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casuallivi · 2 years

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TTYLTOYD chapter 6

I remember jamming to Peter Gundry’s Lady of the Dawn a lot during some point of this.

Word Count: 4643

Enjoy. Comments are welcome and cherished :)

Part 6: Be Careful What You Wish For

Elain loved love.

She loved the spirit of life, the soul of nature, her strong sisters, her absolutely adorable nephew, her brilliant friends, the colorful members of her new odd family, and among those, there was one who beguiled her love in ways the others didn’t. Who made her heart beat faster and blood rush to her cheek, who a was permanent resident of her dreams but never her visions –except once.

They way he touched her had always been different. Not that touch from his calloused fingers against her blistered hands, but the touch of his hazel eyes, breathing warmth into her. The patience of his presence standing by her when she could not stand herself, the brightness of his smile at the smallest sign of her happiness. Elain loved love, yet, it was her first time experiencing a love like that, effortless, blissful, genuine, hers. Until it wasn’t. The feelings, which used to have the privilege of dancing under the sun, were now shoved into an iron box, buried deep inside, damned to never see the light again. Because Elain loved love, but love should be given freely, not forced.

To keep them in check, Elain vowed not to beg for love, vowed not to invest her feelings in a man who did not want her. Her plan was quite simple, easy to follow since he avoided her like the plague, the problem laid in moments like this. Moments where he stayed by her, appearing to have nothing but time, time to give her his undivided attention, attention which Elain hadn’t the faintest idea of what to do with it anymore.

They reappeared on the beach, leaving behind the eeriness of the woods. Gone was the colorful aura, the place now felt black and white, and even though conversations floated left and right, a tense silence buzzed in her ears. Elain brushed her new dark skirt to mask her anxiety, the material wiggling between her fingers as sand wiggled between her toes. She shivered, praying they didn’t whisper it to him. Elain took deep breaths to calm her nerves, once, twice... The second time she exhaled, the music began to change, slowly, voices chanting a sultry melody.

She looked around trying to understand what was happening, gasping at the carnal displays she found. Faes were kissing and grinding, stopping briefly to throw a piece of cloth or another in the air, reuniting with renew enthusiasm soon after. With the music’s tempo changed, drums grow heavy in the air, goosebumps trailing down her arms as the song build and build. Females separated themselves from their partners, moving toward the bonfires, lifting a variation of flower and seaweed crows high in the sky, hips moving back and forth, chants getting louder, prouder, the view captivating Elain. ‘What are they doing?’ She thought to herself.

“They are presenting their crowns to the goddess,” amidst such lechery, Azriel’s voice was like a sensual inviting caress, dark as the night, skimming the shell of her ear like satin. “They want her blessing to conceive.” Elain glued her legs together, his presence looming like a furnace behind her. Wide-eyed, Elain heaved at the erotic vibrations thrumming in the air, transfixed by the magnetic ritual, bodies of every shape and color bared to the night, mouths wandering without shame, howls of pleasure echoing all the way to her lower belly.

“I suggest you move, if you don’t intend on getting swept in the wave.” Elain looked up to Azriel, pitch black eyes returning her gaze, the corner of his mouth turning up to what he found in her face. “Or not.” Her short nails sunk on his forearm, that she somehow found a hold of. The offer was so low she wasn’t if she heard or imagined it. Elain cursed herself for feeling tempted. After months of avoiding her, Azriel was right back where he left, flirting with dangerous paths he would not walk. The audacity of him.

Elain opened her mouth. If she was going to curse him or accept the offer was never known, for an intruded interrupted her.

“There you are! I don’t see our drinks.” Nuala’s cheery voice turned to confused, the inebriated wraith returning to her corporeal state in her face, noticing Azriel a second later. “Oh,” she hiccupped, “look who’s out of his cave.”

She grinned at him. “You see that, Cece? Ayala made a miracle!”

