14. Was it all a Dream?
Aleiraah
I wake up slowly––to birds chirping outside the window. And feel refreshed.
My mind is blank for a few blissful moments. Then the memories flood in and my heart races.
There's no pain, or ache anywhere. I pat myself reassuringly just to be sure.
Did I die? Was I reborn? What day is it? Did all that really happ––
My stomach growls loudly breaking my incessant thoughts.
I look around the room, unsure how long I've been lying unconscious.
It's probably late in the morning with the sun high in the sky. Pale golden light streams through the large windows. A gentle breeze makes the gauzy yellow curtains flutter. I’m lying on a bed that's soft as ermine's fur.
A few will-o'-the-wisps pop into the room as I sit up. Their bluish-green flames flicker excitedly.
They speak in a hauntingly sweet tone, brimming with childlike elation, anxiously asking if I feel alright. They've been fretting over me, waiting for me to wake up, and mention—courtesy of their spying—that my husbands are gathered in the living room, in various stages of slump.
Mother always found it odd that I could speak to the wisps. Everyone knew them to be spirit guides, leading people to their fates, but no one ever spoke to them. She thought I had an overactive imagination, yet I cherished the simple fact that I was their friend.
Ignoring the update about the bastards, I take stock of my body again.
I search for any wound or flicker of discomfort, but there’s none. “I’m fine. Thank you for watching over me.” I assure them as they vanish—promising, as always, to remain close by.
The bare walls and modest bed indicate a seldom-used guest chamber. It’s a small mercy that the bed is an ordinary one, lacking bedposts for a canopy. I’d have destroyed it in a heartbeat otherwise.
My stomach yowls again. I can feel the echo of Azael's manna thrumming in my veins but my own healing must've been working overtime too.
As an alternate source of nourishment, my body is craving food to replenish energy.
Swinging my legs off the bed, I come face to face with a tall silver mirror. The reflection staring back looks startlingly well. Rosy cheeks, hair gleaming like rubies caught in firelight. I look...healthy.
Ripping off the flimsy gown I've been dressed in, I stand naked before the mirror.
I've this insane urge to set the fabric on fire. The snow-white ensemble angers me––a polar opposite to the taint that's darkening my life currently. But I don't want to waste my magic.
Clenching my jaw, I observe my reflection critically. No bruises, no bites or scratches visible on my skin. Though, what has been indelibly carved underneath is a different matter.
I shift from one foot to another, my pussy and ass appear to be in perfect condition, no soreness whatsoever. There's no evidence of the pain I lived through at the hands of omniscient, soul-destroying males.
Was it all a dream?
Yes. Yes it was.
Not the night of the Veilmoon, no. That certainly was a cruel reality that bit me hard. Making me bleed with no mercy.
But my marriage? That's the dream that burned and disintegrated into ashes. A decade's worth of love and shared camaraderie died a horrific death over the span of a single night.
Then again, the foundation had been rotting for a while now.
Only I had been stubbornly holding onto the crumbling structure, trying to save it.
And got buried beneath the rubbles when a quake hit.
My safe haven obliterated, with no one to call my own, I was yet again all alone in this vast universe.
A tide of emotions threatens to overpower the emptiness I've been clinging to ever since I woke up. I tilt my head to the side and watch my reflection do the same in the mirror. I almost feel like I'm someone else. That the next time I straighten up, the reflection would still remain tilted.
I close my eyes shuddering in a deep breath, and the memories from the cursed night immediately assault me. How they'd tied me down, disparaged me and kept ploughing into me even after my repeated protests.
Zien's careless bites and how he didn't even think to heal them. Archie's mindless rut. Baz curbing my magic with that damned Chain––no longer tied around my waist.
Azael choking me until I couldn't breathe, enjoying my pain. Rinn holding me captive with his tentacles, assaulting my mouth repeatedly. And gentle Alistair’s heart-shattering cruelty. How each one of my chosen mates had looked at me with scorn as they ‘collected their due'.
Then there was Silas's panther, brutal on a whole new level.
My mind insists that Silas wasn't in control, but my heart demands I dance in his blood. My gaze flicks to the area where my neck meets my shoulder, where Silas bit me to the bone. There’s no scarring, but the phantom echo of that bite makes me wince.
In their brilliant, self-serving minds they might've thought, healing me would excuse what they did—erase their actions.
Almost like a clean slate. As if nothing had happened.
How could they? After years of togetherness.
My heart throbs painfully as my eyes start to burn. A tear slips free and I watch it run down my cheek. Another follows. Then another, until my face crumples and I'm sobbing silently, taking in huge gulps of air.
Despair and devastation wage a war within me.
Breaths turn choppy. A ruthless reality threatens to swallow me whole.
Barely able to stare at my reflection, I cover my face with my hands and take a deep shuddering breath, but end up choking on it.
My poor heart refuses to cooperate, and I tumble to my knees.
Trying to soothe myself as I'd one of my supernatural clients, I whisper, "No, Aleiraah. You’re stronger than this. So what if you chose wrong again? Seven times at that too.” A bitter chuckle escapes my lips followed by an anguished sob.
“You opened yourself up to love and they failed to cherish it, cherish you—their loss. You were so certain about their love that you lay yourself open to attack. But now you know better! Lesson learned.” A stream of angry tears rolls down my face and a sharp pain blooms behind my ribs.
I rub my chest, wishing this was all a figment of my imagination.
Hiccuping while wiping my tears, I stand up straight, staring into my eyes in the mirror and reaffirm in a voice that trembles at first but slowly gains strength—"You are amazing. You are enough. You deserve love."
I repeat this multiple times until I believe it myself. And even if I forget my belief, I'd keep reinforcing it.
I've survived losing my mother. I defeated that no-good stain on gargoyle-kind. And every time I’ve rebuilt. I'm a survivor.
I’m done with those traitors I was foolish enough to marry. It's time to leave them behind.
Good riddance to bad shit!
As I plot my escape, one option shines brighter than the rest. And I need to be quick in case they come to check on me.
I need to summon a god—to get out of this bind without alerting those despicable males. And I happen to know one that dominates the Egyptian Underworld.