Page 147 of Memories Like Fangs
When I had no tears left to cry, I sighed shakily. My shoulders sagged with the weight of everything in my world. My voice couldn’t rise above a whisper as I said, “I just… I don’t know what I’m doing anymore, Mom. I’m so tired. Everythinghurts. I just feel so broken, weak, helpless, stupid?—”
“Oh, my sweet, baby Byrd,” she whispered, kissing my temple. “I love you until the moon catches the sun, but you have no idea how wrong you are. You couldneverbe weak, not after everything you have already survived. Strength is not ignoring and shutting off your feelings to stubbornly power your way through life. Especially not for you who takes power from youremotions. No, true strength is having the will to persist and keep going despite everything that seeks to defeat you. I have told you many times before that you are stronger, smarter, and more powerful than you think, and I meant it every time.”
Her words splintered something within me. I choked on another sob, my bottom lip quivering. “I don’t know how to grieve you after all this time. I don’t know what to do anymore…. I don’t know if I can do any of this.”
Mom pulled back so I could meet her eyes. Streaks of tears raced down from her dark brown eyes, but her face remained calm and proud and so bright like she was looking at one of nature’s great wonders. She took my face between her warm, strong hands, and I leaned into the touch, putting my own hands on top of hers.
“Grief,” she said, her voice filled with too much emotion for me to untangle, “is a vast dark sea, baby Byrd. It is something that overflows and consumes with depths yet unexplored. No two journeys through it are the same, and it is never easy to cross. Some think the more you lose, the easier it gets. The truth is much harder. Grief can and will drown you until you succumb to sorrow. It takes with reckless abandon. Still, living keeps you afloat through the most turbulent waters. You will bob down below at times. You may even take some water when you do. That is healthy. But those who love you will keep you from going under and not coming back up. They will help you find land on the other side. You would be amazed at how healing love is. In the end, mourning rhymes with morning for a reason. Because after the darkness of the night dawns a new day that makes you grateful for the sunshine.”
I sniffled as her words sank into the cracks within me. “But, I don’t know what’s the right way to give you the peace you deserve. I don’t know where to start…”
“You start with remembering. Allow this to be an ending as much as it’s a beginning. That’s how I held on through my mother’s passing.”
“You’ve never talked about your mom before.”
Mom’s tears could have filled the chasm of sadness in my own heart. Her grief and pain echoed mine, unspoken and seeming to stretch for generations. My throat clenched. Seeing her like that… it didn’t just break my heart. It destroyed its existence. There was a sweet, aching smile gracing her lips that seemed almost dreamy. When she spoke, her voice stretched with memory beyond this moment. “That’s the other thing about grief, sweetheart: it’s complicated with the layers you can experience, their impact, and how often they hit you when you least expect it.”
Suddenly, a knock sounded outside the bedroom.
It was so sharp that it echoed, like it had no business being there. I jumped, my heart lurching in my chest instantly. I looked toward the sound on instinct. For a split second, I expected toseethe front door and who was there, but I quickly realized how silly that was. Shaking my head, I turned back to Mom.
She had disappeared.
“Mom?” I called out.
The room was quiet again, this time not even having the violin or my mom’s humming. It felt unnatural and daunting, the whole space holding its breath. The silence buzzed at the edges, as if the air had changed frequencies. My gaze swept the room for any sign of Mom. All that remained was the warmth of the floor where she had been standing and the faint scent of apples and smoked wood.
Just before my panic could mount, I heard muffled voices just outside the bedroom doorway, both unfamiliar and familiar at the same time.
As soon as I stepped out of the bedroom, the world shifted. I staggered slightly, my stomach lurching like I just stepped off the edge of a cliff and landed elsewhere mid-breath. The air tasted and smelled the same, if not hotter. Sunlight and a cooling, fresh breeze streamed through the sheer lace curtains over the tall, open windows. The furniture here was just as well-adored as the bedroom: the overstuffed couch with its fraying corner, a scuffed coffee table with paint and water stains on its surface, an old lamp that hummed faintly when you passed by it, a faded rug where you could hardly see the pattern anymore. Somehow, I had teleported into the living room of the house. The house was small, sure, but I knew I shouldn’t have stepped out of the bedroom straight here. There should have been at least a hallway?—
Any further thoughts on the mystery of how I got here faded when I noticed Mom. Across the room, just near the front door, she was separating from a hug with another woman. Mom was unlike how she’d been moments ago. She was younger now, maybe in her late teens or early twenties. Her petite, curvy frame was lighter and less tense with the softness of youth still in her cheeks. The sapphire dress clung to her figure differently than before. Her afro was shorter, falling a little past her shoulders. That fiery sharpness in her eyes, brilliant smile on her full lips, and metallic glitter dusting her skin remained prominent on her.
