𝗨𝗟𝗧𝗜𝗠𝗔𝗧𝗘 | 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐰 𝐟𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝

♕ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐄 ♕

"𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒉𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈? 𝑾𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒘𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒆𝒅. 𝑰 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒚."

♛

Dahlia stared at the mirror before her, tracing her stomach tentatively. She couldn't believe that there was a child there, or that she would be able to hold them in a few months.

Her lips flowered into a soft smile thinking of her child. Would they have her eyes and Matthew's hair? Or Matthew's eyes and her hair? Or would they have Matthew's face but her personality?

There were a thousand possibilities. All of which she would be prepared for, her child would have everything they wished for. She would ensure they would never have to hurt the way she did. The way Matthew does. But they wouldn't have a father, but from what Dahlia was concerned that wasn't of issue.

A knock on the door startled her. "Dahlia? Make haste, Aunt Tessa is waiting." Anna called.

Dahlia pulled away from the mirror and smoothened down her pale blue dress and went to open the door. She was wearing a set of fancy golden earrings and bangles, her gloves a little lighter than her dress. Her dress was a shimmering fabric of periwinkle blue with golden accents. The dress accommodated the small bump at her stomach, though it was barely there.

"Should you name it Anna, at the possibility of it being a girl, I shall not mind," Anna told her as they descended the stairs to where Tessa, Cecily and Sophie were planning for the Herondale's Christmas party.

Dahlia smiled. "I haven't thought of names yet, but Anna shall always be atop my list."

Anna laughed. "Math will be delighted when he returns," she said. Dahlia's heart clenched again.

"He shall be a wonderful father." she continued. Dahlia felt as though she couldn't breathe.

She forced a smile, feeling like walking on shattered glass, and answered, "I have no doubt."

Dahlia did doubt. Dahlia did not know what she would do when, if, Matthew came back. How she would tell him. How he would react. The fear haunted her every step, nausea crawled up her through and she could no longer hold it down.

♛

                                                  

Later James could only remember the sound of the wind. A metallic scream, like a knife drawn across a shard of glass, and far below that the sound of howling, desperate and hungry.

                   

He was walking upon a long and trackless road: it seemed no one had come before him, for there were no marks on the ground. The sky above was equally blank. James could not have said if it was night or day, winter or summer—only the bare brown land stretching before him, and the pavement-coloured sky above.

                   

That was when he heard it. The wind, kicking up, scattering dead leaves and loose gravel around his ankles. Growing in intensity, the sound of it nearly covered the oncoming tread of marching feet.

                   

James whirled and looked behind him. Dust devils spun in the air where the wind had caught them. Sand stung his eyes as he stared. Hurtling through the sandstorm blur were a dozen—no, a hundred, more than a hundred—dark figures. They were not human, he knew that much; though they did not quite fly, they seemed to be part of the rushing wind, shadows furling around them like wings.