Clover of the Moons

Four

Finally home, Ali shut the door softly behind her. Biting her lip, Ali quickly latched all seven chains. Stupid, she thought to herself. These were supposed to prevent me from leaving, but all they've done is upped my craving for moonlight. She silently cursed her mother for this horrible urge.
    Glancing at her neatened up desk, Ali sat slowly on her stool. Taking a deep breath, Ali reached for a small silver button behind the desk. Pressing it, Ali let herself grow still.
    The button silently beeped once, and a cloaking shimmer faded to reveal a small silver box. Ali picked up the box and placed it in her lap. She knew she shouldn't, but she had never felt so alone.
    Rubbing her fingers around the edges of the box, Ali searched for a small latch. She hadn't opened the box in so long, she had forgotten where the hidden latch was.
    Finally feeling a subtle prick on her searching fingers, Ali unlatched the box.
    It was as if the sun itself was in that box. Pure light streamed from the small container, warming Ali's face and burning her eyes. Squeezing them shut, Ali let her eyes adjust before swinging the box wide open. The breeno stones felt heavy in Ali's hands, almost growing in weight from the memories flooding back into her. These memories were thoughts she had pushed out long ago, feelings from a time of true emptiness.
    Remembering how it felt to be a child without anyone to guide her, Ali quickly put the stones back into the box and shut the latch. Cloaking the small box, Ali stood from her chair and walked to the bookshelves surrounding her cabinet. Grabbing a small velvet-covered book, Ali took a deep breath.
    The way Ali prefered forgetting her past was creating new herb mixtures. She could use them in multiple situations, and she needed more reincree anyways.
    Ali took out a few pinches of salt, and few frost weevils she had crushed up beforehand. Rolling them together into crunchy balls, Ali smooshed the mix into leaf shaped molds. Shutting the molds, Ali stuck them into the kiln and waited until the room smelled sweetly of sparkenflug. She took out the molds and popped out the leaves, running her fingers down the lines and cracks. Imperfections, she thought. Just like me.
    After the new herb had been pressed, Ali torched it with her green flames emitting from her fingertips, such a hot flame that it hardened the leaves into hard, blue tinted leaves. The reincree was created, and Ali's small moment of work had ended, stealing her distraction and causing anxiety to flood through her bones.
    Ali took a deep breath and glanced at the finally rising sun. Double checking the locks on the door, Ali walked the steps to her upstairs bedroom. Although the moons were still shining their last rays, Ali had no trouble walking up the stairs.

    Once Ali had reached her room and locked the three different code locks on it, she layed on her twisted wooden bed. Although she never slept, a bed was nice to sit on in careful carving occasions.
    Sprawled out and open, Ali began to take deep breaths as her father once taught her. "It's okay," she whispered to herself between breathes. "You're important, you're smart, you..." Ali trailed off before rising and walking to her tall mirror.
    "You're wonderful," she continued her voice growing into a small chant. "You're loved, you're okay..."
    Ali's voice trembled with each word. "You are cared for, You're never alone, you have yourself, you..."
    Ali's voice finally wavered as she remembered the dangers of speaking into that mirror. Your emotions would become... well, mirrored. And with all the grief Ali was feeling, that was not a good thing.
Ali's voice almost squeaked on the last words as the mirror began chipping away, sending a long crack down the mirror before the reflective surface altogether fell out from its wooden base and shattered to a halt on the cold floor.
"You... Aren't okay." Ali collapsed into a heap on the floor and was set into a long cycle of sob, gasp for her breath, and shake the tears from her body in one uncomfortable fluid motion. It went on like this for several minutes, which turned to hours, which turned to nights.
Every night would follow the same pattern, the sun rising, the grief, the tremendously shaking pain she endured so often. Ali felt weak daily, and her crafty and solid attitude caved into a dark and soft, frail little girl like the one she first was without her mother.

So as I mentioned in the previous chapter ends, I wrote most of the book a while ago, so after getting inspired by a YouTube video and adding in the mirror, the whole cycle of grief thing is still in its works. Not sure if I like it yet, but we can keep it for now.