Chapter Two #2
“Bite me, Pat,” I grumble, though the corners of my lips twitch upward.
He grins, dimples on full display. “Charming as ever, Lys.”
“I have to be, in order to compete with your beauty,” I quip. “Maybe save some for the rest of us.”
He flips his sun-kissed blond hair over his shoulder, knowing exactly how envious I am of it changing hues throughout the cycles. Mine stays black. Predictable and boring year-round.
His laugh echoes through the valley. “I don’t think you’re hurting for admirers, considering your father’s turned down how many suitors this year?”
My smirk fades and I can’t help the eyeroll that ensues. It was a nice moment of levity while it lasted.
“Careful, Lys,” he warns, “your eyes might get stuck like that.”
“I wish they would,” I mutter, letting the truth bleed into the joke. I toss my satchel to the ground and drop beside him with a sigh. “If they did, maybe I’d stop having to deny proposals.”
In our village, a woman is expected to marry, bear children, and keep the cycle moving, just as it’s always been. Each time I refuse a proposal, I delay that rhythm. I deny my family the bridal price that could ease their financial burden, and yet … I keep doing it.
My parents never ask me to reconsider and reassure me that I have time to find the right person. That I should wait until I find love.
Yet I feel the weight of what I’m costing them every day.
So I work twice as hard. I take every job I can and try to earn back what I’ve withheld from my decisions. There’s very little I wouldn’t give for my family, but this … this one thing feels like the line I can’t cross.
If I gave myself away, I know exactly what I’d lose, and I’m not sure I’d ever get it back.
My spark.
I glance out at the land below us, now washed in soft gold as the sun stretches higher, and my yearning grows alongside its glow.
Maybe it’s not just about marrying for love or money. Maybe the real truth is the one I never say aloud: I don’t want to spend the rest of my life here.
That restless part of me—the piece that still believes there’s something more beyond this village—won’t go quiet. It never has.
Perhaps that’s why the Dromin lingers in my mind in ways he shouldn’t. He broke laws and stepped beyond the boundary of his role as a dream-keeper.
Everyone in this village just follows the rules, day in and day out, like we were made to be obedient.
What if I wasn’t made the same?
For a moment, I let myself pretend everything is normal. That the hush between us is the comfort between friends and not my own avoidance.
The Dromin’s voice drifts back to me, clear and unshakable.
I’m starting to wonder if you did it just to force me into revealing myself to you.
The memory of his teasing curls low in my stomach, unsettling in a way I can’t explain.
It’s such a stark contrast to the way Pat’s banter always settles around me like the warmth of a well-worn blanket—familiar, safe, expected.
The elf’s voice didn’t offer comfort. It offered something sharp and untamed. It felt like being seen and challenged at the same time, and it tugged at something deep inside me.
Maybe that’s why I’ve never looked at Pat as anything more than a friend, even when others expected me to. Why every suitor has felt like stepping into a life too small for me.
Even in the middle of a nightmare, the Dromin didn’t dull my spark. He made it burn brighter.
“You look like you didn’t sleep at all,” Pat says, lightly bumping his shoulder against mine. “Long night?”
I nod, then swallow, trying to find the words to admit what’s happened.
My voice comes out quieter than I expect. “I had a nightmare.”
I feel him freeze beside me.
“You … mean a bad dream?” he asks slowly, breath catching slightly.
“No,” I murmur, shaking my head. “I mean a nightmare. It was real, Pat. The fear. The chills and exhaustion I woke up with. I felt drained instead of rejuvenated.”
He turns toward me fully now, brows drawn tight. “That’s not supposed to happen. You know that.”
“I know. That’s why I’m telling you.” I glance over, searching his face. “You’ve never had one?”
He shakes his head, slow and certain. “No. Never. Just dreams. Sometimes strange ones, sure, but never anything like you’re describing.”
Disappointment settles heavily in my gut, even though I knew the answer before I asked. Still, a part of me hoped I wasn’t the only one.
Pat seems to sense it.
He runs a hand through his hair, then says, “Maybe … I don’t know. You should talk to Maggie. If anyone’s heard of or experienced something like this, it’s her.”
I let the suggestion settle between us, the weight of it heavier than I expected.
She’s the only one of us who’s ever interacted with the elves—chosen once for the offering, only to return weeks later with jagged memories and a fractured mind. If she remembers anything at all, I don’t know if it would bring clarity or only deepen the dread curling in my chest.
“Maybe,” I say, though it comes out more like a breath than a promise.
Pat doesn’t press. He just leans back beside me, arms looped loosely around his knees, and lets the silence return.
Only now, it’s comforting that I’ve admitted this festering problem out loud.
It may not be gone, but it’s no longer just my problem to carry alone.