Memory Lane

Chapter Seven

The song I imagine Azriel and Gwyn playing is the slowed piano version of "Where is My Mind"

TW: PTSD

Those of you familiar with my older work will remember that when I write Azriel's relationship with his mother, it's strongly based on a personal relationship of mine with a family member who struggled with a form of PTSD due to her Alzheimerz. If you take anything away from this chapter, please remember: the people in your life with mental health problems don't need pity, just compassion and understanding; don't waste those rare good days thinking about the bad ones to come.

Much love.

C H A P T E R S E V E N

"If I give you a hint and tell you it's a hint, it will be information."

― Diana Wynne Jones, Howl's Moving Castle

Gwyn woke to the light of the moon painting Azriel's empty side of the bed a silvery gray, the expanse of mattress beside her cool with his absence. She strained her fae hearing for any noise in his bathing chambers or on the balcony but heard nothing. He was not here.

    Blinking her bleary eyes, Gwyn slid out of the bed and grabbed her silk dressing robe from the floor. She tied it around her waist and smoothed her hair away from her face. Her mate was likely in the training ring, taking out whatever stress he was currently experiencing on a combat dummy. Gone were the days when they would find one another in the somber light of the ring in the dead of night and wordlessly fight until they were too tired to stand. Instead, they would retrieve one another and walk them back to bed where they would discuss whatever demons kept them from sleeping. It had been a habit Gwyn had steadily encouraged between them and while it had resulted in long, tearful conversations, there were many less sleepless nights.

    Slipping out into the hallway, Gwyn pivoted in the direction of the training ring, only to halt in her steps. In the opposite direction, down the darkened corridor, a mournful melody played. It was a song that sang to her soul. A song that beckoned to the darkest parts of her. It sounded like sorrow. It sounded like her mate's tears. So she followed it.

    Eventually, Gwyn arrived at a set of unfamiliar, tall oak doors. From behind them, the plaintive melody of the piano continued. Gwyn inhaled through her nose, then pressed on the door, slipping within soundlessly.

    It was a music room. The walls and floor were the same marble and moonstone as the rest of the House with long, cathedral windows that allowed beams of moonlight to illuminate the space. The moonlight danced off the silver, brass and gold of the various instruments littering the corners of the room, but most notably, it gleamed on the surface of a large piano. A large piano where a long, lean figure sat with his back to Gwyn.

    Azriel was still in his sleeping clothes, no shirt and low slung sleeping trousers. His wings hung limply behind him, reflecting the exhausted posture of his shoulders. His shadows seemed to twirl mournfully about him, like an affectionate cat attempting to console its owner. The sight was heartbreakingly beautiful, as her mate often was.

    Swallowing, Gwyn made her way to the center of the room where Azriel sat at the piano. Wordlessly, she sank down onto the bench beside him. The shadowsinger played on, shifting to allow his mate some room to sit, but not so much as faltering in his song.

    She sat beside him for a moment, her shoulder leaning against his, and listened to the melody. It remained the same sorrowful tune with no signs of stopping. Eventually, she gathered the courage to steal a look at his face, attempting to see just how much this song reflected his mood. His beautiful face was an expressionless mask, but behind his amber eyes she saw pain. On the sharp plains of his cheeks there were tracks of tears. The sight sent a heart wrenching bolt of pain through her chest and her whole body was suddenly restless.