ACOTAR one shots, imagines and short stories

The Art of Moving On (Azriel x OC) - Part 7

Word count: 3207

Characters: Azriel and Elara (OC)

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Elara woke to the soft light of dawn filtering through the curtains, casting a golden glow across the room. For a blissful moment, she was lost in the warmth of the bed, the unfamiliar scent of the sheets mingling with the morning air. She shifted slightly, her body deliciously sore in a way that brought a soft smile to her lips. Then, the events of the night before came rushing back—the intensity of their connection, the feel of Azriel's strong arms around her, the way his lips had traced paths of fire across her skin, the whispered words between them in the dark.

Her heart swelled with the memory. She blinked, slowly coming to terms with what had happened as his scent clung to the sheets, a mix of cedar and something uniquely him, wrapping around her like a cocoon of comfort and security. She buried her face in the pillow, inhaling deeply, as a sense of peace settled over her.

For a few precious seconds, Elara allowed herself to bask in the glow of the morning after. This was real. It had happened. Azriel had been hers last night and she his. The thought made her feel giddy, almost lightheaded with happiness. She hadn't realised just how much tension she had been carrying until he had eased it away with his touch, his whispers, his kisses.

She stretched out her arm, reaching for him, wanting to feel the solid reassurance of his presence next to her, to anchor herself in the reality of what they had shared.

But her hand met nothing but cool, empty sheets.

Her smile faltered. The space beside her was empty, the mattress cool to the touch, a clear indication that he hadn't been there for some time.

Elara's heart skipped a beat as she sat up slowly, pulling the blanket around her like a shield against the sudden chill that crept into her bones. The joy that had filled her moments ago drained away, replaced by a hollow, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. She glanced around the room, searching for any sign of him—his clothes tossed carelessly on a chair, his boots by the door—but there was nothing. He was gone.

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it all. Last night had been everything she had ever wanted, everything she had feared to want. But now... he wasn't here? Had she misread the situation? Had it been a mistake? Had he regretted it as soon as it was over?

The questions swirled in her head, each one more painful than the last. Elara  pulled the blanket tighter around herself, as if it could shield her from the harsh reality setting in. She had given herself to him completely, allowed herself to believe that this—whatever it was—could be real. But now, in the stark light of morning, all she felt was the gnawing fear that she had been wrong, that she had let herself believe in something that was never meant to be.

But then a new thought crept in, one that twisted her heart even more. If he regretted it, why would he just leave? Why not speak to her, face her? The idea that he might have regretted it but was too cowardly to tell her directly made her stomach turn.

But as she began to question herself, a different emotion began to take hold. No, she thought, he had declared his feelings for her before anything happened, before they crossed that line. He had looked into her eyes and bared his soul to her. Sadness slowly made way for anger, simmering beneath the surface. How dare he leave her like this after everything they had shared? After making her believe that what they had was real?

The mix of emotions—hurt, anger, confusion—swirled within her, and as the realisation of his actions sank in, Elara felt herself crumbling, unable to reconcile the man who had held her so tenderly last night with the one who had vanished by morning.