A Tale of Stars and Shadows

Chapter Four

All too familiar walls surrounded Astrea as she stood in her bedroom. Her bedroom. She was home. She donned a cream colored, silk gown that trailed slightly on the floor, its loose skirt gently flowing behind her as she walked. Her hair was down, falling down to the midpoint of her back in loose curls. Her feet were bare as she walked, feeling the cool wood beneath her toes she opened the door to the hallway. The hall was empty, not bustling with servants as it usually was, but Astrea walked on. She strolled past the bedrooms of the second floor, making her way to the stairs, she only wanted to go to one place.

The house was just as she remembered it, adorned with flowers and ivy, the windows let in the afternoon sun warming her skin as she walked past. Even the foyer was just the same, still decorated with daisies and lilies-- her mother's favorite flower. She extended a hand to open the front door, even the grounds were as she remembered. Covered in wildflowers. The only parts of the grounds that weren't coated in the florals was the stone paths leading in every which way towards the gardens, the river, and the forrest to name a few.

She looked to the the right, to the wide river and left, towards the gardens. Feeling lighter than she'd felt in years, she began to walk left. The wind seemed to push at her, making her walk faster towards the tall topiaries that lined the magnificent gardens. The sky was a bright blue above her, clouds dancing along the horizon, the sun beaming down, warming her skin. Here, all her troubles seemed to melt away.

An arch of roses welcomed her into the expansive gardens. They were almost a maze made of narrow paths lined in every kind of flower imaginable. She reached out to touch an aster, beautiful with its purple petals, beautiful, but not her favorite of the flowers. She rounded a corner, a smile growing on her face as she beheld a row of poppies. The orange-red, round petals called to her. She reached up to take the pendant hanging from her neck between her hands, running a finger over the engraving.

She smelled it before she heard it. The smell of embers and sandalwood. Her nostrils flared. Then the sound came. That sweet, sweet voice. The voice that sang to her, called out to her, begged her to come home. "I had the gardener add more just for you," the male standing just behind her gestured an outstretched hand towards the poppies.

"They were always my favorite."

"I know." She turned around to look the male in the eye. Those eyes. They looked more golden now than brown in the sunlight of the garden. His features were soft, but danger lurked in the flames that danced in those eyes. "I've been waiting for you," a smile blossomed on his velvety lips.

"You have?" Mischief was in her green eyes as she spoke.

"Astrea, I-" The male was interrupted by the sun. It was if the sun's rays were falling down upon the world. Their smiles vanished and Astrea grabbed a hold of his hands, unwilling to let go. It was like golden lightning. It exploded from every corner of the sky, and anyone else would've thought the sky was falling, collapsing in on itself, but the two lovers knew better.

"You have to go, she'll find you!" Cyrus' features were now tainted with worry and concern, Astrea shook her head back and forth, "go, I'll be fine." His soft, warm hand brushed her cheek, his thumb pushing away a tear.

"No, no, you can come with me," he merely shook his head. The sky was completely golden now, not a trace of blue left. A blinding light began to emerge from where the sun had once been, and Astrea shook her head still, gripping the males' hands tightly. He smiled softly at her, letting go of her hands. Her eyes widened, fear taking over her body, not at the sky that was being consumed by gold, but by the absence of him.

Colors began to fade around her, darkness closing in. No, no, no, she thought, but no amount of willpower or pure stubbornness would keep her in this realm. She kept her eyes on the male in front of her. On his golden hair that fell in waves around his face. On his eyes that told centuries of stories. On his hands that she one day wished to hold again. Then darkness.