Cerridwen become visible, her sister immediately draping an arm over her shoulder. She greeted Azriel, noticing Elain’s empty hands. “You couldn’t find it?”

“Find what?” she asked.

Cerridwen frowned. “You left for a drink.”

“She left the beach entirely.” Azriel intervened, shadows slithering towards her, his stern tone purging the carefree friendly atmosphere between the girls. Cursing the alcohol in her system, Cerridwen straighten her spine, pushing her sister away.

“That’s not possible, I was watching her the whole time. We came to fetch her since the offering was beginning.” Cerridwen said.

Nuala, who had had one drink too many to care about the sudden serious atmosphere, perched herself on Elain, grabbing the middle Archeron by her cheeks. “Look how red you are.”

Elain, who had been ogling a particular couple against a bark, went a shade redder for being caught, Nuala mistaking her reaction with discomfort. “Don’t worry my friend, I’ll save your honor! Let me take you to a safer place… You know what would help you to feel better? Another drink. There is an inn with marvelous dark cider…”

Nuala went on about the drink, Elain peeking one last time at the couple, none of them noticing the other two remaining behind, nor the harsh, “explain,” being uttered with deadly authority.

It smelled like jasmine.

The petals tickled her nose, teasing her lips, trailing down from her chin to her neck to the valley of her breasts. The sun poked through her eyelids, making her frown. Her window was left open during the night, a suave morning breeze swaying the cream curtains. A slender body molded itself to her back, nails rasping her hip. Half asleep, Elain hooked her leg higher on the pillow, burring her face in the sheets, she felt too comfortable to wake up. Butterfly kisses on her shoulder, hands caressing her hip, her thigh, her belly. Elain sighed softly under the ministrations, eyes fluttering when she was pulled to her back, the body moving to top hers.

Smooth skin blessed by immortality covered her body –the shape of her legs, the curve of her breasts, the round of her belly. Elongated ears pointed from between glossy tresses, sharp nose and high cheekbones sprinkled with freckles darkened under the sun, full lips spreading in a wicked smile. Her perfect copy, except for the eyes. Oh gods. Realization dawned on Elain, dread filling her lungs. The eyes gazing back at Elain were older, cunning, dangerous, the white irises carrying the weight of knowledge, holding answers to questions untold. It was like looking at a mirror, except the mirror was sitting on top of her, hands around her neck.

“Relax, marlena,” the Seer purred, “it’s only me.”

Elain gasped when the Seer gave her a peck, hair tickling her face. She pushed the other by her shoulders, very solid, very real shoulders. Unfazed, the Seer turned her attention to Elain’s belly, traced the shape, drawing spirals and hearts. Elain’s mind worked furiously to understand what was happening.

“A warning.” Announced her clone, eyes backing up to Elain’s face. She traced the bridge of her nose, distracted. “We are so beautiful. This is my favorite body. Perfect.” She bent and kissed Elain’s chest, right over her heart. “Keep this beating for us, will you? Don’t be reckless.”

When the other made no move to hurt her, Elain moved her hands tentatively, pushing her soft brown hair away, trying to gather it behind her ears to cup her face. “I’m not trying to die.” Her voice sounded odd, raspy, as if she had been screaming.

"You're trying to challenge. Having stupid impulses again.” The Seer reprimanded severely. “Don’t think, for a second, that I didn’t see what was on your mind last night. I see everything."

“I want to be free.” Elain breathed out. “Don’t you want to be free? To choose?” She questioned passionately.

"Not if you die as result, I don't." she snorted.

“…You care for me.”

“There’s no me without you.” She deadpanned “Why do you fight to accept your fate? You’ll have a good life,” she planted her palms on Elain’s belly, “you’ll have children, you’ll be loved. Isn’t that what you wanted?” From the corner of her eye, Elain saw a little girl running. “You can bargain for your life later, but first you have to give in.”

