A Delicate Darkness | AZRIEL (ACOTAR)

xix. of places and feelings foreign

OF PLACES AND FEELINGS FOREIGN

Auroria dreamed of them. Of her brothers, the full set. Seven heads tipped up to the sun, joyous laughter around them, the sun forming scarlet coronas around their hair, a bonfire between them and a warmth she wanted to bask in forever. She was young again, laid down in a lap that jostled with his every laughter. She heard the vague melody of Malachi's voice, joined by Oberon; she heard the dulcet bickering between Virgil and Nostrus; she heard Caius and Eris raise a glass together, clinking.

And then she heard nothing. The fire faded, the golden hue of her dreamscape gone, the vision abruptly slashed through.

The chambers that were now hers were silent, still, and weak sunlight seeped through thick, drawn curtains. Her chest heaved as though a leaden weight was pressed on them and the first thing she noted was her wet cheeks, and hair sticking to her skin. She sat up gingerly, felt the empty ache in her heart.

It was a simple scene, a simple dream, and yet the simplicity was unattainable. She'd never seen that, not really. Not all seven brothers laughing with one another, enjoying each other's presence. She'd seen separate parts of it -- of a happy Lucien as he idly combed through her hair, laid in his lap, of Oberon singing to himself whilst tidying up strewn weapons left after practice, of Nostrus wholly committed to winning a debate. But never together, for Father never really allowed it. They were each scattered to their territories, and they did not liken family to happiness.

And then she felt a gentle caress to her cheek and saw the dark tendril of shadow that must have awoken her.

"Hello," she greeted with a croak. She smiled, took the shadow into her palm, and whispered, "You'll never leave me, right?"

The shadow coiled in her hand.

"I know you won't," she replied, though she knew not what it said. If it said anything. "You're my oldest friends, you know."

Her stomach grumbled loudly, followed by an overpowering, nauseating wave of hunger. She couldn't remember the last time she ate -- properly ate, other than nibbles of the biscuits that appeared at her bedside every meal that she missed. The shadow leapt out of her hand and flew to the door.

"You're right, I should eat," she agreed but the shadow had already wriggled beneath the crack of the door. "And now I'm speaking to myself."

She thought of Nesta's words as she dressed — that she should take time to heal, but if spending time inside this house was generating these dreams that only made her yearn for something that could never happen again, then she needed to get far away from here. It was already starting to get to her, the confinement, the enclosure. Auroria yearned for a horseback ride, for the whistle of the wind as she sliced through it, for the breath of nature.

"Do they even have stables here?" she muttered to herself as she stalked to the wardrobe... only for the doors to fly open on its own accord.

Auroria jumped back, blinking.

"You say that as though the house is alive," she'd remarked the other day, an intended jibe at Cassian's strange choice of words, and yet, it had been last night, after she ambled back to her chambers, cheeks burning with embarrassment and keenly aware all the while that Azriel still remained by his door (she'd heard the soft thud of his head leaning against the wood), that she found a tub filled with steaming water, dotted with lavender petals, and emitting the loveliest of scents of fresh linen and herbs, waiting for her.

She had thought that servants had tended to it, though she saw none since her arrival here. Still, Auroria sank into the tub, the scalding heat of the water purifying her of humiliation. For once, her mind was empty and she happily dipped her head back against the ceramic rim of the tub.