The Spirits of the Forest

Chapter 2

Sirius

It's strange. I wake up, and I think, wow, finally a different nightmare.

But if that's true, if my past has really decided to let me go, then why am I shaking? Why am I sweating? Why on earth is this dream more terrifying than the one I'm used to waking up with every morning?

I leave my bed, wondering how I even managed to fall asleep. That nightmare I had....it was too much. Too much pain to endure, even for me, the pain itself. I need to check out. Just check. I exhale, trying to remind myself that she loves me, that she would never leave me.

But her room is empty. It wasn't just a dream. This is real. She really ran away. She really left me. Desperate, I start lifting the sheets I covered her with. Maybe she left me a letter. But I find nothing. Just the bandage I used to replace the cloth with which she wrapped her destroyed hand tangles guilty around my fingers. She's out there, alone, bleeding like a butchered Christmas pig.

I sigh, with my head in my hands. I'm still in Harriot's bed. I need to think, but my eyes won't stay open and I'm so tired. I usually force myself not to fall asleep. I usually spend my nights looking at her closed eyes, listening to her regular breaths. Counting the bold curls that cover her face. Wondering if the shy smile is blooming on her face because she's thinking about me. But now that my head laid for so long on a pillow, I can't remember how to wake myself up.

I was a young spirit. With the thorns digging deep into my skin. I could hear how Arabelle's admirers laughed at me, their voices so clear like they were coming from my own mouth. I could hear her saying that I should try to call Mother Nature to help me. That I should order the thorns to withdraw. So I tried. That's what a spirit would do, I thought. But instead of withdrawing, the sharp plants clung even harder to my body. I stayed like that till seconds became hours, till my eyes could only see the mixed colors of the forest, painted by an unskilled artist. And all because I allowed myself to dream of having Arabelle's love.

I am the leader of the spirits, the tyrant who shall bring them justice. I won this title by shedding blood. My blood. My cheeks aren't covered by wild plants. No, from my neck and up to my eyes, my face is filled with dark veins. Medicinal herbs don't magically appear on my body to heal my wounds. So, tell me that I am, in fact, no spirit at all. Call me half human. Laugh me in my face if you dare. You'll be dead by dawn.

I watch distractedly as a shy ray of sunshine makes its way among the thick clouds that cover the sky. The only way to dun this excruciating pain that constricts my lungs and moistens my eyes is to create an even stronger agony. Our bodies cannot suffer from two injuries at the same time. So it will choose to feel the one that cuts deeper. Trust me. I learned this the hard way.

I stand up, tripping over my own feet. I am driven by an unknown force, and it seems strange to see my legs moving, to feel my fingers touch the contents of the drawers. But I know what I'm looking for. I could find it with my eyes closed. I know its texture, I know how to recognize the river of power that drives through my veins when I touch it. I know how to sink into that healing water without completely losing myself in the cold torrent.

I thoughtfully press the pieces of skin that hold the bones of my right arm together. I can't help but shudder when I think that it took only one knife stuck in my body to create an invincible power and at the same time destroy me. However, lately, its effect has become increasingly short and disappointingly unsatisfying. I know it's my fault. I couldn't control my thoughts around that weapon, so I stopped thinking at all. I used it too much. My whole body is proof of that.

An idea roots in my mind, and before I can even take time to measure the consequences, I welcome it with open arms. Yes, that should burn enough to help me start a fire capable of burying the taste of her on my lips and her voice that breaks with pain in my eardrum, like the waves of a sea swirling on the shore.