Her children’s laughter ringed around them, the twins high pitch screams echoing as they ran on the sunny green fields their elder brothers riding horses around them, pretending to trap them in a circle. Elain closed her eyes tightly, cursing the images and sounds away. It was useless, she could still see them, feel they little hands grabbing her legs, hugging her skirts, calling her mommy.

“Stop,” she ordered.

“I lived thousands of years, merged my essence with others before, never once seeing the Cauldron take interest in a particular fae, let alone the deepest desires of her heart. It’s fascinating.” The Seer craned her neck, taking in the abundance of images flashing behind her white eyes, forcing them onto Elain. “He’s willing to please you.”

“He’s willing to kill me.” Elain spit in anger.

The seer shrugged. “You, better than anyone, knows that nature demands balance. Everything has a price, even happiness. Especially your happiness.” She gave Elain a smile full of sharp gleaming teeth. “Don’t you prefer your reaming years to be blissful rather than miserable? I certainly do.”

“You can’t make chose what you want. Is not your life, is mine. My life, my happiness, my – ”

“Your choice,” the Seer finished, mimicking her, done with her speech. “Choice, choice, choice. Don’t you know another word?” She took a hold of Elain’s chin, venomous words dripping pointedly. “I never pegged you for stupid, girl. Choice is an illusion, a feeble branch in a tree of possibilities. You saw the roads before, many variations of it, no matter how hard you try to stray, they all lead to where he wants. Your resistance is futile. Don’t make things harder on yourself. Take his hand and live well. Let us not go back to the waters.”

If looks could kill, Elain’s certainly would. She jerked her chin from the Seer’s grasp, shimmering in anger. How many times more she would have to abide her desires to walk the path of other?

“I refuse.” Elain spoke with vehemence, staring herself dead in the eye.

If looks could kill, the Seer would end her as well.

“Then you’ll die,”

“He’s going to kill me either way, he always does.”

“Stupid stubborn girl.”

“I’d rather die,” she blurted, realizing she meant it when the words were out. “I’d rather die fighting for the life I want, than cowering to his whims.”

Elain had learned about the gods, had even become an avid devote of the Mother –the benevolent matron. The Mother was a true goddess, merciful, fair, the creator of world, raiser of faes. The Cauldron, on the other hand, was nothing but her instrument. And the Cauldron could blow her.

“He doesn’t want your vain death, stubborn girl.”

“Then we have no problem at all, since I don’t intend on taking myself.”

The Seer shook her head, disappointment coating her features. “You lie. Because the Cauldron is not the one holding the knife, dear. You are.”

She rolled over, bringing Elain with her, their bodies tangling in the sheets, sinking in the layers of cotton, down, down, down, the depth never ending, the cloth engulfing their limbs, cutting them from the world of the living.

They circled each other; wary, bare feet numb to the cold floor, reflecting blown eyes and twisted lips, gaunt faces framed by brown and reddish hair. Their bodies were outlined by sigils, dark blue ink disappearing under matching white dresses that swayed without wind. Their souls were once human, their bodies forever changed by the whims of power-hungry man, their choices ripped from the palm of their hands. Not tonight.

“It’s time.”

Time is the essence. Only the mother can watch over them tonight, not the mother of fae, mother nature herself, guiding Elain with steady hands when by herself she would be shaking. Her hand lands on the woman’s shoulder, lips brushing against her ear to whisper her final omen.

“Death is the only way you can be free.” In a flicker of her wrist, Elain plunges the dagger to Vassa’s chest, twisting it. The firebird painful gasp causing blood to splatter on her face.

Elain staggers, not to avoid the gore, but because unbearable pain blooms in her own chest. She looks down to see the knife lodged there, carmine tinting her dress rapidly. Vassa’s body hits the floor with a loud thump, hers following no longer after.

"What have you done!" His shriek rumbles the room. Livid. Possessed. Nonbelieving.