The woman embracing her was unlike anyone I had ever seen before. Tall didn’t begin to describe her as she stood at well over seven feet and had to bend down to hug Mom. Her impressive height did not include the span of her wings. Every shade of gray from smoke to silver to storm cloud rippled through them with a striking streak of teal marbled throughout. Her skin reminded me of the sard stones I had found in my backyard as a kid, a stone of chocolate brown with rich red undertones that caught the light in a way that made her look sculpted fromearth and fire. Her hair, straight and silvery with streaks of black and white, fell in a thick curtain all the way down her back. She wore a navy-blue gown, similar in hue to my mother’s but vastly different in design. It was elegant and sharp, hugging her lengthy and lean curves. Despite her strong and regal features with her defined nose and full, expressive lips, her face was surprisingly gentle with humored wrinkles on the sides of her eyes and laugh lines around her mouth. Her eyes, so dark they were nearly obsidian, gleamed with knowledge and age. She was undeniably striking.
The mystery woman moved with a quiet, radiant power that tingled down my skin. It poured through the room, thick and ancient. My dragon stirred within me with a restless and reverent energy. My knees threatened to buckle, my body going taut. The authority lacing through the air was one my dragon recognized, making her want to bow. It was just like with Sire Gale, but this felt… different. It was older, almost more commanding, but it also seemed quieter and more subtle… almost like it was fading away.
Mom didn’t seem to notice. Her eyes were brighter, cheeks flushed. She looked even younger, but not just in appearance but in presence. Her guard was down as she stood with looser shoulders and easy breathing. She smiled, an open and shy thing full of a deep-seated happiness and respect. Whoever this woman was—likely a Sire—Mom looked up at the towering woman with such a great amount of tenderness that it squeezed my heart.
“You look stunning, my dear!” The mystery woman boomed in a deep voice. “You look like a dream! My oh my, if you don’t look just like your mother, too. She outdid herself with this look!”
“Thank you, Sire Kaya.” Mom curtsied, her voice full of gratitude, but her face had gone somber.
“This is the one she started when she first got sick, yes?”
Mom nodded, her eyes glistening. “As soon as I saw the color, I should have known she was making it for the Homegoing. I know the traditions. I don’t know how I missed it…”
Sire Kaya reached out and squeezed Mom’s hands. “You can’t keep doing that to yourself, Doe. The disease your mother had has impacted every dragon her age or older in this enchantment. There is no cure for it, but you did a beautiful job caring for your mother until the very end.”
Disease?Dragon-shifters, like most shifters, were usually close to immortal, able to live for several centuries at least. I hadn’t ever heard of a disease that could kill one, let alone wipe out several generations of dragonborn. How was that possible? What happened?
Mom nodded at the Sire’s kind words. She swallowed deeply before offering her a smile that didn’t quite connect with her eyes, where sadness clouded the dark. “How about some tea?”
The two of them headed into the kitchen, and I was close behind. Sire Kaya took a seat at the kitchen’s bartop counter as Mom filled a kettle with water and heated it on the stove. The tiny kitchen looked even smaller with the Sire’s tall form within it. Sire Kaya admired the home like a guest who had never been there before, yet Mom pulled a specific mug down for her tea, the largest one they had with grass painted on it.
“You know, it feels like just yesterday that we were sitting here, the three of us enjoying Sadie’s amazing breakfast. Remember how much she used to yell at me for trying to fit both her wings and my own into this kitchen?” Sire Kaya chuckled.
“It feels like so long ago to me.” Mom didn’t look up as she dropped some sliced lemons in before adding honey to the mugs. I noticed her hands were shaking.
