Until the Night has Passed

Chapter 5

Nethe's eyes abruptly opens after a sense of relief comes through the emptyness inside her chest- a fleeting feeling that comes in dwindling rare occasions. The shock prompts her to sit up in exhiliration, but the calm won't last as the storm will inevitably come sooner, just as always. She relishes in the feeling, hoping it would at least last for long hours.

A vivid dream?

As the events sinks in, she recalls everything that happened. All fresh in her mind, still. No obstacle or fog in her mind blocking her from remembering. It was as if it became a part of her life experience. Disbelief of something bizarre occuring, she labels it only as a dream, still.

Nethe peaks through her window and is greeted by pitch darkness with only one flickering light from the neighbor's exterior. What time is it? With a momentary reluctance and reassurance that she'll only be checking the time and not unlock it, her phone shows 1:45 am with enough time before the sun rises, thankfully. She always hated mornings. The effect of the heat on her condition will undeniably worsen it, assisting it more to fully strain her from being calm and rational. She still didn't know why. Maybe she is born to hate mornings and afternoons. Then again, this dislike wasn't so intense compared to now.

With the dreading fact of what's to come, she gathers her intact memories and replays it in her mind. Was it one of those rare vivid dreams? If so, she didn't mind spending the remaining hours back where she didn't have constant attacks there nor did she want to get caught as she has no knowledge of when her mother's next erratic anger would occur with no chance of eluding it. Without an ounce of clemency, she berated her for having another breakdown. Harsh words were thrown at her as she struggled to speak and to stop crying while calming the growing inner turmoil within her. She didn't want to experience that again. The desire to escape the inexplainable pain grows as the only option is to go back if the possibility still exists.

Pondering and pondering, backtracking and repeating the scenarios until she starts arbritrarily walking around in her room, mouthing the words she could have said earlier and re-enacting how she could have responded at the apparent frivolity Clorette and Quinvan presented, smiling at the memory while at it. People would think her mad if they saw her. Slowly, it becomes thereupatic for her.

Time is looming over her. No doubt she can have peace for this long so even if it's only a dream she'd spend the remaining hours of nightfall in it to achieve the solace she desires. Within dreams she is able to function normally with a healthy body and mind, the darkness in her waking hours banished from her.

So, the miserable girl tries her darnest to sleep. An hour or so- it works.

She awakens to a sharp-edged, huge fangs nearing her face. The eight-legged creature's miniature dying screech oddly enough did not came from the opening of a frowned mouth of a distorted, pale, greyish human head for its body as Quinvan's dagger dug deep in the middle of it. Dejection were etched on its feature, stuck in a perpetual horrifying expression of a familiar-looking old man. The freakish creature's legs crumpled and slumped on the ground; its body- the human face deflating as it lost its blood after Quinvan pulled his dagger out.

"Everything's fine. You can go back to sleep now."