The Solstice Daughters

chapter 8

TRIAL 1

    Day 4

WILLA was trapped in a dream. In the most literal sense.

The walls of her brain compressed her metaphorical body and her mind, leaving an unbarring pressure over her senses. Her memories from the previous five days remained intact and surprisingly clear. She was fully aware even with the white brick walls closing in around her. In the physical world, her body lay stiff on its back, hands gripping cream-colored sheets in a bed that was not her own. She was still. Too still. An uneasy comparison to the pattern of uneven strained breaths.

After the mortifying event that had taken place that day, Willa had dwelled in a state of unconsciousness for what she informed was just over five hours. She'd woken up screaming, nails scratching at her already colorful neck in terror while a thousand fiery maroon ants crawled over it, nipping at the blazing skin. Large and blurry glowing eyes had peered over her in inquisitiveness and wariness- not particularly comforting. The room around her had been an array of golden rays of light mixed with splodges of red and blue tints. Exquisite chandlers swung from the wide, marble ceilings, twinkling shapes, and reflections onto the surface of every corner. The shapes and colors danced across her foggy vision as she barely struggled to take it all in.

The bed she lay on, she came to know, was king-sized, made entirely of wood. Sturdy branches of cinnamon color entangled with each other to thickly form everything from the headboard down to the legs. She'd struggled to comprehend where the room started and where it ended.

She got no explanation.

Once each curious face had gotten a decent look at her consciousness, Willa was no longer considered the main attraction. The bodies scattered rather quickly, leaving her alone with November who refused to meet her eyes. He'd changed, she noticed. Before the inky black had taken her, she'd noticed the way his shaking hands gripped onto the front of his shirt and slid down, painting it with her drying blood. But there he was, clean shirt, wet glistening hair, and a hard expression. Willa wondered if he had multiple of the same poets shirts lying around that he just changed into occasionally.

The sharpness in the air slit like a knife, matching the jaw on his face that clenched harshly beside her.

It was almost embarrassing how freshly clean he looked in comparison to her, tear-streaked cheeks and bloody shirt, but at this point, it barely bothered her. No, she didn't particularly enjoy smelling like sour tuna or looking like an unkempt jungle girl but over the past four days of incidents, she'd learned there were much more important things to be concerned about. They sat in that silence for a while, absorbing the lack of environmental sounds and the tension that hung in the air like a heavy stuffed rain cloud.

"You saw it too." He'd said. She'd nodded in response, examining the dirt rammed beneath her nails. And that was it. He didn't ask her how her back was. He didn't explain why he'd dug his nails in it- or how that had led them both to experience the all too real vision. He didn't apologize.

Eventually, he made his own departure, causing Willa's body to minimally jump at the shuffling of his feet and the echo they bounced once they hit the pearly tile floors. His presence was replaced by Ashes's. As it turned out, he was a lot more chatty than the rest of the boys she'd spoken to. In other words, he rambled on for ages, not leaving room for silence or for her to talk. Which she was grateful for.

Once he'd managed to stop for breath, Willa slipped in a hesitant question about her surroundings which Ashes explained was not his place to elucidate about. Disappointed at her once again lacking knowledge, she reminded herself that it wasn't entirely Ashe's fault and if she wanted to target her frustration at anyone it should be November.