𝗘𝗿𝘀𝗮𝘁𝘇 𝗟𝗲𝗺𝗮𝗻 | 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒

II. Embellished

Havryil Vovk's POV

The deep voice was hypnotic to the core of who I was, as if it had been able to reverberate with all of me when others could barely achieve a fraction of it. It was the kind of deep voice that was so very easy to fall in love with, that auditory caramel.

Despite the way my heart wavered at the soothing tone, my guard was upright. "Who is it?" I asked, trying to turn to the source.

But the voice hadn't been aimed from a particular direction. It came from... Everywhere. From every nook and cranny. It was all around me. Like a blanket that would drape me in the moonlit gelid nights of winter. Like the water embracing me in a sweet lullaby every time I craved my mother's vehemence - her love.

"Who is it, I asked?" I reiterated, not feeling an answer reaching to reverberate the ear-drums that had been pulled taught.

"I'm Isai Nosenko," he answered.

There was a slight roughness in his voice, like gravel scraping against the soles of shoes. It helped me back away from the edge of the cliff that I seemed to be standing on; a cliff of
bête noire that I'd would've fallen off had he not spoken.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You don't look too good."

"I don't know," I answered. "Wait. Wait. Do you know where am I right now?"

"Of course."

His nonchalance made me want to smack my head over a wall. Only if I could find a wall... Well, I couldn't, not with these pairs of eyes that have been rendered futile.

"Do you know where this is? Place? Anything?"

"Oh, well. You're standing in your room. Right now," he declared, and I could feel the syllables echoing into my ears. The notes of a salubrious harmony, I could feel the urge to want to trust him; give him the benefit of doubt. A prejudiced benefit that he could possibly conclude on his perquisite.

"And how exactly is it that you're standing in my room, uninvited?" My tone had been accusatory - in veritable contrast with where my feelings wandered - like I'd been standing atop pin-pricks... I couldn't morph my voice into something blasé that would match his overtone.

"Your mother called me for help, I assisted," he stated. I could discern a casual shrug forming in his shoulders as he said the last few words. "But, if you want me to leave, I will. It's all up to you."

"No, wait," I said, reaching out with my hands, it didn't matter where. My voice had died down, there was barely any dauntlessness left as my lips pulled themselves into a thin line on their own accord. "Mother called you? For help?"

"Yes..." A loud ruffle of paper rung through my ears; they perked up to catch the direction of the sound so that I could finally face him. But, it had been just like the white, pristine fog... Everywhere. "See, this is the letter she sent."

The crumpled paper fit right into my hands, and even then I couldn't feel the presence of another person beside me. Sure, a warmth did generate off him, but it embraced me from all the possible directions I could think of. 

My fingers pinched the paper between themselves, the digits running back and forth trying to find a snippet of my mother. The embossed handwriting surely was hers, I could feel the tip of the pen scratching against the paper in agony as she scribbled in exasperation... I'd just recently taught her how to write.

"So, about that help..."

"Don't hesitate to rant stuff out. But only to those who matter."