The wolf woman

The Despair

It's been two weeks since that fight. Accalia hasn't come home. I sit in an empty house, alone, in darkness, surrounded by silence. I only bought the house because of her, the house I was only able to purchase because of the help I got from her clan. Now it haunts me, with the silence, the darkness, the memories of her. The living space where she used to watch YouTube videos and read books to learn new things, the kitchen where we made food together, the dining space where we chatted while eating every day, and the sleeping chambers. She would sometimes get a bad dream and would need me to hold her hand so that she could go to sleep again. Every inch of this house reeks of her memories, her smell, her essence and it hurts me like a thousand knives have been buried in my back. No matter where I look, all I see is her. Sometimes, at night, I hear footsteps coming towards my room, but when I wake up to look, there is no one. No one but darkness. Each custom I embraced while sharing my life with her now serves as a spectral reminder, haunting my very existence with the agonising weight of her memories. Declaring my presence the moment I enter the house to gain her attention is not met with anything but silence. Every time I walk through the grand door, I miss her smiles, her greetings. I miss the smell of blood usually spread across the villa, reeking from her new hunt.
Now the house only smells like dust and spruce. There's no smile greeting me nor any warm food waiting in the kitchen. There are no hugs, no laughter, no colour. Just darkness, eternal and omnipresent darkness. I am still hopeful of her return. A battle I am fighting against my own mind. It is an uphill battle. Because for every ray of hope, my mind bombards me with a thousand reasons not to believe it. I wish I had some indication of her return. It breaks me mentally and physically. I do not know when she will be back. I don't even know if she will be back. I pray to the Lord above me in the heavens. I pray for a sign, for an indication of our coming back.
Three weeks since I saw Accalia for the last time. Three weeks since I heard her voice, heard her footsteps, looked into her eyes, felt her touch against my skin. I have begun to forget her face. The general silhouette is there, but I no longer remember the shape of her lips, her nose. I don't remember if she had a high nose or a low bridge. It's all replaced by a blur.
I don't remember her voice anymore. I remember what she used to say to me, how she used to call me by my name, but when I try to recall her voice, I can only hear distorted sounds. I don't remember her touch against my skin. Was it warm when she touched me? How much pressure did she use whenever she wanted to get my attention? I don't remember anything.
It has been a week since I stopped eating dinner. I do not feel like cooking anymore. I fear stepping into the kitchen. I fear I will miss her presence so much that it will drive me to insanity. It was food on which we bonded over for the first time, and it was food that brought us so close to each other. The daily routine where she would hunt down some animal from the forest, and then we would discuss new ways to cook it, something that not everyone is lucky enough to experience.
Now, my sustenance is dependent on whatever I can buy at the canteen of my company. I seemed to have lost some weight and energy. The change was noticeable. Mrs LaBron even asked me if I was doing okay and offered me lunch the other day. I could only express my gratitude to her. I did not have the guts to tell her that Accalia had left me. I made an excuse of being sick. A sad excuse, as someone sick doesn't look the way I look, doesn't drag themselves across the floor like a murderer dragging a corpse to be thrown into a dumpster.
I had never imagined myself to be so much in love with someone that each breath feels like a thousand spears piercing my chest.