CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
ALYSSUM
Iwas empty for a while. I couldn’t have said how long had I been asked, but it really didn’t seem to matter; by the time I began experiencing myself again, I was consumed by the realization that everything was going to be okay. How could it not be, when I had finally ascended to the stars?
I lay lazily on the chaise that had to have been built for me.
It cradled my body perfectly, a sleek curve of dark silver, the twinkling stars around us prompting the strange color to shimmer.
It wasn’t made of wood, or stone, or even metal, but some in-between material I was certain could only be found in the very core of Morwyn.
When a forgotten part of me wondered if I’d always been here, I would brush my fingers over its frame, watching in awe as the cold mist within thrummed with energy.
But then I would recall that it wasn’t necessary for me to think about such things anymore, and I’d lie back languidly on the long cushion beneath me.
It too drew my eye more than once, its indigos and violets gleaming in their iridescence.
I nestled up against the perfectly soft, rounded pillow that hummed against my skin. I sank into it without resistance, because I knew the truth that echoed within this realm: it had been waiting for me.
I forgot myself again, along with the chaise and the pillow and the flowing, translucent nightgown draped over my form, its whisper-thin fabric a blush pink that shifted whenever I moved as though it were woven liquid.
No, I needn’t be concerned with myself, for I was taken care of here and just being was more than enough—it was perfect.
A small, weightless sigh escaped me as I peered into the endless stretch of darkness, my attention drawn to its near-imperceptible undulation.
I couldn’t stare at the black for long; I knew it didn’t want me to.
Instead, I looked to the stars that had been stitched into it, their bright light so powerful I had to squint whenever I focused on one for too long.
They twinkled at me as though they were singing, but I heard only the softest murmur; their voices weren’t strong enough to pierce the vast quiet of the realm’s steady, barely-there breaths.
I couldn’t remember what came before, even when my thoughts attempted to wander there.
I never let them try for very long, for when they did, it felt grating against the gentle cocoon the stars had created for me.
Instead, I chose to wonder why they’d allowed me to ascend without making me one of them.
I didn’t know much, but I did know I wasn’t a star. I was quite bright, though, wasn’t I? What a strange thing for me to only notice now.
I looked down at my skin with a soft gasp, surprised to see how colorless it had become. There were no moles, or veins, or blemishes. The only blush present was the ethereal pink of my nightgown, which I could see myself through. I gleamed faintly, the way the Xanine River did in the moonlight.
What river? There is no river here. The unprompted thought floated through my mind, but it was gone just as quickly as it arrived.
I lifted my hand before my face, turning it slowly and marveling at how the starlight caught on every curve and indentation. Despite the darkness that held us, there was no shadow here. Had I always looked like this?
With a furrowed brow, I propped myself up on one elbow, gazing down at my chest. I pressed my finger to a section of pristine skin just below my clavicle.
I wasn’t sure why I did it, but in that moment, I felt compelled to draw a line straight down beneath the opposite breast. Something had existed there, hadn’t it? A truth that was hidden from me.
I tried to reach for it despite the pressure building in my mind. I searched and searched, but there was nothing to be found, and even this small attempt was exhausting. And then I remembered I didn’t have to be exhausted anymore. There was no reason to be.
So I lay back down with only the boundless, velvety expanse for company, gaze tracking the twinkling spirits as they winked and blinked my way, wondering what their songs would sound like if I were fortunate enough to hear them.
There was one star that continued to capture my attention.
It wasn’t the easiest for me to observe, as I had to look down past my feet to spot its strange green-ish color, yet I couldn’t help myself each time I paid it another glance, chin lifting to peer beyond my toes.
Its hue was very near emerald, and its light did not dance the way the others did.
And, what’s more, it appeared to have a twin—a sister star of the same shade, also refusing to dance or sing the way their night-sky companions did.
I wanted to focus on a different star, or perhaps a nearby constellation, but there was a nagging familiarity needling its way into my chest.
“Do I know you?” I called out, my soft voice barely more than a whisper swimming through the vastness of time.
