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That night, as Tess lay in her tent, feet dangling off the end of her bed, she tried to forget her past.
It swam at the edge of her mind, a knife dangling on the edge of a cliff. One tiny thought, one minor push, and she would be sent spiraling into a whirlwind of history. It happened even now. Flashes of the night her parents died, their still-warm flesh reaching each other, fingers attempting to grasp the other, yet never touching. The day the raiders almost attacked the caravan, and the little boy whom Tess would have gladly fed to the dogs. The man in the black armor, scowling and grasping at her little forearm as she tried to get to her parents, his eyes glinting in the dark. A ghost of terror clutched at Tess' body as she lay, eyes watching the ceiling, tears forcing their way to the brim of her eyelids.
Tess curled her hands into fists, mouth twitching with rage as she desperately closed her eyes and kept her body still. She wanted —no, needed— to be frozen. Numb. Heartless. It was all too much, it was all too hard for her to carry. The burden weighed her down like a heavy blanket of grief had overtaken her senses.
The Dragon, the loss of her shop, the fact that she was now laying alone in a tent in the middle of a raider camp, defenseless and stripped bare, emotions bubbling to the surface. She felt as if she had been peeled back layer by layer, split open by the weight of it all. The girl who prized being emotionless at all costs was breaking, her heart pumping faster, beating more ruby-tinted feelings throughout her veins.
Tess hated it.
She wished she were still stuck in the delusion that she could live the rest of her days in tormented peace. She wished she didn't think of her parents, of the man that killed them, or the need for revenge against a creature that would most likely be the death of them all.
Tess Oprin wished for many things that night, but none were answered.
The stars turned their backs on Tess, the higher power of all things was voiceless, a soundless menace that seemed to enjoy watching the girl suffer. It was all too much, and as she tried to stay completely still, face twisting into something abominable, Tess wished for one thing above all else.
She wished for sleep.
To fall under the inky black spell of unconsciousness, where the only thing that could haunt her were false dreams and nightmare demons she knew she could vanquish. The girl of storms and fury wished for the peace of night. But it did not come. She lay on her cot, rough-spun blanket thrown over her clothes, and stayed wide awake. Her eyes watered, her eyelids drooped, but every time she thought sleep would come, it vanished.
