Page 88 of The Otherworld

“You don’t want me to love anyone but you. Why? What are you so afraid of?”

Papa stands abruptly, his voice stone-cold as he looks down at me. “Orca, that’s enough. I never want to hear you mention that young man’s name again, do you understand? You will never see him again.”

My heart wrenches inside me, a sob spilling past my lips. “Papa, please…”

“This is exactly what I was afraid of.” Papa lowers his voice, a glint of tears in his eyes as he slowly shakes his head. “This is exactly what I warned you about so many times. If only you had listened.”

* * *

Back in my room, I lean against the sill of my open window and look out at the velvety blue fallout of the sunset. Stars glimmer overhead, and a cool breeze runs its fingers through my hair.

No replacement for Adam.

You will never see him again.

I close my eyes and remember the way his fingers felt, woven through mine—the way he helped me trace constellations in the starry night sky.

Now all I have left of him is his journal. The worn covers part softly in my hands as I sit on my bed and swish through the pages. His wondrous, beautiful ideas. His scribbles of Latin, that strange and slippery language. I’ve already read every entry (in English), but that doesn’t stop my fingers from journeying through the ink-stained pages.

This time, something new slips out and falls into my lap.

Pressed flowers. Tiny pink ones from the greenhouse. I remember sliding a few of them into my hair that day Adam and I harvested the vegetables together. They had fallen out of my braid at some point, and he must have found them.

A soft smile brushes over my lips at the thought of it. Adam’s handwriting fills the page, black ink speckled by the rosy pigment of the flowers.

Untouchable beauty

Are you real or fantasy?

Lost to the world, yet found

to that which truly matters

Not a word passes your lips that isn’t

Honesty

Yet all I feel in the presence of your wild soul is

Mystery

All I feel is my own soul coming undone

What is the butterfly effect,

You ask me

I tell you what is true

But all I really want to say is

You

You are the butterfly

who so innocently flutters her wings

And stirs winds

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