Worlds Apart

Chapter 15

L O S I N G • G R O U N D

Sep. 09 2020 12:11 CET

Room #104, The Port Inn

There were a thousand needles pricking her skin and her eyes, a band of icy metal pressed behind her forehead. The room was fuzzy, as if she were looking at it through layer upon layer of frayed cotton.

Elin hadn't meant to do any of what she had done. It was him making the decisions, him controlling her hands and her words, him who attacked Owen. The one from her room this morning. Her malignancy was not hers but who would believe her? She had tried—oh, she had tried as hard as she could but he refused to let her speak and instead she had made it so much worse because she could still see the pearl of blood ooze on Owen's skin and oh god she hadn't meant to hurt him—

She wanted to put her head in her hands, block out the light and her reality and the consequences of what she had done. There was no way they would help her now. Her throat tightened and her vision blurred; her surroundings were just blotches of colour now.

Regine was gone. Her last living family, her flesh and blood, her cousin who had been more of a sister and an anchor in the midst of the ocean of her secretive family.

After all of her efforts to save her, she had failed. And it was all her fault.

A laugh skittered in the back of her skull, scraping against the bone like nails on a chalkboard. He was laughing at her, the—

It stopped suddenly, and in the reeling silence Elin noticed a shadow in her blurry vision.

Cold hands pressed against her temples and she gasped at the feeling, as if icicles were piercing her mind. The metal band was ripped from her skull and her vision cleared. The shadow turned into a young girl, leaning over her, her eyes screwed up in frustration.

The girl blinked at her and, noticing her consciousness, jerked away.

"Um, hey," she said uneasily. "That—uh—guy should be gone now. I couldn't stop him from returning to his plane though." She directed the last part over her shoulder. Elin looked around her to find Daisha leaning against the open doorway, looking unnerved, and Owen, who immediately bounded over to her.

He grasped the sides of her face, frantically checking her over for any signs of injury. "Are you alright?" he asked, once convinced that she was, in fact, alright. "Are you...yourself?"

He must have noticed. A small smile tugged at her lips. "I am," she said softly.

His hazel eyes—mosaics of soil and bark and moss and honey—crinkled in worry, loosened, before he pulled her to his chest in a warm embrace, resting his chin on her head. He smelled slightly like coffee.

"Christ, I was so worried."

He froze, realising what he was doing and abruptly let go of her, stumbling away. Owen turned, avoiding her eyes as he quickly stammered, "Sorry—I just—I didn't mean—"

"It is alright, Owen," she said, as gently as she could, patting his arm. His ears grew redder.

Daisha cleared her throat and Elin turned to find her addressing the girl. "What do you mean 'his plane'?"

The girl, who had been eyeing the room with furrowed brows, pursed her lips. It was as if she couldn't decide whether to be honest or how much to tell them.

"The spirit that was possessing her," she started slowly, "it went back to where it came from. Where all souls go after death."

Surprisingly, Daisha didn't react with incredulity, the way she had when Elin had first mentioned that the dead roamed Dalbyen. She must have learned there was more to this place than people could see. Most people, that is. Elin had always known.