2. SOPHIE
Sophie stirred.
Soft humming and hushed thuds of movement flitted around the room, dipping in and out of her ears. Firm hands tucked her further into the soft bed she lay in. She had no idea who it was, but her body lightened and eased in their wake. It was the type of ease that consumed one’s entire being, knowing that after a long journey, home was just a moment away.
But despite the softness she lay upon, the leaden organ in her chest was heavier than she could lift. Sophie’s heart ached deeply as she lay there. Cam. The name felt like a thousand daggers in her chest and with every beat of her stupid heart, their sharp edges would stab her, over and over again. Deservedly.
The low humming moved closer again. Gentle hands placed a cool towel across her brow. The soft material was heaven across her heavy, swollen eyelids – the consequences of never-ending tears. The sound of water being filled into a jug gurgled through the room. Sophie parted her lips, hoping her voice would find life again but it did not. She had no strength in her. She wanted to thank whoever it was that cared for her, but the aching of her throat denied her this simple gratitude. A small fire crackled and popped while her caretaker propped themselves down on a leather seat by her bed. The creaks and movements settled as they sat down.
Slowly, Sophie tried to open her eyes. Sorrowful tears began to form, as if in warning. Are you sure you want to see the world again? They seemed to say. She wasn’t ready to see the world again, if at all. Not after what happened in the temple. Her eyes, burned with the outlines of Cam’s lifeless form, were heavy stones, but she followed that deep male voice that hummed just beside her. It was her only lifeline.
Through her blurred vision, she could make out the silhouette of large, feathered wings peeking over a chair. In her caretaker’s lap was a book. He was reading. “Come back from the deep,” he said. “Your capable heart is strong, I know it, but even the strongest warriors need to be taken care of. Let me be that for you . . .” His low voice called to her like a lighthouse in the Fallen Seas. And like the daring Fae who never returned from its treacherous waters, Sophie couldn’t quite find this lighthouse. She tried to speak but only a soft murmur escaped her lips.
He paused his reading.
And that silence? When the rhythmic beat of his voice no longer graced the stifling air around her? It was deafening. Suddenly, home was no longer a moment away. It was miles, aeons, if not realms out of arm”s reach.
Tears fell freely down Sophie’s cheeks as she let the pain in her chest resign to all the rusty daggers that were aimed at it. All at once, she let them go with a ruthless snap.