A court of water and worlds

chapter #58

hi everyone! again I am so sorry for not posting for so long. I tried to write a longer chapter. also I finally bought a computer, yay! but now with copy and pasting from google docs, I have realized that to spacing looks a little different, but that's why. anyway i hope you all like this chapter, and I will try to write more soon. I love you all soooooo much!

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His whole life Azriel had been in darkness. From the moment he was brought into this world: in the dead of night, to right now.

He was currently in spring court. The sun was shining brightly making sweat drip down his brow, mocking him. Yes, the sun was bright, almost as bright as the female standing next to him.

And he was in utter darkness. He was crafted out of the bleakest moments in life. He carried those moments with him, like dead weight on his back.

Forever a burden to be endured. Not shouldered, not shared, but kept in the dark.

As Azriel silently walked through the forest he thought-- and thought. As if this forest opened every old wound-- every dark memory he ever had.

His mind filled with painful memories he never dared face.

The first memory, being trapped in the dark and bound by shadows.

The second, fire searing flesh by his brothers, but their death, it was on his hands. He killed his brothers-- he killed so many. There was so much blood on his hands that now no matter what he did they would never be clean.

He glanced down at his fingertips feeling a faint caress of warm red liquid flowing from his wrists. His own blood was on his hands. When he looked down, He found nothing, not even his shadows on his fingers.

No, his shadows were too busy gawking at the female beside him.

He ignored them and kept falling deeper and deeper into the darkness.

The next memory, Luna's death. He hadn't saved her, his little sister in so many ways. He was supposed to protect her, but He had failed.

The next memory, Mor was tortured by her family and he had not gotten there soon enough. He should have saved her long before they laid a hand on her.

The next, when his mother was tortured almost to death by his father. He had gotten her out but not soon enough. Just like Mor, he should have been there before anything happened.

The next when Rhys was captured by Amrenthana. His high lord-- His brother in everything but blood was taken from him because he had not been there. Fifty years, Rhys endured fifty years for him.

Azriel knew he had not deserved to be spared. The people in Velaris, yes, but him...

He should have taken Rhy's place. He should have pushed harder to go with Rhys.

The next memory... a priestess. Trembling in fear as men held her down, and he had been too late.

He had gotten there too late, and because of it, his... his Gywn... his mate was hurt. Worse than hurt. They destroyed her because he had been too late. Just like his mother, just like Luna, and Mor.

The best shadowsinger in the prythian. The fiercest illyrian warrior, and assassin, yet he couldn't even save the people that mattered most.

He failed over and over, and over again.

He deserved nothing and no one. He didn't deserve love. Did not deserve life. He didn't deserve the gods damned air in his lungs, or his stupid heart that refused to stop beating.

He deserved to crumple up and die. Never to be seen or heard of again. Never to be a burden or failure again. To simply be... nothing.

His shoulders sagged with the weight of five hundred years of damage he had caused just by existing.