A male sprint to them, heavy footsteps growing closer. More screaming follows. Elain only has eyes for Vassa, chest heaving up and down one last time, lips mumbling a final word. Elain’s lids drop, the flow of her blood slowing, ending. Dying. She was dying. Someone is violently shaking her awake, hands pressing the wound on her chest, hands moving up to her neck, trying to hold her lolling head. Grief. Guilt. Anger. She feels then mingle with her pain.

"No. Look at me, Elain. Eyes on me." She blinked rapidly, finding it difficult to focus her blurry vision.

"I-I'm sorry," he choked out, a tear landing on her cheek, then another. "I'm so sorry Elain, I should never have asked you – I never – please, oh Cauldron. Please." His desperate plea ringed in her ears, eyes that once held fire now lay lifeless beside her, twin pools of death.

It was done.

Elain could feel it coming for her too, death. She shivered; a cold mantle draped over her bones. Fickle powers pressed down on her, attempting to fix the knots that slipped one by one, her final tether to life. An alarm went off inside her, uninvited fear kissing her as the carmine elixir of life soaked her dress. So much blood. Elain could feel the magic spilling down the floor, the seer desperately clinging to her, dreading her return to nothingness, a rapid succession of countermeasures and choices to made flashing before her eyes as the other tried to find a scenario where she would make it. Elain hugged her. ‘Let it go’. She whispered. ‘It has to be like this.’

"Why Elain, why," he sobbed, trying to reach his healing powers. It was no use. Elain had made sure to poison him properly.

She didn’t think she would cry, but in her dying breath Elain shed a tear, praying he would not hate her for too long.

Behind him, the Seer could not hide her wrath, furious with the outcome she had no power to prevent, her last vision, her ultimate choice. She fucking hated choices. White voids faltered when her vessel died, darkness washing over the room where her lifeless body stayed sprawled on the floor. Then nothing. She could see nothing.

“Fate is coming for you.”

Elain pushed herself up, coughing water she’d swallow. The peeled wall from her bathroom begin to take shape, the place humid and chilled, fog hiding the floor. Sobbing, she clutched her chest, ghost pain dwelling, remnants of the vision resonating within. Elain dragged herself from the tub, shaking legs barely supporting her weight.

She’d killed Vassa. She’s killed herself. Why?

“Death is the only way you can be free.” Her vision-self said, not an ounce of doubt in her sentence.

Elain felt miserable, yet, the oval mirror by the sink still reflected nothing but ethereal beauty “graced” by immortality, wet hair highlighting her pointed ears, droplets of water running down her sheen skin, mocking her. Elain punched the mirror. Perfection shattered in dozens of sharp pieces, a hole marred the wall, blood dripped on the sink. Elain embraced the pain, for feeling pain was better than feeling nothing at all.

“Good day.”

“Good day.” With a perfect smile in place, Elain returned the greeting to the young priestess who spotted her.

Tugging her long sleeve down, to conceal the bandage around her wrist, she moved through the deep halls of the library. A target in mind. Elain was aware the place had scarce material about seers, the material assembled between levels thirty-two and thirty-three. Her target occupied another floor. She climbed the stars without hurry, passing through levels and halls, the smell of old books mixed with a variety feminine scents, from the females who filled the place. She nodded at two hooded girls who nodded back, pushing two carts full of volumes to a corridor.

The strong smell of sage and palo santo denounced the right area. Till this day Elain was fascinated with some writer’s ability to embalm images and scents in their pages. She remembered her first time encountering a livid image, her finger brushing over a delicate fern to feel the leaves moving under her touch. Elain eyed the tall bookshelves, stacked with materials, arranged in different corridors. Twenty-five of them being occupied with knowledge about Divination. Here one could find information dating from centuries ago to the present days, from small details kept in journals to full research books, carefully stored parchments, maps and other forms of text were also at reach. Unfortunately, for Elain, most of the information was stored in languages that she didn’t understand, the witches having a strong preference for an ancient forgotten tongue called Latin –which she had been studying diligently.

