Shattered Glass #3
He left the candle burning for Aries. Then crawled into bed, pulling the covers over his head like a boy with a secret.
She’s coming home. And for the first time in months, he fell asleep smiling.
Collin ran through the forest, heart thundering. The full moon threw sharp shadows across the path, turning branches into reaching claws.
In his hands, he clutched a fragile orb, its colored glass flickering with fire. The flame inside pulsed like a heartbeat—warm, alive, and desperately important.
But the monster was gaining. He could hear it behind him—snarling, ancient, relentless.
Then—Dragonfly.
She appeared ahead of him, cradling her own glass heart in both hands. Her blouse was torn, her hair tangled, eyes wide with panic.
“Run,” he cried.
But she couldn’t. She dropped to her knees, spent.
The monster burst from the trees.
Collin didn’t think—he threw his own glass heart aside, wrapped his arms around her, and shielded her with his body.
Behind them, his orb hit the earth and shattered into a million sharp, glittering pieces. The flame went out, thrusting them into darkness.
Collin rose early, long before the sun had fully climbed the sky, the nightmare just a feeling he pushed to the back of his mind.
Aries’s snores thudded against the walls from behind his closed door—solid, steady, obnoxious. No sign of Hadria.
Collin still felt a flicker of guilt about their conversation. Aries had meant well, even if he’d fumbled it.
He padded into the kitchen, threw a lump of butter into the pan, and started a quick biscuit batter. The smell of sizzling fat was comforting, homey, and warm. By the time he dropped thick spoonfuls into the pan, he already felt better.
Outside, he washed his face in the cold well water, letting the sting wake him up. He returned just in time to pull the biscuits before they burned. Perfect timing.
He plated them up—left two aside for Aries, still snoring—and didn’t bother with a note. The gesture would speak for itself.
Back in his room, he threw open his dresser drawers with unusual care. He wanted something nice. Not formal—he wasn’t courting her yet, not officially, but still.
A dusky blue shirt, a charcoal waistcoat with clean buttons, not too tight. Enough to look put together without looking desperate.
He ran a comb through his hair. It wouldn’t behave. He let it be.
With his bookbag slung over his shoulder and a hot biscuit in hand, Collin stepped outside. The sun was shining, the air was sweet, and his heart was racing.
He leapt over the garden fence rather than open the gate. Just a few more hours, and bit into the hot biscuit.
The meeting hall was warm and stifling despite the crisp spring air outside. Collin had thrown open the windows in hopes of clearing his head, but all it did was let in the distracting sounds of market and laughter from the square.
He couldn’t focus. Neither could the children. One student kept dropping her chalk. Another had somehow gotten ink on his nose and then managed to smear it across his shirt, his sleeve, and, inexplicably, the wall.
Collin tried to lead a reading exercise but found himself mispronouncing simple words. His eyes kept drifting to the window.
Every time someone passed outside, his heart gave a hopeful lurch. Was it her? Had she decided to come early? Was she walking past, even now, arms full of spring flowers, golden hair catching the sun?
Of course not. It was just Old Sanders delivering firewood.
He caught one of the boys flicking a rolled-up paper ball at another’s head and didn’t even scold him.
By mid-afternoon, he was staring at the clock more than the lesson plan. The hands moved like tree sap. Get through this. Get through this, and then go.
He tapped a rhythm on the edge of his desk with his fingers, the same rhythm he used when pacing out lines of a poem. His brain buzzed with things he wanted to say. Lines of imagined conversations, of practiced smiles.
When the final bell rang, he almost didn’t hear it. The children bolted out the door with spring-laced energy, and he barely mumbled a goodbye.
He didn’t bother cleaning up. Didn’t stack chairs or close the shutters. He grabbed his bag, flung on his cloak, and left the hall in a blur of excitement.
The worksite buzzed with life, shouting men, crashing axes, a saw grinding through timber. Sawhorses and hammers littered the clearing. Collin stood at the edge of the chaos, blinking, pulse thudding.
He hadn’t expected it to be so real. So loud. So alive.
And then—he saw her.
Dragonfly stood just outside the bustle, a bundle of daffodils cradled in one arm, a satchel slung over her shoulder. She wasn’t moving. Just taking it all in, her new house.
She looked older. Taller. Her blouse hugged her chest in a way it never had before. Her hips curved differently beneath the traveling skirt. But the tilt of her head, the loose wispy strands escaping her braid—that was still her.
Collin’s feet were rooted to the spot, heat rising in his chest, doubt roiling through his stomach. He wanted to run to her. He wanted to wait. He was suddenly fourteen again, stammering over a compliment, heart pounding. Should he have brought her a housewarming gift?
She turned, as though sensing his thoughts on her, maybe. Their eyes locked.
“Collin!”
She ran to him. And then—he was holding her. The scent of her hair—flowers, the warmth of her cheek against his, the way she fit into his arms—it all rushed back. He didn’t want to let go.
She pulled back, smiling widely. “You’re taller!”
He blinked. “Am I?”
“I used to be eye-level. Now I have to do this—” she stood on tiptoe. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
He laughed, a little breathlessly. “You’ve changed too.”
