123. Violette
VIOLETTE
Lazarus drew me a bath, but as I approach it with Levi and Azrael at my heels...
I find I can no longer settle for this mere puddle that is a bathing pool when my soul, for all these years, has been yearning for the depthless seas.
When my approach pauses and I meet Lazarus’ gaze, I know he somehow already understands.
The tunnel leading from the open sky into Sinsól remains, though it is now empty.
With my three soulbound standing behind me, I stare up at the yawning chasm above—the night sky above twinkling with promise.
Despite what traumas and inconceivable revelations the day, the weeks, the years, have brought...
I suddenly feel more hopeful than I have ever been.
No, not hopeful.
Certain.
Filled with so much love and gratitude for my precious soulbounds behind me.
Because I know that whatever horrors my parents might have endured at the price of their own bond, I know that is not our fate.
“You’ll be safe?” The look on Azrael’s face is tight with concern—the kind of concern that comes from a place of helplessness that I know stems not only from his worry for me, but of his newfound magiclessness and inability to influence and control the world around him as he had since death was birthed into existence.
My heart aches for him and is desperate in its desire to reassure him.
Standing on tip-toes to press a kiss to his lips, I cradle his jaw in my hands to stroke the lines creasing his brow with worry.
The words rise with the weightlessness of a feather on a gust of wind so sudden they surprised even me. “I love you.”
I don’t regret a single syllable.
The emotion in Azrael’s gaze shifts like the turning of a windmill; amber eyes widening with surprise that replaces his earlier worries, to then be replaced by relief, only to be replaced once more by fear.
His throat dips, words dropping to a whisper that only I can hear.
“And if I were to become mortal? Powerless?”
Holding his gaze, I attempt to will the gravity of my words upon him. “I would love you just the same.”
Emotion wells in his eyes, coupled with hope. He nods.
I press another lingering kiss to his lips. “I’ll be back soon, ok?”
His hands slide over my waist and he pulls me against him.
Lazarus and Levi wear twin expressions of restraint. A soft smile curls my lips as I reach for each of them, bestowing and receiving brief kisses before my wings arch wide and lift me from the broken marble floor of my father’s palace.
Savoring the anticipation of finally breaching the surface of the sea, I sail on the wind like a flag of bittersweet triumph.
Tears form as I close my eyes against the wind that spreads them across my cheeks like shooting stars.
I have wrought my vengeance.
Have kept my vows—not only the one I’d given Lucen, but that I’d silently given to myself.
I found out the truth—even if only vaguely—about my mother’s death, and brought her justice.
I’ve brought Thessaly justice.
And all those who have suffered at my father’s hands; his will.
The world is better without him.
I am better without him.
Objectively, I know that if ever he had shown anyone mercy, it was in him allowing me to grow up without the oppressive cloud of his influence.
That, instead, I had been raised by benevolent hands that taught me kindness, compassion, selflessness; I had been allowed to grow in environments where I was safe.
Safe from his illness my mother had occasionally mentioned—that I can only recognize now as being a malady of the mind, and all the additional horror that would have followed. Even from afar, he wrought death and destruction upon my life.
I cannot fathom what he might have done had I been nearer.
Yet even with all this logic, every reason my mind can conjure, and the loyalty I feel towards my mother and Thessaly, I can’t stop the wounded child in me from longing for him. For the father I could have had, and all the love, joy and memories we could have had.
For the first time, instead of feeling hatred or resentment towards him, I feel the blossoming of an emotion I had little experience with. An emotion that ushers forth liberation and healing.
The water seems to rise higher as if to meet me—as if it yearns for me as I have yearned for it.
The moment my fingertips kiss the sea, I finally allow my suppressed mer form to take over as I dive into the water’s cool embrace.
I forgive you.