Elain got rid of her tiara, using her hair to muffle her ears. She needed all the focus she could get. Putting her hand on a random shelf, she took a deep breath, calming her mind. Elain inhaled and exhaled a couple of times, dimming the shapes and sounds around her, banning the scents that drifted to her sharp nose. She blocked the sounds of pages being turned, erased the soft voices of the priestess who restocked a shelf levels below, dimming any life thrumming in the air, gathering every specs of reality and concealing them in a thick metal box, imagining herself closing the lid to it.

When her mind was nothing but a blank space, Elain imagined herself in a white room, alone, all semblance of life gone, only then she called back the turbulent dream of the night before, the dreadful vision that began to fade. Flashes of blood, screams and death answered to her.

“Show me what I’m looking for.” Her soft request resonated across the room, a faint amber light pulsing from where she stood to the rest of the floor. One by one, the bookshelves appeared in the white room.

Outside her mind her body moved. Two ringlets of white circled her pupils –which expanded while she traced books spines, eyes roaming up and down to scan all the volumes. Deciding the corridor had nothing of value for her, Elain moved to the next, humming a quiet melody as she crossed the polished marble floor. When she passed by the seventh corridor her song stopped, her head quirking to the side. Elain felt her lips spreading in a smile when the Seer said, “Hello, hello, mama Thorn. Long time no see.”

She strode along the dead-end corridor with confidence, her prize hidden in the last shelf. With the flick of a wrist she summoned a ladder. Elain climbed the unstable steps to reach a well conserved journal, the green tinted leather still shining, real flowers blooming on the cover. “Look at her fancy grimoire. Pompous bitch.” The Seer mocked before tossing it over her shoulder.

‘No! Don’t do that.’ Elain screamed from within, baffled with the lack of respect. ‘You’ll dent the book.’

“Don’t care.” She sang.

Humming a new tune with excitement, the Seer moved the stairs to the opposite shelf, fingertips halting on the spine of another book, the sharp contour of the letter jumping from the old leather bind to twirl around her index. “There you are.”

Elain blinked, back in control, the faint glow to vanish as the letters returned to their rightful place, allowing her to read the tittle. Per Somnia de un Errantis, de Ellaria Thorn. The Dreams of a Wanderer, by Ellaria Thorn. She shivered. In another life, Elain named a daughter after this woman. She opened the book, coughing at the fine dust who floated to her nose. Elain managed to glimpse an illustration of a naked woman hovering, over her bed before the pages turned white, blank. She groaned. Of course, of course you had to be a magical book.

Wood wailed under her, the centenary stair where she stood had seen better days. Elain secured the book under her arm and climbed down, carefully, the old wood cracking with every move. Elain was considering where she got such and old ladder when the wood split under her weight.

“Oh!” she exhaled a surprise sound, trying to hold on to the shelf, her sweaty palm slipping. Her body never hit the ground, powerful arms lifting her on the last second, letting the precarious ladder fall alone with a loud thud. Elain held the book tighter, her free hand knotted over a green shirt, the frenetic rhythm of her heart having nothing to do with the scare of nearly falling.

‘If you wanted to be in my arms, all you had to do was ask.’ With any other female, Lucien would have cracked the joke with ease, but as he held his mate, the last thing he could do was speak.

His eyes were locked on her, who still watched the rotten ladder, probably imagining that she was almost the one on the floor. The book between them dug uncomfortably on his side, but he couldn’t care less, not when he was carrying her. She was wearing a thick white long sleeve paired with a dark red skirt –the color almost black. Lucien had not seen Elain since her sister’s mating, their awkward goodbye making him uncertain if they parted on good terms or not. He hoped they did.

“Where are you going?” Elain’s uncertain question made him stop.

