The Queen of Golden Flame

38. Amelia

All was quiet.

For the first time in her little life, the world had fallen completely still. Amelia could not remember a time before voices had cried out to her in her every waking moment, always tapping at the back of her skull like a stormcloud that only released one droplet at a time, slowly sucking itself dry.

Dating back as far as the Asher line went, every woman born would possess the powers of the Solivia. Not only her, but her sisters, had all grown up learning to harness their power from their grandmother, since their own mother did not carry the gene that lined her father's side.

They'd spend two days a week at their grandmother's flat above the DeMarco's Winery, sitting in a circle in her living room as their grandmother, a short tough woman, guided them through countless meditations, breathing exercises, and history lessons.

Her older sisters had never enjoyed them. They'd found the days excruciatingly boring and claimed they didn't mind the voices after a while, but Amelia sat right by the old woman's side, soaking up every teaching like her life depended on it. So she learned. And she grew. Life went on with her sister's constant complaints of the dead, while Amelia had learned to soften their blows, at least for a little while.

Now, as she came back to the world with ringing bells in her ears and her chest aching like she were being burned from the inside out, Amelia realized truly what it was like to be aware of your own thoughts without interruption. But as she struggled for breath, the expansion of her stomach sending another set of sharp waves throughout her entire body, all she could think about was the pain.

It was as if two tons were weighing her down, pressing against her arms and legs and chest, keeping her glued to the ground. She tried to move her fingers, wiggle her toes, or even open her eyes, but even such simple tasks seemed absolutely impossible. With great effort and after multiple failed attempts, Amelia managed to pry her eyes open to a squint, only to find that she was staring at a plain gray, spinning ceiling.

She opened her mouth, willed herself to speak, to make a sound, but she was too tired and her vocal chords too weak, leaving her with nothing but the pitiful wisps of a whimper. But even if she had managed to utter a word, no one would hear her, and the breath it took to yell only racked her chest more and left her even weaker.

Amelia thought that if only she could fall into a peaceful sleep, everything would be alright. To lay down on the beach and let the tide sweep her under, lapping against her arms and wrapping her in its embrace. If only she could fall into a dreamless safe haven where hot stabbing knives did not poke her ribs and Juno and its captives were far, far away.

She fought against the tug of gravity against her lids. For minutes, maybe hours, she struggled to keep them open, but time slipped away like granules of sand. In the end, sleep left her mind hanging on a precipice, and it was winning.

Amelia let her frame relax, accepting the waves pushing and pulling underneath her, when a pair of strong arms wrapped around her and lifted her effortlessly off the ground. She groaned with each jostling movement, but she found herself too weak to protest or even lift her head, so she let her cheek fall onto the person's shoulder and did not move again.

"Stay with me," the person said soothingly. They had a deep voice, much like a man's, and spoke surprisingly good Terrian. "It's going to be alright. Just relax."

Amelia would have laughed if she could, thrown a sarcastic insult back in his face. That was easy to say when there weren't dots speckling the inside of his eyelids every time he so much as took a breath. His body didn't ache like he was being burned from the inside out, no. He didn't know what it felt like to be dying. She was dying. Right? No healthy, living person could possibly ever feel this way.