A beating heart

Chapter 38

I'm really happy so many of you read the last few chapters and I'm also quite sad that this is the second to last one :( Only one more chapter to go, which I'll probably publish next week. For now I hope you'll enjoy this one!

She was somewhere in a place between sleep and consciousness, permanently shifting from one state to the other. The things before her eyes grew bolder and more frightening with every hour she spent hidden under multiple layers of blankets. It was impossible to determine whether the images were real or just products of her fears and sorrow. Dark shadows and hushed voices, whispering in the winds reached her ears. The awful screams filled her head and the bright orange flames danced around and around in endless circles. Whenever she blinked the darkness behind her shut lids was no different to what she found when she opened them again.

The weight of her own blankets seemed to crush her underneath them but she didn't move. She hadn't even lifted so much as a finger after the maids had helped her into bed. Her hands still tightly clung to the piece of fabric, bloodied by her daughters blood, and her fists were pressed against the cool skin of her chest. The silence in her chambers worked to suffocate her mind and she concentrated with all her strength on any noises she might make out in the dead of night. Nothing, only more silence and even the sounds of her own chest pulling and releasing air in shallow breaths seemed distant.

For the first few hours, Bash's face had been omnipresent and the tears had lingered on the dry skin of her cheeks. His incredibly green eyes had borne into chest and the expression on his face had been one somewhere between sadness and the promise of love, they had once both clung to. She had lost him and still his presence seemed so tauntingly close as she just had to reach out with her hands to find the familiar touch of his skin and the thick hair crowning his head.

She had muttered her apologies than, over and over, had repeated them for what seemed like hours, and maybe it had been. To atone for the things she had cost him, them both. But to her dismay his face had failed into the all encompassing darkness. His features had disappeared in the smoke of the burned down fire and she had unsuccessfully tried to call him back. Maybe that was what frightened her most, the fact that she couldn't find him any longer, she was unable to see his face or hear the voice, she knew to be his.

The tears had seized and her face had lain emotionless against her soft pillow. She had felt so alone, separated from all the people she knew to be in the castle with her. Someone had drawn a wall up around her and she found herself isolated in her own mind. The nurse had told her that this was the shock and mourning of the people she had lost, that this was only temporary. But she felt trapped in the bed she had shared with Francis and her husband alike, suddenly finding it to big for just one person. Everything felt out of proportion and the dim light peaking through the windows seemed unreachably far away.

Then she heard them, the wails of a child. The cries sounded exactly like Anne's when her daughter's demanding voice had ripped her from her sleep countless nights. What she wouldn't give for one single moment with her child. She might still be out there, waiting for Francis. The uncertainty weighed on her heart, what if she would never know, what if no one returned? The idea haunted her and she tried her best to cling to the bits of hope she still held inside. Just like with Bash, Anne's eyes had hovered before her eyes but soon faded into the nothingness she feared most of all.

The suns slowly rose, drawing long shadows across the carpet and lounge before the hearth. She could see the little dust particles dancing in the glimmering light and the snowflakes mirroring their movements outside the frosted glass. Her eyes wandered through her room, inspecting every floorboard and painting on the walls. She sought to find something, anything that might help her, give her hope. She lingered on the desk, the polished wooden surface reflected the morning sun and the vase, which had once held the wild flowers Francis had given her, was nothing but empty glass. Her teeth nudged over her bottom lip and it was only when she tasted the blood in her mouth, that she realized she had exerted too much power.