Starlight of a Moonbeam

The Sweetest Sunlight, Seven - Age 16 (Elena POV)

AN:

I know this chapter came a bit sooner than I normally do, but I had some time over the weekend to work on more chapters and I thought I should just get this one out for you guys.

The only thing I'll say before we get into it is, try to get the big picture and know that I personally had a hard time writing this one in terms of the characters...

Enjoy!

.

Above me through the woods leaps a herd of white deer that jump over logs and streams and prance through dewy meadows. Behind them, past the line of the forest, are the staghorn mountains, rock and cliffs forming claws and antlers capped with glistening snow. The sun sits just above a V in which two peaks meet and to this day I can't determine whether it's rising or setting, but above the sun fade the colors of the sky from yellow and pink to blue, and then to purple and black where the stars dance at the very edges. At the bottom where the deer gather, a great stag of pure white stands at the water's edge, its reflection flickering in the waves. But its eyes stand alert and kind as it stares into my soul. The Lord of the North. To watch over me when I sleep.

My feet crossed over each other, my hands folded behind my head, I lie on my bed, draped over silken sheets and feather pillows, my warm blankets tossed to the edge during these hot summer days, and stare up at the roof of my four-poster canopy where a great mural is painted above me.

I don't remember when I first started sleeping in this bed, but I do remember that the mural has always been there. And though I knew the stag would never physically leap from above to my rescue, it gave me an immense sense of security to have his image painted above.

For years and years, I've lain on my back and stared up at the art, trying to take in every detail and study each near-invisible brush stroke. Sometimes I'd stare at it until darkness flooded the room and I fell asleep, sometimes I'd wake up in the night and watch as it became visible with the sun's arrival, sometimes I'd lie on my bed and cry about whatever thing upset me at the time until my eyes were lost in the picture and the tears dried, but today as I stare up at the mural, the tears refuse to fall.

Every bit of me aches, from my toes to the back of my skull. My eyes sting as if I'd strained them reading or swam in the ocean. My stomach feels weighed down with guilt and a horrible sense of wrongness. And my chest feels as if it were being compressed.

When did everything begin to go wrong? When did everything change? When did everyone around me seem to change? Or is it me that's changed? And for what reason?

The sigh that escapes me drags along as if the act of breathing takes considerable effort.

What's wrong with me these days? Why does everything seem to go wrong?

Though they hold up their antlers with eyes of dignity and intelligence, the herd of deer offer no answers or wisdom but gaze down at me almost sadly as if they knew something was about to go terribly wrong.

When did I start to close myself off from everyone? When did people stop understanding me? When did I stop understanding myself?

Shutting my eyes tightly to rid away the intense ache that starts to build between my brows, I allow the darkness to creep in and wash away the hot pain. But instead of relief, it brings with it the memory of the encounter I had with Fenrys two days ago.

After he left, I ran back out the barracks and down to the gate to see if Coen was still there and to apologize. But when I scented that he had left a good number of minutes before and would now be close to the bakery, I turned back toward the castle and bolted my bedroom door shut.