Chapter Thirty-One The Nova
Chapter Thirty-One
The Nova
The air became heavy, thick.
Humidity precipitated until it was a dense mist, then turned to pure liquid.
Before my next breath, I was surrounded by water.
My arms thrashed and fingers tangled in foliage, the broken fibers tickling my skin, my face, catching in my hair.
Looking above, a dim light on a rippling surface.
My dress was weighing me down. Small glowing items flicked past me within the water, leaving trailing lights behind them.
The darkness was teeming with them, with life.
I tore my outer skirts and blouse away, desperate to pierce the surface.
My lungs tightened in anticipation, begging for a breath.
The breaking of the surface was dull in my clogged ears, the pressure popping the minute I emerged.
At first, it was dark. A vast expanse, the only light being a single bright spot in the sky. I wiped the water from my eyes, wading and feeling around for a shore. My hands brushed against what felt like grass. I balled my fists into it, pulling myself from the water.
My aching body deflated the minute I was out, rolling onto my back to look up.
The bright thing in the sky looked to be a moon. I couldn’t say for sure it was the one I knew; it was slightly different. It seemed to resemble the giant rock in the sky, with divots and craters. It was the finer details that gave it away, as if made from memory rather than from reference.
A weak shimmer by my head. The grass I lay on pulsed, a gentle blue light emitting from just the faintest touch. My markings matched the color; seemingly all stayed alight.
Like a spotlight introducing a stage, the rest of the scene gradually materialized. A willow tree of feathers waved in a nonexistent wind. The strange flowers I’d seen in my home cropped up along the water and tree. My skin tickled. The grass brushed back and forth, lapping at my arms and legs.
Critters formed, moving among the grass, hopping from tree branches or fluttering from flower to flower.
A butterfly looped in the air above before smacking into my wet hair.
I rescued it from the soggy strands. The poor thing flopped in my palm.
It looked to have two differently patterned wings, like some sort of gynandromorph.
The heavy, wet petticoat dragged on the ground as I moved farther from the water, placing the creature down in the grass. It flapped wildly before grabbing hold of a flower stem, making itself comfortable as it stretched its dripping wings.
The feathery tree leaves waved above me, glowing against the empty sky.
I tugged the satchel strap over my head and emptied out the contents.
Wet books, a handheld camera, an eraser, one and a half pencils, my scarf, and my necklace.
“No . . .” I dropped to my knees, shuffling through the items for my father’s journal. “Please no!” I ripped it open, the pages separating from the seam. Even if the pages were salvageable, the ink bled so heavily they would be more useful as napkins.
The other items were wet but not ruined, especially the grimoire. The sentient object looked as if it hadn’t been touched at all, dry as a bone.
I opened the grimoire. The pages were hydrophobic. The beads of water rolled right off.
The camera I wasn’t too worried about, as long as the interior could be dried.
Fungi in the lens was my key concern—but not my most immediate worry, considering the circumstances.
The camera still had some of my solution dried on the lens from one of many mishaps in the library.
I glanced through the viewfinder to check, only to be left puzzled.
Around me, everything was dark, with shades of blues lucent through the scene.
Through the lens, I saw full color. Auras of pink and yellow, reds and oranges, purples and rich blues burst through the glass. It was like the hazes were bleeding together, intermingling.
I pointed the lens at the flowers beside me, which were revealed to be pitch black.
Peculiars waiting idly by, not flowers at all.
With my belongings pushed to the side, I laid my satchel out for the leather to dry properly. There was nothing worse than when the mildew smell settled in.
On a low-hanging branch, I hung my petticoat, my corset, even my stockings. I had nothing to wear but my last layer—my combinations.
I sat against the base of the tree, pulling my hair forward and attempting to brush through it with my fingers. The curls were already beginning to dry, coiling back up again.
Finally, I was on the Otherside.
But where to go from here was still a mystery.
The night was dark and full of comforts, my dreams guided by the illusion of stars in the sky, and shadows lurking in my midst.