"You cannot mend what's broken with false promises and pretty words," I retort, my grip tightening on the dagger that rests at my hip. "You claim to be a man now; then prove it to me."
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Stjarna is a passionate Dane woman born during a ra...
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Bit of a longer chapter this time around! please leave any feeback/comments below and let me know what you think! ❤️
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I slam the chamber door and slump against a creaking, cold wall. Silence settles in around me, welcome and smothering. Silence, to soothe the trembling that chased me across the manor—into the chamber connected to the room I dressed in earlier. Silence, for the hammering of my heart as I struggle to suck in a breath.
In, out. Breathe. One...two...three...I count each breath. I can't breathe fast enough... can't hear over the pounding in my head.
The walls of the chamber are closing in around me, they're swallowing me into a stomach of despair. The ceiling is pushing down, down, down, the hearth is so hot I can see the heat rippling off of it—even from where I am chained to the floor. Chained, because I am a possession and I belong to Eirìkr and I'm back in the cellar and–I can't breathe.
My nails claw at my throat, ripping the collar-necklace from its suffocating strangle before I heave it across the room.
Thirty...thirty one...Breathe—I can't fucking breathe.I'm going to fucking die.
Each breath is a gulping effort. And it doesn't matter how many I suck in, they strangle me each and every time. My head grows more dazed with each unsuccessful inhale, and just before I can end my torment by crawling across the floor and throwing myself into the flames cracking in the hearth, the door beside me swings open when Sihtric swiftly steps inward. He darts his gaze over each shoulder and halts at the site of my body cradled on the cold floor–chest heaving uncontrollably. His bewitching eyes meet mine.
The tears finally escape from my burning eyes, as if the very sight of him has yielded them into being released, and I can't do anything to stop them as he steps toward me closing the door with alarming gentleness behind him.
Sihtric drops slowly to the floor, sitting down against the wall beside me. He doesn't reach out to me, but his arm is close enough that it just grazes my shoulder as he makes himself comfortable. For a long moment we don't say a single word, sobbing echoes through the chamber, but he just looks up at the ceiling breathing steadily, loudly. As if wordlessly guiding me into a steady rhythm. I do my best to mimic those calm, stable breaths.
I'm not in the cellar—I'm in Tettenhall. And Sihtric came for me and I got out. I left for good. I repeat.
I notice the slight twitch of his fingers as he palms them on the polished floor, right beside my own—as if fighting the urge to cradle my hands in his. I savour the coldness seeping through my burning fingertips, my back. The night has turned chilly despite the warmth of today's sun. I distract myself by remembering that I have always loved the Autumn weather even despite how many nights I'd missed in the cellar, attempting to embrace the warmth emanating from the fire rather than hurl myself into its ashen depths.
