5592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBHXuvpaZXq
Ophelia had grown to like Jules’ company in the week that followed- and yes, eventually the fool and the idiot, Thorn and Baptiste respectively.
But no one could doubt that she was closest to Caspian.
Caspian had tensed up more and more over the week, but she knew she was not the cause.
It was the approaching anniversary of a tragic event that drove him up… the walls? Yes, up the walls.
He kept to himself for much of the two days leading up to it and her father, who was clueless as to why he was behaving in such a way, had stuck to him like glue.
The night before the anniversary Caspian was at her door half past one in the morning.
Sweat stuck to his brow and he was stiff with tension as she invited him in.
“I-I’m sorry to wake you up.” He breathed, scratching the back of his neck with a nervous fervor.
Ophelia shook her head, “You did not wake me. The rising of the Wild Hunt disturbs all fae until all hallow’s eve.”
He sat down on her bed and she turned on the overhead fan.
He was distracted and out of sorts and Ophelia found herself concerned for him.
“Why only until then?” He asked, forcing himself to relax and Ophelia plopped herself down on the foot of the bed.
She hummed for a moment before explaining.
“The Wild Hunt may be used as a tool on Samhain night to enact revenge. On Yuletide however… they enter the mortal world, so I suppose we shall see if I become disturbed then too.”
He nodded, and they were silent for a few minutes.
She watched him, his grey eyes not making contact with her own blue pair, instead staring up at the spinning fan absently.
She stretched out her legs before getting up and circling to the other side of the bed to sit beside him.
Her back tensed at the cool wood of the headboard before she forced herself to relax, her shoulder just barely touching his arm, her arms slack against her sides, her hands open and willing to offer support.
When he broke the silence next it was with a stuttering sob.
She wrapped his hand in hers and squeezed.
Tears began to flow down his face and they went silent again before he began to speak.
“I miss her.” He breathed.
“I know.” Ophelia replied.
“It hurts.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think it will ever get better.”
Ophelia went silent at his admission.
She wiped away his tears with her other hand, sitting up to look him in the eyes.
They were a storm of bitter emotion, and damn him, they pulled her under as well and she didn’t notice as tears began to trudge down her own cheeks.
He stared back at her, his breathing calming as he scanned her.
“Why are you crying?”
“I’m an empath, asshole.”
He stilled before breaking out in laughter, a smile blooming across his face.
“Listening to Thorn now, are you?” He joked.
She began to laugh too, first soft and slow, inadvertently projecting as they broke out into hysterical laughter.
When they calmed Ophelia squeezed his hand once more before releasing him.
He turned to her, his eyes brighter.
“Have you ever lost anyone?”
Ophelia sobered, “No, not really. People who die in the Otherworld tend to become ghosts when they perish. Fae are difficult to kill and I am young so I have yet to have a friend die.
“But a friend of mine was exiled from our Court. Annen betrayed us all in favor of his wife’s Court- the Shadow Court. We have been at war with them since then. The Shadow Court accepted him but he lost much- his title, his family’s honor, all he really knew. I have not heard of him since.”
Caspian nodded and looked away.
Cas stared at the wall behind her- a landscape painting of a forest glen, a stream running from the left to the right, diverging deeper into the woods.
She could never really know what he was going through, but he appreciated her desire to help.
Her hair was tied back into a braid, a few hairs out of place, framing her face and drawing him to look into her eyes.
She wore a moss green leather jacket and a loose cream colored dress which ended just above her knees.
She was beautiful and he would acknowledge that any day but the one that was set to begin when dawn broke.
No, tomorrow was set aside for his Bethany and their son.
He glanced back at her, meeting her eyes.
“What can I do to help you?” She asked him and he blew out a breath.
“I don’t think you can.”
He looked away again, “I need to take a day.”
Ophelia went silent and looked at the painting.
She turned back at him, “I know somewhere you can do that.”
Her eyes flashed with something that was veiled to him and he nodded.
