An Elegy For The Soul

Chapter Twenty Four

Secrets In The Dark

River stoked the fire in Aven's quarters. Students seldom used their hearths, but the campus boilers struggled to accommodate what was becoming an early and possibly brutal winter. Snow had yet to fall, but when it did, he feared the storm would viciously take from those who didn't have the sense to cower before mother nature.

The whistle of the kettle stirred Aven from her spot on the sofa. While she prepared two cups of tea, River retrieved Veronique's book from his breast pocket. It had been tucked away there for days, a constant companion while remaining largely unexplored. Though he had only flipped through it once, he gleaned very little from the brief glimpses he stole. Something ominous radiated from the black leather, and when River had inspected it closer, he found most of the pages inside were blank.

The book wanted to tell him something, its silent whispers creeping along the corridors of his mind. He felt an urge to delve into its pages, yet every attempt to crack the spine sent tremors through his hands, sweat beading on his skin as ominous shadows splotched the edges of his vision.

Fear, a long-dormant and often ignored emotion, gripped him tightly. He couldn't bring himself to face reminders of his mother alone. Though irrational, he harbored a persistent dread that Do-Yeon could materialize from his memories if he dared to be alone amidst the artifacts of her mastery.

Aven returned with two cups of steaming chai, its cloves and vanilla aroma perfumed the air around them. River welcomed the heat radiating from the cup, allowing it to warm his fingers before indulging in a sip of the creamy liquid.

"You never returned it?" Aven's gaze fell upon the book resting in his lap. She blew on her tea and took a delicate sip, a soft moan of enjoyment escaping her lips, imbued with more flavor than the chai itself. With a slight shiver, she reached behind River, pulling the nearby blanket around her shoulders for warmth.

The crackle of firewood filled the room, its heat causing the window frames to creak and swell in the shifting temperature. Aven sat serenely, her tea cup cradled in her hands as she waited patiently for River's response. She was always so good at waiting. Possessed by the confidence of a person who knew they'd be answered, Aven's gentle strength often left River breathless.

Her beauty deceived people, diverting their attention from the details hidden beneath her surface. Like an old home overgrown with vines, they saw only the ivy growing thick, high, and green, while the manor beneath it all remained forgotten—haunted by the ghost of the woman she refused to let herself become.

River tapped his fingers nervously against the book. "There's something I want to tell you. Something I need your help with."

Aven placed her cup gently onto the coffee table and pivoted to face him. From the gap in the curtains, the moon's silver beams caught a few strands of her white hair, setting them aglow with a faint ginger hue as they swayed in and out of the light.

River cleared his throat a couple of times, feeling the words he needed to tell her lodged there, stuck in the soft tissue, growing dense with the weight of saliva seeping into their edges.

Chilled fingers tightened around his hands as Aven scooted closer, their thighs pressing into one another. "I'll always be here for you, River. Whatever you need, you can count on me."

He savored her confession, a revelation he had only dared to imagine in his dreams. He drank down the sweetness of her words, allowing his past to give way to their future.

"When I was younger, my mother had a book like this," he said, gently pulling his hands away and thumbing through the pages of Veronique's book. "Late at night, she'd sneak into my room, long after my father had gone to bed, and wake me up to ask if I wanted to hear the story of the lost souls. My mother was a gifted storyteller; for her, storytelling was an art. She knew just how to make everything come alive with the pitch of her voice. I remember lying in bed, spellbound, thinking my mother was magic; her words were my greatest treasure."