Something With a Prince

Chapter Thirty-Four: Make Way for the Fall

Tallethea

There was no telling what was real and what wasn't. That's the downside of never having a dreamt before, I couldn't decipher what truly occurred over the flashing images of my sleeping mind.

A vision of Lansing and I in the cellar seemed like a memory. It was so real I could practically breathe in the dusty smell, feel his fingers wrapped around mine, and I know I lived that. Until I am rising up like a shadow across his back. All at once, there I am, kneeling behind him in the darkness, running my hands down his spine. Tenderly, I can feel his warmth, his shirt wrinkling under my fingertips, as I track each muscle and each vertebra. I count them, I can feel my mouth making the numbers, but no sound comes out.

Then I am sinking a dagger into his back. Mercilessly. Lansing doesn't move, doesn't make a sound, but I watch his head slump forward.  And when I look down it is my chest that is bleeding. A bright white substance is pouring out in stringy clumps, like tangled silk. Finally, I can see my heart there, twisting and beating. Exposed, but there. Then the shadows swell, in the center eating away at the wound but never touching the light. That's when I hear him inhale, and Lansing turns around. A scream tears out of my throat as he meets me with her creature's grey face.

I wake strangled by my own fear and covered in a pool of sweat and lying beneath the window. No matter how many breaths I take or the number of times I convince myself everything is alright, somehow, I end up dreaming again. Hundreds of times throughout the night. Always the same dagger, the same cellar, and my heart waiting. Sometimes it's there and shining, sometimes it's swallowed by the shadows. Sometimes I really do see Lansing instead of that thing, and he has a look of betrayal so vivid on his face I almost wish I were seeing anything else.

The scariest part: I know it could be real. That it could be something awaiting me any second. Saorla could be standing outside my door this very minute, ready to drag me down the hall with her mangled hands, sending spiders to burrow under my skin. My flesh crawls to think of it.

Deciding to forsake sleep, my mind went to plotting a way out. Not like I was resting anyway. The risk of me sneaking out to find him is too great, especially if she has those things locked under the floorboards, posted in the shadows like invisible eyes. Escape seems unlikely, considering I have no idea if we are still in a church or some illusion shaped like a church. Any chance at finding a weapon was slim, and even if I were somehow to magically find one, the reality of it being staged was too great. Another test.

How exactly do you test someone to prove they are truly heartless?

My whole life I have been told that I was...detached, but never heartless. I could feel, love, cry, smile, get jealous and excited. I loved my mother, my father, and Arlyn with great certainty. Right? Right? A turning in my stomach makes me pause and think. How much does it take to love someone? Doesn't it just sort of happen and you know? The unconditional surrendering of your heart?

But what heart do I have to surrender if it has been taken from me?

If I were truly heartless, I wouldn't have cared about what happened to Lansing. He was--is-- my worst enemy since childhood. He was the reason my father was killed and still I couldn't stand to hear him be harmed.

Sure, I ignored him and sometimes wished I could push him over a cliff, but there was always a fail-safe. For every hour of my life spent ignoring him, there was still a level of attention paid to make sure he wasn't causing trouble. For every cliff, there was a deep lake waiting to break his fall. I hated him, at least I think I still hate him, but that didn't mean I wanted him in pain or dead. Because despite how I felt about the prince, he was...decent.