Mismatched eyes stared at her with confusion, the gashes of his scar darkening under the faelights. They were moving away from where he found her. Lucien had left his floor for a bit of fresh her when, without realizing, his bond called to her, following her glowing trail on the halls Now he was in the middle of taking her back with him. Dazed, he put her down, the bond pulsing and thrumming under his skin, highly aware of every place they touch, igniting when her body slid against his. He tried to breath the minimal possible, avoiding her scent, a whiff her cautious blending with his.

“Thank you.”

Her voice had a way of making his inside churn with want. Lucien could never tell if the timbre was appealing to the bond or him. She dusted herself while he cleared his throat.

“Did you pick the oldest ladder available?”

"Of course not."

"Quick tip for the next time. We don't rot, wood still does."

Elain glared at him. “Don't start with me, Lucien."

Lucien held his smile back. He preferred a sharp tongue rather than awkward silences. He placed his arms behind his back, trying to look the least threatening possible. It was the second time he saw his mate in such a short period, it had barely been two months since the mating. The bond shimmered inside of him, excited with the implications of her no longer hiding from him.

“What were you searching for?” She didn’t call him dumb, but her face might as well have. Elain waved the book. Lucien rolled his eyes. “I meant which one.”

Walking side by side with his mate, his chest puffed.

“I don’t know yet. This book is shy.”

“Concealing spell?” he asked.

“Probably.”

Lucien thought about offering to help her, but he didn’t want to push his luck so much.

“You seem acquainted with these halls.”

“Anyone can be,” she pointed at the silver plates naming the sections. “It’s quite intuitive.”

“You defy the stupidity of fae. One can be lost in these halls with easy, unless they use them frequently. And I never saw you here before.”

Elain turned to him. “Keeping tracks on me already?”

Lucien kept walking, putting his best innocent expression to use. “I’m simple observant.”

“Bet you are…”

Elain resumed her walk. Contrary to Lucien, she had seen him a couple of time, not only in the library, but in the city as well. Her meddlesome bond always trying to make her pant after him, wanting to be in his presence, to bath on his attention. It felt wrong. In those moments Elain would quickly change her rout, thinking it was best for them both to avoid their painful interactions.

Nesta’s wedding was the first time she did not fight with the bond, deciding to have a proper conversation with her mate, in her own terms. Turns out Lucien had a few strong opinions to get out of his chest, and so did she. In the end they had a little disagreement, but he did apologized, and Elain might have been a little more cruel than he deserved. Overall, Lucien treated her well, none of the invasive tugs from the last time, nor the infantilizing tone he used to use in their first interactions. Who knew having privacy was good for two people trying to solve a private problem! Meddlesome Archerons.

“I have a room on the seventh floor.” Lucien blurted suddenly, bringing her out of her head.

“Excuse me?”

“If you need a quiet place to read.” He dipped his chin to her book. “You can use it.”

Elain scanned the vacant floor, spotting the multiple empty tables on the reading area. There was no one there besides the two of them, the place so quiet one could hear a feather falling down. He noticed that too, the horror on his face was so evident she smiled. The bond pulled him strong than it did she.

“I won’t be using it for the rest of the day.” Lucien added, trying to save face.

Truth was, Lucien had a fresh batch of unread material pilled against the wall, his table missing, buried in parchments. He had planned to pull another all-nighter today, but he could winnow them quietly, make space for her and go back to the house. He had a lot of material back at as well.

“I’m not staying.” Elain warned him. “Thank you, though, for catching me. And for the offer.”

“No need for that. I’m bound to serve you.” He meant as joke, but her smile vanished as quickly as it came. “I didn’t mean,”

“I know. Don’t worry about it.” Elain gave him a shallow goodbye and turned to leave.

Shit, they were doing so well. Lucien cursed himself. Why was it so hard to part on good term with this one? The farther she walked, the more his bond whined in his chest. How many time more would he watch her walk away and do nothing? When she grabbed the handrail, Lucien did something he had not done before. He called her name.

“Elain.” Big brown eyes watched him jog to her, taking the book from her hands. “Let me walk you.”

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