They left a note for the others and appeared in a flash in the middle of a forest not unlike the one in the painting. Ancient trees surrounded them, the grass rich and plush with fresh life as if it were a new spring instead of an approaching winter.
Cas released Ophelia and spun in a slow circle to take in the burgeoning daylight as it sifted through the thick canopies of the trees. The actual sun was obscured- the forest was so dense with trees that it made spotting the sky near impossible.
Ophelia grasped his hand and began to lead him through the trees and they came across a glen near identical to the one in the painting, a trickling of water reached their ears. It was identical up until he spotted a small ruin of stone walls on the other side of the stream.
Ophelia glanced back up at him.
“This place use to offer me comfort.”
Cas looked down at her beside him and she seemed almost smaller somehow.
He didn’t ask her what had made her change her mind.
They reached the ruins and he ran his hand over the thick grey stones that still managed to resemble a wall.
“Where are we?”
Ophelia sighed softly, “A in-between if you will. A liminal place between the Otherworld and the Mortal World. It is well-hidden from most everyone, be they fae or mortal or god.”
He glanced back at her for a moment, spotting that veiled emotion in her eyes once more.
He squeezed her hand- the one he had yet to actually release.
“I have… not been here in some time.” She admitted.
He didn’t ask her to elaborate.
She released his hand and slowly stepped forward over what seemed like had once been a doorway. He followed her movements and upon standing next to her once more the earth seemed to quake one, twice, and a third time as the walls and the stone seemed to reconstruct itself.
Ophelia seemed to quiver for a few moments before she stilled, but her hands shook as she rose them up to brush her hair out of her face.
The walls stilled and he looked up to see a roof made of sod come together over their heads, a small hole in the center of the roof of the rough cottage.
She uttered a few words too softly for him to hear that sounded almost like a melody, and soon he could spy the changes that began moments later. The grass beneath their feet withdrew three feet from the center of the room, dirt and stone rising up to form a fire pit.
The grass stilled and left their feet untouched.
Ophelia stepped away from him and made her way across the cottage, falling to her knees with a sigh.
Her shadows made another appearance as she waved her hand over the grass and a chest appeared. The locks popped open after the shadows faded away.
She tossed open the top and ran her hands over whatever was inside before pulling out heaps of fur.
Cas stilled before walking over to her and helping her pull them all out, taking them from her.
Ophelia pointed to the raised grass covered ground a few feet away.
“Put them over there.” She said and he nodded.
She stood and walked over to the raised patch and began to unfold the furs, all except for three smaller furs which she unfolded partially.
She tossed the larger furs down first as a makeshift bed and then the smaller ones as a makeshift pillow.
She leaned back on her heels when she was finished, brushing off her knees as she stood.
Cas stared at her silently for a moment.
Ophelia’s cheeks bloomed a light pink and she waved it off.
“Do you want me to go? To have this time alone?”
He swallowed.
“I don’t know.”
She grabbed hold of his hand and sat him down on the bed, kneeling before him and running their locked hands on the furs.
“They’re charmed.” She spoke softly, “If you have need of me, I’ll know and come.”
She breathed, “If not, I will come and retrieve you tomorrow morning.”
He nodded and she stood to leave.
Ophelia walked to the door, briefly glancing back at him.
His empty hands clutched the furs.
He swallowed once more, “Thank you.”
She sent him a sad smile and in a flash of light- she disappeared.
It was silent for a long time in that cottage.
Nothing but him and the rustling of trees against a light breeze broke the silence of the glen.
For an hour he had sat outside on the plush grass, laying out beside the mellow stream as it trickled on.
It had lured him into a false sense of peace which soon gave way to flashes of times he wanted more than anything to forget.
“You have displeased us, Sparrow.”
“He needs to heal before we begin agai-”
“No he doesn’t. Do your job or we’ll get someone who will.”
` Cas screamed as his skin was flayed open by the driven doctor as the nurse beside him bolted out of the room.
