What if I lived? ✔️

Gardening

The night had been bad. I never really had the time to grieve my dead, getting through the next few minutes had seemed a tad more important than moping, but somehow my demons had decided to haunt me now, all at once.

When the darkness finally neared its end the sheets were drenched in sweat, my mouth coated with a film of copper, blood, from where I had bitten my tongue. At least on the boat Callum had been nearby, so my body hadn't acted up too much. Seeing all of them yesterday... It made coming home feel achingly real.

I rubbed my face. Nuala and Cerridwen had yet to show up in my room, demanding a hug, then pestering me about the rings under my eyes. The shadow wraiths, normally so formal with everyone, had been a vital part of my upbringing. But maybe they had changed too over those long years too. Mother knew I had.

The bed was starting to swallow me whole again, the horrors of my past beckoning on the other sides of my lids. I couldn't keep lying there, two more minutes and I would make Callum take me back to Hala, where all of it had left me alone. But I reminded myself what going back would mean exactly.

I didn't bother with clothes, just threw a dressing gown from the chair where Mor had left it yesterday. They had gleaned that I would be done talking for some time, all of them having been through at least one similar situation. Rhysand, Feyre, Cassian and Azriel left me in Morrigan's hands. On my wish we sat in the blue room with dark-wooden furniture they had elected to be mine, reading.

Morrigan had always loved reading to me as a kid, cauldron knows my Mother wouldn't have done it.

The cold of the stone floor bit into my heels when I stepped into the hallway. Suddenly I felt terribly lost. Where could I go, in this big house? The only thing out of question was going back into that room, waiting for my nightmares to come alive again.

Maybe now would be a good time to get a lay of the land. The sun had barely started to show her face in dawn. Since no sound could be heard in the house, save to assume no one had gotten up already. I knew that opposite the room opposite of mine was Mor's, but left from her were two other rooms, beside mine too. The other side of the hall were mostly offices, I supposed, and at the head of it the Master-bedroom of course.

Ten rooms on the upper level, still small compared to the ground level. Countless little reception rooms with a varying degree of officiality. A big kitchen, where I took the liberty of making myself a cup of peppermint tea, two Dining rooms, one for more private gatherings and one for formal functions.

Finally, I found the garden.

The veranda of old, grey stones, couches of white metal scattered around as well as a dining table smack in the middle of it... Definitely Feyre's work, Rhysand had no regard for color coordination, the reason he only ever wore black. Farther into the garden the river gurgled with a very distinguished vegetable-flower growth on its shore.

I left my half-emptied cup standing on the table, striding to the left. My feet were still barefoot so I savored the feeling of soft, wet grass beneath my toes. They had long grown cold, but I couldn't have cared less, better than the wet feeling of sweat and fear.

The flowers had been grown with great care, all of them teeming with colors of life. Some of the plants I had never even seen.

"Azalea" a voice came from behind me, soft, yet curious.

For some reason it didn't startle me, turning my head, a delicate blond High Fae standing beside me came into view.

"That's the name of the flower" she clarified.

I nodded: "Yes, uhm, I know."

The female smiled, striding past me: "We also have fresh chamomile, it calms the nerves."