“Farming will do that to a girl.”
He studied her face, her eyes sparkling beneath the spring sky. His doubts faded. Distance and time had not changed her. She was still sweet, still the woman he loved. “So, I hear you’re a homeowner now.”
She beamed. “I can hardly believe it. If I hadn’t gone to White Wood, I wouldn’t have saved enough. I’ve been dreaming about this forever.”
“And Nic drew the plans?”
“Wait ‘til you see them. It’s going to be a house in a tree. Not under a tree—in one.”
She handed him the draft. He whistled. “Whimsical. And brilliant. It’s very you.”
A silence settled between them, unhurried, peaceful.
Collin could feel her joy radiating off her—the way she looked at the sketch, the soft pride in her voice.
This wasn’t just lumber and nails. It was her dream, carved out of persistence and years of saving.
He felt proud of her in a way that surprised him—not just as someone who loved her, but as someone who admired her.
And maybe, now that she was coming back, he didn’t have to rush.
The urgency in his heart—this coiled need to declare his love—softened. She would be living here again. He could take his time. Flowers. A walk beneath the stars. A letter, maybe. Poetry, if he dared. Too much? Maybe. But she deserved too much.
Dragonfly adjusted the bag on her shoulder, then winced slightly.
“Let me carry that,” he offered.
“It’s alright. I’m heading out soon.”
His smile faltered, hope dipping. “You’re not staying?”
“I just came up for the day. I’m catching the last coach back to White Wood tonight. I’ll be back in a few weeks to stay for good.”
His chest tightened. “A few weeks—"
She met his eyes, hand brushing his forearm. “I’m glad I got to see you.”
The chaos of the worksite blurred around them. Sawdust floated in the sun. Voices faded. For a moment, the world was just her touch, her voice, her closeness.
And then—she was walking away.
Collin’s heart jolted after her. No. Not yet!
He ran through the clearing, his eyes fixed on her. “Dragonfly! Wait!”
She turned, startled by his urgency.
He stopped in front of her, breathing hard—not from the run, but from the desires struggling to free itself from the battlefield of his heart. He wanted to tell her everything. But the words just wouldn’t come. What was wrong with him? He had waited to see her for months.
He stepped forward, hands shaking, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her.
She kissed him back.
It was wild and sweet and real. Their first kiss, but nothing about it felt uncertain. Her hands, her lips, her heat, it was all vivid, visceral, electric. His body—his soul—recognized the ancient act.
He tasted springtime, longing, dreams not yet spoken. His hands found the curves of her back, her waist, her hips. He belonged there—belonged to her. He sank into her, utterly lost. Bliss!
And then—her hand pressed against his chest. Gently, at first. Then firmer.
He hesitated a beat, uncertain. She pushed—harder.
He stepped back, confused, dazed.
Dragonfly’s breath came fast. Her eyes shimmered—not angry, not cold, just... torn. “I—I can’t... I thought,” she said. “Collin, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“But you kissed me back...”
“I know. I just...” Her eyes darted away. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
She backed up a step, then another. “I can’t miss the coach.”
And then she turned and ran.
He didn’t follow.
The din of the worksite returned, dull and distant. He stood there, breathless, dizzy. His soul still burned, but something sharp cracked inside him. The shattering of his heart.
“Collin!”
Nic’s voice rang out over the clatter of the worksite.
Collin turned slowly. He forced his lips into a shape resembling a smile, pulling unwilling muscles into submission.
Nic jogged over, shovel in one hand, his shirt half untucked and flecked with sawdust. He clapped a hand on Collin’s shoulder. “You’re looking very dapper today, my friend. Trying to impress someone?”
Collin huffed a laugh that barely passed for genuine. “Guess I missed my chance.”
“Glad you came by. I thought I saw you earlier, but the place is pure bedlam. My first solo project—chaotic, but damn satisfying.”
“It’s coming together fast.”
“Dragonfly seemed really pleased. You caught her, right?”
Collin nodded, trying to hold back a sigh. “Yeah. We talked.”
Nic looked at him sideways for a moment. “Need me to lie and say everything’s alright?”
The corners of Collin’s mouth lifted slightly. “Just tired. Long day.”
Nic paused, but he didn’t press. “Well, supper’s coming soon, and I’ve got tools to spare if you feel like smashing something.”
Collin hesitated. For a heartbeat, he considered it. Staying would be easier than going home to silence. “I can’t. Promised Aries I’d mop the kitchen.”
Nic gave him a friendly pat. “You’re missing out. But tomorrow—swing by. I’ll put you to work and feed you for your trouble.”
“It’s a deal.”
Collin turned and walked away before his smile collapsed under Nic’s knowing gaze.
The path home seemed longer than usual. Each step dragged under the weight in his chest. The forest was too quiet now. Rain dripped steadily from the leaves.
His dream came creeping back—the glass orb in his hands, the flame inside, the monster chasing, the shatter.
That dream hadn’t been a warning. It had been a prophecy. And now, the light inside him was flickering, scattered into too many broken pieces to gather.