We had been walking for a few days now, and I think we’re getting closer to a village. I have been looking at the map each night, and we were nearing the village of Azkadeleah. A small village, seeing as how none of us have ever heard of it. Maybe we can get some info on where Regina might be, seeing as how the village was close to Woodhollow. If that could work, then we could get to Regina faster.
If. The one word I have been depending on for 5 months now. If we escape. If the nightmares go away. If we can find Regina. The word that has been depended on since forever. Lorela always used to depend on that word. She would use it on missions.
The same girl with sandy blonde/brownish hair with dark blue faerie eyes, pale skin, and freckles. The same smart, snarky, creative, fast, and careful-as-can-be-with-kids. The sister I had known for 3 years of my life, but who was then forcibly taken from me. The person who could out-crazy anyone in a matter of seconds, but who couldn’t cook.
Like when she tried to make pancakes and almost burned herself.
*Flashback*
Naidia sits at the kitchen table, half-asleep. Lorela is standing at the stove, humming happily to herself.
“Could you have woken me up any earlier?” asks Naidia.
“Yes, I could’ve. I can wake you up as early in the morning as possible.”
“I didn’t want a response.”
They stay silent for a bit, with Lorela still humming.
“What are you making?”
“Pancakes.”
“Why?”
“Because I forgot how to make cereal. Why do you think? I want to make pancakes for you, Ben, and I. Have a normal family breakfast.”
“Never had one of those in my life.”
“Well, this’ll be your first. Now, can you please go wake Ben up?”
“Sure.”
Naidia goes to walk upstairs, and finally reaches Ben’s room. As she opens the door to see that Ben is awake, Lorela screams. As soon as Naidia hears, she and Ben run out of the room, and down the stairs. Apparently, Lorela has burned herself making pancakes.
“Lorela, therefore I told you not to make pancakes. Also, shouldn’t you put your hand in cold water?” asks Ben. Instead of saying anything, Lorela runs to the sink and immediately turns on the water. Naidia is just sitting there laughing.
*Flashback End*
I still find that funny. It’s very hard for it to not be funny, namely when Alton found out and tried to teach Lorela how to make pancakes, but ended up burning another pan. It was one of the funniest days, and Ben and I had gotten popcorn so to be ready to watch. One of the best, funniest, and craziest days of my life.
Even more crazier than the day when we got the note about Lorela’s death. That was a day of more terror than worry, a day of more tears than anything else. The day the nightmares came to life.
I quickly brush those thoughts out of my head, determined that today will be a day in which there won’t be any thoughts like that. Thoughts like of the nightmares.
Or the thought of that the place we are coming up on is a war-torn battle field. Like the ones in my nightmares.
A wave of panic washes over me, and I’m afraid it’s my nightmare in real life. If it is, I don’t know what to do. I can’t live through seeing her again. I miss her, but I miss the living her, not the dead her. Not the dead sister who I only knew for 3 years of my life, because for the other 12 years of my life, I had no idea she was alive. I hadn’t known, until now when I’m thinking about it, how someone who I had barely known could have such a impact on my life. Then again, my parents had next to no impact on my childhood, seeing as how I was a orphan before I met Ben and Lorela. The family I knew that was then ripped apart. The one thing I had wished for in Swelvornsky, and got, but couldn’t keep. I should’ve known I couldn’t keep it. I can never keep things I wished for. Never can, never will. Therefore, I don’t wish on stars. They never help.
I must’ve drifted off in thought, because the next thing I feel is Alton grabbing my arm and dragging me through the field. I am not happy I didn’t close my eyes, for the sight of the field is bring back bad memories. The waves of fear start crashing over me again, and I grab his arm and force it off of mine. I look down at my feet, and try to sit down when it comes over me again. The memories.
Sistine must’ve been holding me. I start thrashing, screaming, kicking, crying, flailing, scratching, and hitting her. She is trying to calm me, and I fight against it. She keeps talking, and I keep thrashing. Nothing will help.
By the time I am out of my memories, out of my mind, it has reached nightfall and Alton and Sistine both have bruises. They must’ve taken turns holding my wrists.
“I’m sorry for hurting you guys,” I say.
“Why did you do that?” asks Sistine.
The battle field. The nightmares. All too much to explain.
I remember when I had wished that I would never have nightmares. I wished it when I lived back on the streets, afraid that Mum would come up and snatch me.
But they stayed away for a while. And then they came back
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