Forever Luna

idiosyncrasy

noun ~ a distinctive or peculiar feature or characteristic of a place or thing

NOVA

Sleep doesn't come easily anymore.

Even when the house is quiet, when the children are finally down and the world stills around me, my mind doesn't follow. It lingers somewhere between waking and dreaming, caught on the edge of something I can't quite reach.

Tonight feels different.

Heavier.

I lie beside Phoenix, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing, letting it anchor me. His presence is warm; a constant in a world that feels like it's shifting beneath my feet.

But something tugs at me, urging me to succumb to its faint pull.

It's faint, but familiar, and I concentrate on it. My brows pinch as I drift, my thoughts slipping as I follow the thread, and then I'm not here anymore.

I'm...

Somewhere cold

That's the first thing I notice. It's not the kind of cold that brushes your skin, but the kind that seeps into your bones. The kind that doesn't leave no matter how much you wrap up warm. Darkness surrounds me, thick and suffocating, pressing in from all sides. I can't see... I can't see my hands, the walls...

No.

That's not right.

I can, just barely.

Light bleeds through the black in soft, broken fragments. Shapes flicker in and out of focus, blurred and shifting as if I'm looking through water.

I'm alone. The realisation settles slowly, like something remembered rather than discovered.

My chest tightens, my eyes blinking as though waking up from sleep. And that's when I realise I'm not in charge here; this isn't me.

"Hello?" I whispered, but my voice didn't echo.

It bounces off the walls, and my hands reach out to smooth over the cold, harsh concrete. Blinking, my vision cleared as I realise a latch had opened in front of me. Food arrived on a tray, like in a prison cell, and then someone rolled a water bottle through.

Whoever I am, seems pleased that they got a bottle of water.

But then we're crawling towards the food. My attention shifts and distorts as I stare down at thin, pale hands covered in blood. But...

They're familiar. Hands I've studied, hands I've compared to mine so many times.

"Pollux?" I whispered.

The name slips from me before I can stop it, and the figure stills.

My heart starts to pound because I know it's him. My vision distorts, rippling until I'm stood beside him. But I can't... I can't see him. It's so dark, and cold, and... harsh.

Where was he? Where am I?

Celimene stirs within me, urging me closer, giving me her strength to search for him. I don't see his face, not properly; just fragments, pieces of him through the haze. But I feel him; I feel the pull of our bond. I feel the block of magic surrounding him, hazing his senses.

"Pollux," I say again, louder now, stepping toward him.

He lifts his head as though he heard me. And for the first time in months, green eyes collide with mine. They widen, seeming not to understand what was happening, and I greedily take in the small piece of him I can see through the slotted door.