Page 109 of Eat. Prey. Love.
I imagine their faces, etched with concern and love, ready to shoulder some of the weight I’ve carried alone for too long. The thought steadies me, a resolve forming like stone within. Yes, it’s time to let them in, to share the weight of memories that have for too long shaped my solitary vigil upon this tower.
Brooding in solitude has done me no favors, and now it’s dangerous, yet I struggle to give voice to my trauma.
My mind drifts to the magical orchid I’ve kept in its case for centuries, revering it as one of the few memories I have of the time of carefree youth. It both comforted and mocked me in turn with its beauty and delicacy—much like the woman who created it as a present for my hatch day so long ago. She was much like the orchid, both ephemeral and fragile, but almost worshipful to gaze upon. Her wit, her charm, and her effortless light made my heart flutter with joy even when it wanted to give into the common teenage ailment of sullen moping.
She was part of my life from the moment I hatched and as the years went on, we got closer and closer—two children of powerful royals with very rigid expectations that we shed together. I barely noticed the differences between us as we aged because our bond was that of childhood friends. When it became more than that as teens, we were careful to keep our attachment secret—both because we enjoyed fooling our parents, but also because our families were so controlling. I don’t know that either of us even realized how forbidden it was, nor what kind of problems would arise when it became public.
We simply enjoyed the intrigue, as most young adults do.
I sigh, running my hand through my hair as I look up at the stars in supplication. The scent I have tracked several times should not exist, and if it does… I do not know what that means. Is there perhaps a relative I was not aware of? Could there be someone avenging her cause? Why would that unite such disparate magic users in a rebellion? Is it a private vengeance underneath the veneer of a public revolution?
The questions are far too many for me to effectively contemplate until I see the gargoyles who should hold answers. They alone know what they did and how, and that will tell me which line of inquiry to pursue in regards to her.
If it is anything but the truth I’ve mourned for longer than most human civilizations have existed, I do not know what I will do to those who deceived me.
Whatever It Takes
My fingersclench into fists at my sides as I storm out of the classroom, the echo of snickers still a fresh sting in my ears. The heat of anger simmers beneath my skin, a fierce bunny shifter’s energy barely contained. Asani, that obnoxious son of a bitch, has been on a tear since the Midori meltdown, and today he sharpened his claws on me.
How I longed to give him a good fucking zap—if I could have convinced my magic to strike out, that is.
In the hallway, my chest heaves with rapid breaths, but I force myself to pause. My heartbeat thumps in my ears, a reminderof my need for control. The early 1900s history segment of history is what I studied this weekend, so I know it like the back of my hand. Yet, Asani spewed his ‘devil’s advocate’ nonsense, deliberately knocking down my answers to his questions. The gaslighting was expert level, especially because he got the support of the other students. Heather E. and Amity, those eagles circling for scraps of favor, squawked their support immediately. That meant I was constantly on the defensive, alone on my island of accurate information as the rest of the fools pretended I was wrong.
“Pathetic,” I mutter under my breath, recalling how their smug faces looked so convinced of their own brilliance. I could’ve shredded their arguments to confetti, but what’s the point? It’s like arguing with rocks—though given their intellect, I’d probably have a more stimulating conversation with the damn rocks.
Instead of fighting back, I let them bask in their false superiority, holding onto my silence like armor. The screen of my phone catches the fluorescent light in the hall as I unlock it, peeking at the audio file labeled ‘Asani’s Antics.’ A sly smile plays on my lips; every condescending word, each snide interruption is now evidence. Farley told me that he loves to bury his adversaries in paper trails and official complaints. This recording will be the bait that brings the dumbasses to the watering hole.
Vengeance will be mine, even if it’s through a thousand tiny paper cuts.
“Let them laugh,” I whisper to myself, tucking the phone back into my bag, “They have no idea what my friends and I are capable of.” Discretion isn’t just about keeping quiet; it’s strategic. It’s waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
When Farley presents this new case, it’ll be a glorious distraction. Asani won’t see it coming, nor will Midori. The thought alone is enough to cool the embers of my rage. With a deep, steadying breath, I lift my chin and stride towards my modern dance class with a renewed vigor.
Wars aren’t won only on the major battlefields—no, they are carefully planned and executed on every front until your enemy drowns.
The mirroredwalls of the dance studio reflect a hundred versions of my determination, each one more stubborn than the last. I slip into the room, muscles still taut with the remnants of anger from Asani’s class. My gaze finds Antonovich at the front, her dark eyes already judging me. I know better than to hope for leniency; the Council’s whispers have infected every sympathetic professor in this place.
Hell, Apex and Cappie were easier to navigate than this hellhole.
I stake out my corner, a small territory where I can move and stretch away from prying eyes. The thud of my bare feet against the sprung floor grounds me as I begin the warm-up routine. Each extension, each flex is a silent act of defiance. They may judge, they may scorn, but they cannot touch the fire within me.
As I lose myself in the fluid movements, my mind drifts to the stoic gargoyle with secrets heavy as stone. The memory of his voice last night, firm yet vulnerable, echoes through the vast chambers of my thoughts. “I’ve written to them,” he said, his confession sending ripples across the still waters of our family dynamic.
Surprise flitted across Aubrey’s face—a rare crack in his usually composed facade. He’s always steady and strong, but even he couldn’t hide the shock of Rennie breaking centuries of silence. We knew it was a monumental step for him, pulling threads from the tightly woven tapestry of his past. He’s been avoiding it since it was first mentioned, and now, he’s finally forced himself to reach out.
It’s a testament to how much the poetic mythical loves me and I won’t forget it.
“Once they reply, I’ll tell you everything,” Rennie vowed, and skepticism danced in Felix’s eyes while Fitz simply furrowed his brow in contemplation. It’s not like him to invite others into the shadows that lingered behind his stoic exterior. But this time, he came to us, and that had to count for something.
Chess, ever the peacemaker, placed a gentle hand on Rennie’s shoulder. “We all have ghosts that haunt us, even me,” he’d murmured. “Maybe it’s time I talked about my parents’ death as well. Felix and Fitz know, but I haven’t told the whole story to the rest of you.”
Aubrey grumbled under his breath about the impracticality of collective gloom, but I nudged him with an elbow in a silent reminder that burdens shared are burdens halved. “We don’t have to carry it all alone,” I’d whispered. “That includes you, big guy.”
“Even dragons need to lighten their hoard of secrets,” Felix chimed in, his tone light but his words laden with truth.
Once Rennie hears back from his clutch, I have a feeling that we’ll all be having a drink as we muddle through our traumas together.
What that means for me, I’m not sure. I’ve let them in for much of my sorrow from the Heathers and Todd, but my life with Lucille and Bruno was filled with normalized bullshit. I’m not sure what is normal and what isn’t, so I don’t know what I should tell them. I thought learning to dispose of bodies was an everyday pred thing, but they all seemed surprised when I shared that experience.