Nevermore

Chapter 2

I sat in a comfortable chair, which was above a white carpet, trying my best to not get too much blood on the upholstery. I looked at anything and everything in a desperate attempt to forget why I was in Crow's office. And forget just how much I screwed up. (practically impossible, but a girl can try) I focused on the chair first, trying to pass the time.

The chair I was sitting on was nice. The legs were meticulously carved with swirls and patterns and were gilded with what I suspected to be real gold. The backrest was curved and plush. It was beige with maroon spots.

The spots weren't there before, but I guess I got some blood on it when I sat down. I winced, "More money out of my pocket. Money that I don't have." I sat perched on the very edge of the chair. Trying to catch the blood that still oozed out of my wounds before they hit the expensive-looking white carpet.

I was failing miserably.

The carpet itself was beautiful and embroidered with scattered snowflakes, each a different shade of blue. From navy to sky, from azure to teal and everything in between. Scarlet flakes bloomed in the icy abyss of the pristine carpet, my blood. Crimson footprints led from the door to the chair I now sat in. I winced at how much all of this damaged property would cost.

I looked away from the blood that seemed to taunt me, as though saying, Oh wow, you just couldn't stop screwing up, could you? I moved my gaze towards the walls.

The walls were a soft blue with clouds painted on it. Pictures studded the walls, each a painting of immeasurable value. The paintings seemed to be alive, I could see, feel, smell, and touch what was within the once blank canvas. One was of a riverbank, with a small waterfall.

The painting was so realistic that I could hear the water trickling gently, could feel wind weaving through the reeds, creating magical river music, could smell the purity of the air, and could sense the serenity of the moment. I felt at peace when I looked at the painting, a peace that I had never possessed before then. I tore my eyes away from the painting and looked to the next one, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, though I wasn't sure why.

The one beside the first was of a couple on a beach. One had its arms wrapped around the other, and the second one leaned into the first. The second leaned their head on the first's shoulder. They stared off into a wonderful sunset.

The sun seemed to be swallowed by the ocean. Streaks of color swirled into the sky. The night was closing in, the stars blinking into existence one by one. An indigo night approaching the golden day. The moon could be seen, and it glowed softly and gently.

It was patient for its turn to rule the sky. Patient with certain knowledge, the kind that is deep in your bones, a truth so ancient that no one could fathom anything different. The areas near the setting sun were warm. Soft shades of orange curled around the sun, mixed in with gold and bands of scarlet. The people were only silhouettes, but I could sense the love between the two.

Nothing could part them, and they loved each other with all that they were. I felt the tears getting hotter in my eyes. I wanted someone to look at me like that, as though I was worthy of love. Worthy of attention and recognition. I took a deep breath, trying not to burst into tears. I quickly looked away because I knew that the tears wouldn't be held back for long.

The next one was of a pack of wolves on the hunt. I could see the intensity of their gazes, could hear the silence as they stalked closer to their prey, a young doe. Smell the scents of the forest, the mulch under their paws, the sharp pine, the sap that oozed from the ancient trees. And best or worst of all could feel a sense of belonging.

That I belonged there, that I was accepted, wanted, loved. Needed. It was something that I longed to feel. Something I would never feel. I felt a tugging in my chest, wanting so deep and true, that I knew that I would never have this. I would never feel this way, and that hurt more than the wounds on my body. For those would heal, but this would forever bear a mark on my already bruised and battered heart, a jagged hole that could and would never be filled.