A broken window in his front door alerted him to danger and he threw it open in search of Beth.
Where was she?
Where was Beck?
Where were they?
“I’m so so sorry.” Nurse Creighton cried and he waved it off in his drug filled haze.
She had brought him pain pills- that was more than he could ask for.
“Beth? Come on, Beth! Stay awake!”
A year had passed since his last surgery and he hadn’t seen Nurse Creighton again. So when he saw her again he was surprised to say the least.
“Miss. Creighton will be paired with you for your next project. It is long term and will take years to complete. After today you will be Mr. Christian Thomas and she will be Mrs. Elizabeth Thomas…”
“Don’t fail us.” The Commander’s assistant finished.
Was this the end of it all?
Had they been discovered?
He had to find Beck- he had to find their son!
Falling in love with her had been easy- though he had fought it for almost a year.
Her golden curls, her dark eyes and her… just god-awful puns.
“I love you.” She had whispered to him when he had confessed to her.
He found Beck.
It w-was bad.
He was in a hospital- and thankfully he wasn’t the patient.
The combined smell of bleach and pine sol was getting to him, and he rubbed his temple as Beth threatened to strangle him from the room he was sitting outside of.
He had been kicked out by the nurses when she actually went for his throat.
He had never been so proud.
Well, until the main nurse came out and told him he had a healthy son.
Cas shot up from the grass, unintentionally tearing chunks of it out of the ground.
He got to his feet and focused on calming his breathing.
He needed to go for a run.
Night came down when he returned to the cottage.
He had run for hours at the same break-neck speed he had been hard-wired to ever since Viscera had begun to experiment on him.
He had forgotten how easy it was to just keep running and not notice the time go by. That had been what he did every day for weeks after he first left Viscera two years ago.
He didn’t know how long he had been there.
Long enough to forget most of what the outside world was like.
They had used him for various purposes- hunter more often than not.
Viscera had a sick obsession with the long dead race of ‘ideal mankind’ that had been wiped out by supposedly time alone. They had wanted to make him into one of them.
Some of the experiments he had been told about after the fact- after his mind had been in shambles from hazy weeks and pain filled months. Long before he had met Bethany Creighton, long before he had a son, long before he had realized that Viscera was not what he wanted to be a part of.
Cas entered the cottage after staring at the ornate door- a door he was sure had not been there before- what with its depictions of battles long gone by and ravens that he swore were going to be perpetually staring right at him.
On the inside he found everything changed from its prior form.
The fire pit was filled with crackling embers, a pot hanging above the flames while a spoon stirred the contents on its own will.
The grass floor was still present and he took off his boots at the entrance, settling them by the door while his feet sunk into the makeshift carpet. On the circular walls were dark cherry wood bookshelves filled to the brim with thick and thin tomes- some of the titles he recognized, many of them in languages foreign to him while on the other hand there were some that simply had no titles- journals.
The only empty part of the wall was above the makeshift bed- now not so makeshift anymore what with the dark cherry four posters and actual pillows. The furs though, they remained the same.
He ran his hand through them, the scent of berries reaching his nose with startling clarity.
They smell like Ophelia.
She had said they were charmed.
He wondered who she had originally charmed them for.
Whoever it was must have hurt her- she must have brought them here too.
He blew out a breath and turned around slowly to see an invisible hand ladling soup into a wooden bowl from the pot before the bowl was placed on the stone edges of the fire pit.
Magic.
Is it Ophelia’s magic? What exactly is going on here?”
A book fell from one of the shelves to the floor where it slid, of apparently its own will, to his feet.
He stared at it silently for a moment before picking it up and moving to sit by the fire.
It was a tri-fold journal made of thick brown leather, held together by a tight leather strap.
He opened it.
Inside was page after page of what looked like a dead language- old irish maybe? He drew a finger down the first page he stopped at, rubbing at the edges of a gold foil border that encompassed a medieval style painting. It depicted a woman with long wavy red hair that fell gently down her chest and out of frame with a heart shaped face and bright emerald green eyes. She wore a crown of roses atop her head, thorns interspersed with the richly colored buds, some fully blooming, others lying in wait for their own time to bloom.
