Book Two: The Larkspur's Longing ~ A tale of deep obsession and devotion

Chapter Fourteen: Cocoon

During his early years, on a rare occasion when his mother was allowed to visit his father outside the tower, Callidus received a thoughtful gift from her: a plant adorned with tiny orange flowers.

Butterfly weed, he later learned.

(Freedom.)

The plant came with an unexpected surprise - a fat white and yellow worm clinging to its thick hairy stems. Despite his initial instinct to protect the precious gift from his mother, Callidus was captivated by the tiny creature.

Unlike the horrible rats and roaches of Windridge, this little being was a delightful blend of colors and movements, appearing both delicate and oddly focused. Callidus would lose himself in hours of observation, enchanted by the worm's meandering journeys and gentle leaf-nibbling.

Until one day, it perched underneath a green leaf in a hooked shape and remained motionless.

He asked his mother if it had died.

(He had seen many visions of death from his mother's crystals. Large fields of death. Those always went straight to his father.)

But his mother only said no and nothing else.

He had been horrified to watch as his fat friendly worm seemingly ripped its skin open to hide itself away into what looked like a wet flower bud.

He, again, asked his mother if it had died. But she only said no and nothing else.

The bud eventually hardened into something beautiful. Green like the gemstone on his mother's ring. And then eventually a charming creature emerged, somehow completely different from his fat worm and yet equally colorful and clumsy.

For five weeks it fluttered around the room, delighting Callidus with its beauty and love of his breezes. Instinctively, he knew he needed to be gentle with his delicate beloved creature, but despite his reverent treatment, one morning he found it on the ground.

Motionless.

He asked his mother if it had died.

And this time she answered yes.

As Callidus slowly awakened, he became aware of the gentle weight of Cressida's head resting on his chest. In that dreamlike state between sleep and wakefulness, a vivid image formed in his mind - he and Cressida cocooned together inside an emerald chrysalis, like a single butterfly yet to emerge.

The storm outside continued to rage, having grown stronger throughout the night, but the sound of the violent thunder felt distant and irrelevant as he pressed a loving kiss to Cressida's cheek.

Time seemed to blur around them as they stayed there, tangled, and bound in each other's warmth. The white sheets remained encircled around their bodies, pressing them closer together, and he felt a surge of delirium at the sheer intimacy of sharing a blanket together, of their entwined limbs and body heat intermingling, trapped beneath the silken fabric.

Throughout his life, Callidus was an outsider, watching life unfold around him, an observer rather than a participant. Even when viewing the memory crystals, the Callidus from the future seemed untouchable, out of reach, a vague figure on the edges of Cressida's life.

(He had never wanted his mother to show him visions of himself.)

But now, waking with Cressida in his arms, he felt a sense of belonging he had never known. The memory crystals that had once consumed him seemed insignificant now, overshadowed by the real, tangible presence of Cressida pressed against him.

The intensity of his passion for her was almost unbearable. Every gentle sigh from Cressida, every little movement as she nuzzled into him, sent him into a euphoric frenzy. He etched every detail, every sensation, into his mind so that he could carry them with him forever and always.