Page 10 of Emylia

To claim a life without mercy.

They would scatter like fallen stars across the crashing waves below, painting the sea in ribbons of bioluminescent color.

When the waves slammed against the cliff face, the water would splatter upward in bursts of glowing rose and sapphire, as if the very ocean bled magik.

I used to sit at the edge for hours with my father, watching the incandescent tides roll in, their glow brushing the sky with wild, impossible color.

This had been his favorite place in the entire world.

Not just a place—his sanctuary. It only made sense that it would become his final resting place. That the earth he loved would cradle him now, when nothing else could.

Without a word, I lowered the urn into the hole I had dug with my bare hands. It hit the bottom with a dull, devastating thud. Tears danced along my lashes, clinging for a final moment before they spilled free, but I kept moving.

I had to.

I couldn't falter now.

Handful after handful, I shoveled dirt back over him, the soil cool and heavy against my palms. With every throw, a piece of me broke away—until I was nothing but shaking arms, hollow ribs, and a heart tearing itself apart with every ragged breath.

Until he was gone.

Until only earth remained.

Choking down the sob rising in my throat, I unsheathed the knife from my thigh. With trembling fingers, I pressed a hand to the tree’s ancient trunk, feeling the pulse of life within it, steady and eternal, even as mine crumbled.

I carved the runes with reverent strokes, gouging the words into the bark:

Though the world moves forward, our hearts remain with you. In every whispered memory, in every quiet moment—you are, and always will be, our everything.

The final cut bled sap down my knuckles, staining my skin.

Without another word, I turned away. Each step was a fracture, a tearing apart of my soul.

When I left that clearing, I left a part of myself buried there too—a part that would never, ever return back to me.

ChapterSix

Vanilla hit me like a punch to the face.

Passing the bathroom, I tried to ignore the bathtub—tried and failed miserably.

It was almost impossible not to notice the long, dark-brown pods of vanilla floating in the otherwise clear water, their tiny seeds already coating the bottom of the tub like black dust.

Instinctively, my fingers found the cool metal of my bracelet—the one my parents had given me when I was born. I traced it absently, the feel of the bright red ruby grounding me just enough to endure.

I crossed the large living room, forcing each step, ignoring the way the cracks in my chest threatened to split wider with every breath.

Only when I reached the roaring fire in the hearth did I stop, immersing myselfin its wild, weaving flames.

"I’ve heated some water so you can get ready," my mother prompted from across the room.

I watched the fire without speaking, without blinking. Flames licked the stone, twisting through each other in an intricate, violent dance—more alive than I felt.

If I could have answered her, I would have. But my fragmented heart kept my tongue locked behind my teeth, imprisoning the words.

"Your dress is on your bed." Her voice faded.

Smothered by the roar of everything breaking inside me.

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