Hidden - The Hidden Chronicles - Volume 1

Chapter Six - The Catalyst

I awoke in the library the next morning and when I opened my eyes Endellion was there also, asleep on the sofa across the room. I wondered which of us had fallen asleep first and as I sat up slowly I became aware of my protruding stomach. Something was different today; my body was different and I could feel it. My back was sore and my mind was uneasy but a different type of uneasy than the sort I have become accustomed to. Please don't let it be today! Ignoring my nagging thoughts I looked around and noticed the breakfast tray on the table by the door. What time was it? How long have I been asleep? The room smelled like cinnamon and the clean sweetness of fruit. Making my way to the small table by the door I wondered if this insistent hunger would cease relatively soon after the baby was born or if I was also cursed to be consistently famished. The muffins were still steaming and the fruit was cold when I lifted the lid, picking up one of the cinnamon muffins and watching the sides crumble onto the plate before piling the fresh berries around it. From my view looking down, it reminding me of an island I had read about the night before where children never grew up, but stay small and naive to the world forever.

I made another plate before walking to the sitting area and placing it on the table in front of Endellion. Plucking the open book off of his chest, I flipped to the first few pages and found a familiar scribbled name. It was no wonder now why he battled so often between broken and beast; he was a broken child grown to a broken man, all while harboring the hate, guilt and rage taking refuge in his mind, fighting to take control of who he was, of who he is. Now when I see the beast in his eyes again, it will be less frightening and so much more heartbreaking.

I eat quickly for no reason and when my hand finds an empty plate where fresh berries once were, I'm brought back to myself, my mind no longer tip-toeing through Endellion's history, searching every corner for signs of his sister. I wonder how much of her he has in himself and I assume it to be quite a bit. When he stirs on the couch across from me I hold my breath as if the simple sound will disturb him, waking him from his slumber. For reasons I cannot make sense of, I wish to watch him sleep. It isn't the slow rhythm of his chest or the way he sometimes sighs when he breathes, but the way he looks with his eyes closed, his face peaceful for the time being. His eyes open and find mine easily, as if he knew exactly where I was and what I was doing. He smiles and I wonder if he was ever really sleeping to begin with.

"Good morning," I say, cheerful for the first time in weeks. "Someone has brought us breakfast. Still warm."

He moves so easily and I am reminded that he is lethal, his movements, swift and graceful, remind me of a python; beautiful to look at but deadly if you find yourself too close. He pulls the top off of his muffin and begins to eat it, brushing the crumbs off of his shirt as they fall.

"I love cinnamon. You fell asleep last night and I felt bad waking you. I imagine you do not sleep much. I hope you don't mind, I gave you a pillow and blanket and let you rest here."

I look over to the window and notice for the first time the pillow propped against the side of the wall. "No, thank you for that. You are right; I have not slept so well lately. Did you stay here all night," I ask, warmth spreading through my body and into my cheeks. I squirm in my seat, hoping he doesn't notice the slight pink of my cheeks.

"Yes. I did not want something to happen in the night and you to be here on the other side of the manor, so far from everyone."

I consider this and wonder if he senses the difference that I am feeling. "Oh, yes. I do feel a bit strange today."