like you need a strong guiding hand, not to be enabled as Hawthorne did with you.”
“Don’t you dare speak of him,” I hiss, venom coming from stores I didn’t even know I still had.
“Hawthorne? He is irrelevant to you now. You aremine.” His other hand clutches my hip.
I laugh at the absurdity of it.
“Refusing to submit will only be his downfall.”
“Are you so intimidated by him that you can’t even be happy with what you have?”
“Don’t insult my fucking intelligence. I know the hold he has on you. Owning something and having it are two completely different things. I will have you, Little Dove, make no mistake. You will open yourself to me as you do him.”
“You’re out of your goddamned mind if you think that.” The delirium of my deprivation is stronger by the minute. It’s impossible to tell how much time has passed down here in the pitch black with only him to break up the infinite darkness.
“Maybe, but I am a patient man. I chose you for a reason, and I intend to find that satisfaction, to reap the rewards of the hunt, in due time.”
My stomach churns, and I assume it’s the manifestation of my disgust at his words, but then it happens again, an internal lurching. A sense of urgency overcomes me, and I’m pulled free from that hidden, claustrophobic place and out into the open.
The low lamp lighting and orange flicker of candlelight is almost too much for me after being trapped in the dark. Squinting against it, I find Hawthorne sitting on the rug at the center, head thrown back as he repeats the words, ‘Come to me, Sol’, over and over again. Concentration furrows his brow, his eyes squint shut, so he doesn’t see me as I approach.
Moving silently, I cut through the circle of candles and crawl into his lap. As soon as we touch, his eyes snap open, and a thousand things pass between us in that fraction of a second.
Where have you been?
I’ve missed you.
How could you?
I’m happy to see you.
