Chapter 9
Mildred
Igaze about my room, engrossed once more in thoughts of her.
How effortlessly she haunts the corners of my mind.
A delicious torment of my thoughts, my heart, even the air within my lungs.
Until she is before me, even the simplest breath feels half-lived.
I have walked the grounds until every turn felt familiar, mastered the delicacy of one too many confections, and even delved into many magics.
But no other has haunted the corridors of my mind as she does.
A film of light and shadows without reprieve.
All my existence, I have prayed for her shadow, dreamt of her touch, hoped for her closeness, but never did I dare to think myself worthy of her divine existence once more.
To feel drawn to a soul at first sight and know without explanation she is made for me, a certainty that frightens me, that it is her.
I float toward my bookshelves, my hand translucent against the dim light, as I trail along the spines of old books. I halt at the grimoire I have tended to for a century’s passing and draw it free. I turn its familiar pages as I settle upon the worn couch.
“There you are,” I murmur as my finger traces over the familiar incantation.
I confess, I dismissed the notion of witchcraft as folly.
Yet in death, one comes to see how vast the unknown truly is and how blind the living choose to be.
Of course, there are threads that bind us to the universe.
Of course, there is a greater power. I have witnessed it far too frequently to turn a blind eye.
Of course, we can shape the very reality we dwell in.
Every whispered dream becomes corporeal and shadow.
Through the long years of existence in this form, I found my power ever increasing until one day it lulled.
I realized with horror that I was no longer truly living, but rather performing in memory of life.
Dying is not merely the end of your body; it is to bid farewell to the self you once called your own.
So much slipped through my grasp. From the confines of these campus walls, I have seen my loved ones' lives unfolding just beyond my reach.
I missed it all. The weddings, the children, the grand adventures to new foreign places, while I remained a specter bound by memory.
A tear lands upon the grimoire as I smile with sorrow.
It was desperation that drove me in a feeble hope to escape the weight of solitude.
There are other ghosts in these halls. Most drift in their own paths, caught in the endless cycle of reliving their most grievous moments.
They never embrace the life that follows death.
We never embrace it.
It is said that in coming to terms with one’s trials, your spirit can ascend to the clouds of Heaven or the fires of Hell. But how does one move on when the gift of living was denied from the start?
I manifested her presence. I enchanted our meeting, never having imagined a power this strong and a longing so fragile could bend my reality.
Indeed, I have power. I toyed with summoning the elements, but I never undertook anything of true significance. I had never sought to refine my abilities again, never thinking it was worthwhile until her.
I may feign a desire for distance, yet every fiber of me knows I am incapable of it.
Somehow, the universe listened to guide the other half of my long departed soul back into my reach.
Could she still bear the name of soulmate at all when my own soul has wandered far beyond life?
In spite of it all, she is here. Warren’s presence must be banished from this place.
I must alert her. I must shield her. I must save her.