Her dress drew his eyes- its color not unlike Ophelia’s jacket from the night before, a mossy green. It was accented in what looked like actual gold- bracers at the lower arms, a neckline encrusted with that same gold along with a collection of richly colored emeralds and rubies.
His eyes panned back up to look at the woman’s face and he sat back a bit, startled. Her lips were teased into a cunning smirk and for a moment he thought he saw her hair move as if caught in the wind.
The words caught his eyes next as they appeared to glow and to shift beneath his fingertips till in a flash of brilliance they dispersed, leaving the page blank except for the painting.
“Do you like my painting? An artist heard a bit of my story and that is his interpretation.”
Cas looked up at the woman who sat in a carved wooden chair across from his position by the fire.
For a moment he thought he was looking directly at Ophelia- all of the woman’s features identical to her’s except for the eyes- the woman’s were a dark chocolate.
“You’re Neve,” He breathed.
“Please, call me Nemain.” She drawled, curling a locke of her hair in circles around a slim finger.
He put the book down gently beside him and she waved it off back to the bookshelf.
“Tell me, “She began, “Do you like my remodeling? That is what mortals call it, correct?”
He nodded in reply to both questions and a smirk played on her lips.
She was arguably one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen and he innately knew that she was probably the most terrifying.
A bloodthirsty aura surrounded her and he’d bet that she would rather be bathing in blood than talking to him.
If this was only of her faces as the Morrigan, he really didn’t want to meet the others.
“Oh, I assure you, I can play nice. If I want to.”
He swallowed.
She gave him a throaty laugh, “Come now, if I wanted to harm you I already would have.”
“Why?”
She leaned back in her chair, her nails digging into the arms.
“Why? Why am I here, you mean?”
He nodded.
She smiled, “I have a few questions to ask of you.”
He forced himself to relax but it was difficult.
Her smile widened.
“What would you give to be happy once more?”
His eyes widened at the question but he withdrew.
“Nothing that would hurt the ones I care about.”
Her smile dropped and her head cocked to the side at his reply.
A brow cocked and she began to toy with her long hair again.
“Hmmm… And who do you care about? Who will you care about? No- wait, who have you cared about?”
He swallowed down his surfacing grief at her last words.
Her features turned sympathetic.
“What would you give to have them back? For them to rejoin you in life?”
He blew out a breath and regained his composure.
“Nothing.”
“Nothing? Why so?”
“To only have them hunted once more by Viscera? Beth was never able to learn how to fight and she would never last a second against even the lowest levels of Viscera grunts. Beck… He was a toddler. I never realized until they were gone that I wouldn’t be able to protect them. And I definitely failed to realize that they would age while I wouldn’t.
“It would be cruel to bring them back- I would never want them to have to live a life like that only to die a second time. No- I believe that they have already moved on, wherever they are.”
Nemain stared at him for a few silent moment.
“I can understand that.”
She leaned back in her chair and stared behind him at the wall above the head. He turned to follow her gaze.
Where blank space had been before was an ornately framed moving painting of a palatial room. The room was made up of golden carved furniture, rich reds and oranges among the bed clothes and paintings, the miniature paintings moving as well, though it was too small to really tell. One of the room’s walls was left open leading out onto a balcony.
Cas couldn’t spot anything out the open balcony doors beside a warm sunset, the sky fading to a navy blue as the sun’s light gave way.
Wind billowed the curtains hanging in the room and he could swear he almost smelled warm caramel apples.
A bassinet was set in front of the balcony and for a moment he could hear a baby’s gurgling laughter followed by a rattling.
When he looked back at Nemain, she was gone, only the chair remaining.
He ate and quickly fell into bed, staring up at the ceiling which too had changed. It was now made up of wooden rafters instead of sod, the wood painted like the night sky.