Of course there was no reply. Stars probably couldn’t speak to me the way they could speak to each other. And why wasn’t I a star? Shouldn’t I have been by now?
I tried to ease myself back into my chaise, refusing to look down at the emerald twins past my feet for as long as I could stand it.
But it mattered not how long I studied the not-green stars whose winks and glows tried as they might to keep me entertained—the growing sensation that something wasn’t quite right persisted.
It was then I sat up, drawing my lower lip between my teeth.
I raked over the skin gently, confusion pinching my features as I looked down at the emerald twins.
Suddenly, I realized why those two stars captivated me so: they were entirely alone in their portion of the sky.
Darkness had swallowed everything near, leaving only them in their unblinking state.
Were they lonely, I wondered, or was it enough to have one another?
One of my feet fell from the chaise. I half expected it to dangle, as there was no floor to speak of, yet my toes hit a hard, wet surface.
With a furrowed brow, I cast my attention down there, pressing with more intention only to realize my chaise was not floating amongst the stars as I’d thought it was.
In fact, there was something solid beneath me.
Tentatively, I rested my whole foot against the surface.
It was neither cool nor warm to the touch.
I could not perceive it with my eyes, but it did seem there was some sort of liquid covering it, a shallow pool of black that barely skimmed the tops of my feet.
Was this the matter that made up the night sky?
It was lightless enough, as though the Creator had spilled a sea of the blackest ink amidst the stars.
I stood to my full height and gazed around, unable to make sense of this not-floor. It wasn’t really there, and yet it was when I needed it. With each step, the bottoms of my feet were swallowed by the wet darkness, and without fail, the hard surface I walked on appeared.
I hadn’t thought to stand before, to try and explore my surroundings. Why hadn’t that occurred to me? It would have been perfectly natural, I mused.
I looked down at my luminescent body, at the blush pink nightgown that melted over my form in the most luxurious fabric imaginable. I ran a hand over my thigh, the vague impression of a memory summoning that same pressure in my head.
It’s not time for that.
The words appeared in my mind unprompted, and the woman’s voice was not my own. I would have startled if there was anything to be fearful of here.
“Hello?” I asked, my greeting sounding briefly only to be consumed by the thick silence enveloping this place. I tried again, more loudly this time, “Can you hear me?” But the emptiness dampened my speech once more, escaping as little more than a harsh whisper.
I’ve been waiting for you, Alyssum.
My name, though I wasn’t sure how I knew it belonged to me.
“Do we know one another?” I asked.
No. And yes.
Those words. I inhaled sharply as they reverberated in my mind, a familiar, welcomed melody I reached for but could not grasp. With an unwarranted knowing, I turned to the unblinking emerald stars, and I felt a new sensation entirely…
Worry.
“I’m needed,” I said.
So go.
And I did. I started slowly, still forcing trust that the surface beneath my feet would appear each time I took a step, and as it continued, so too did my pace quicken.
Those emerald stars. Why did they only have each other?
And where was the canopy of constellations that marked every other section of the sky?
Perhaps the darkness was trying to swallow them.
Had their companions already succumbed to oblivion, then?
I didn’t want that for them, I knew in my heart.
They needed my help. Was I a star helper?
Perhaps that would explain why I wasn’t a star myself.
It wasn’t long before I was sprinting through the sky, the wet smack of my footsteps barely sounding before succumbing to limitless space.
It was easier to run here, I thought. But where was here?
What was I comparing here to? I couldn’t be sure, yet I expected an ache in my limbs and lungs that never came, a tightness in my breath that ceased to exist. I all but floated my way through the darkness, searching for the emerald stars that refused to twinkle for me.
If only they would sing.
Without warning, they began coming into focus.
Their edges were not as vibrant and spoked as the rest of the night sky’s starlight.
Rather, there was something decidedly contained about them.
Two green orbs, hovering in the darkness, pulling at my core as though we were magnetized to one another.
I realized then why I’d thought they were stars, for they were housed in a glistening, reflective silver that had made them visible to me from so very far away.