He counted the stars until he fell asleep.
His dreams were not peaceful.
In the beginning, he was back at his one-time home. Beck’s laughter ricocheting through the air, the scent of Beth’s cooking welcoming him home.
He shut the door as he entered and it all changed.
Glass littered the floor- Beck’s toys scattered across the hardwood floors, pools of blood leading through the living room, down the hall, and into the master bedroom.
Beth was strung out across the floor in front of the closet, her blood painting the white carpet a decrepit crimson.
He fell to his knees beside her.
“Beth?” He muttered and a thought struck him.
Where was Beck?
He rose to his feet and bolted back to the doorway, calling out for his son.
He bolted through the rooms of their small home, apprehension filling him when he spotted the tossed open back door.
He didn’t want to go outside.
The scent of pine and freshly cut grass greeted him. He had mowed yesterday while Beck played in the sand box on the patio.
He trudged outside, his hands quivering.
He found Beck.
He screamed.
All of a sudden he awakened to a harsh slap across the face.
“Wake up, you thick-headed fool!”
He blinked groggily up at Ophelia to see her features contorted into concern. Her eyes called to him, latching him to the present as his past receded back into the depths of his memory.
“Ophelia?”
She growled at him, “You ninny!”
He began to laugh slowly at her insult.
Did she say ninny?
Ninny.
Oh my god, what was he now? A child?
He giggled.
Soon enough, he couldn’t stop laughing and she growled at him in reply.
“Damned male. Making me so stressed…” She muttered with her eyes narrowed on him.
He couldn’t stop laughing and she soon began to pout.
“Stop that! Right now!”
He wiped a few tears from his eyes after a few minutes passed.
She grabbed a soaked rag from a small basin on a table beside the bed and threw it at him.
“Wash up. You smell like a pig.”
He chuckled but did as she commanded, rubbing the sweat off his brow and torso.
She grumbled and turned her back on him, walking over to the fire pit to grumble some more.
He scanned her back.
Her red hair was a frizzy mess and she wore a short grey silk night dress and an oversized white cardigan. Her legs were on display and she was barefoot, her feet sinking into the grass.
She turned to glance back at him with narrowed blue eyes.
She looked like she was holding back her urge to stomp her way back up to him to slap him silly.
He held up his hands, “I’m good now.”
She lightened her glare and walked over to a shelf and pulled out an unmarked bottle.
“What time is it?” He asked and she shrugged.
“Almost three in the morning.”
He nodded, “I woke you up.”
She shrugged once more, “I was napping.”
He smiled at her and appeared to lure her back to where he was sitting on the bed. She popped open the bottle and jumped up onto the bed to sit opposite him at the foot of the four-poster bed.
She drank straight from the bottle before holding it out to him.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know. Tastes like wine. Probably not wine.”
He laughed and waved it off.
“I’ll pass on your ‘not-wine’.”
She shrugged and drank more.
“Do you want to talk about your nightmare?”
He shook his head but then released a small laugh.
“Don’t you already know?”
“Yes, but I have been told it helps to actually vocalize things.”
He shook his head again.
They went silent, all except for the fire, which was burgeoning of its own will.
Ophelia placed the bottle down in the crook of her lap and he took it from her, placing it corked on the neighboring table.
She laid down across the foot of the bed with a slight murmur.
“Tired?” He asked.
She hummed her reply.
“Yes.”
He leaned back and stretched out his legs. She lifted hers up off his side of the bed, sitting back up to crawl her way up to the head so she could lay hers down on the pillows.
She rolled beneath one of the furs, humming some more.
It was a soft melody that enchanted him- moving from light to dark to light again as she nodded off.
Her eyes fluttered shut finally, her lashes falling against her cheeks.
He fell back against his pillow and stared back up at the ceiling and found himself relaxing further than he had within the past year.
Cas didn’t know if it was her projecting, but regardless he enjoyed it as he fell into a deep rest.
He did not stir till the afternoon.592Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ4Agr63r6VM
