Page 104 of To Trap a Soul

She’d evicted the occupying Demons when her stomach was overly swollen and much larger than usual.

Weldir had found her waddle rather cute, despite how she grumbled about the aches and pains in her bowed back and tired knees. Her ankles never swelled, but she complained about the brain fog, the back pain that never relented, and the way one of their offspring seemed to rest on top of her cervix and knock lightning through her groin.

He’d been rather concerned when she’d spent the beginning of her pregnancy constantly expelling darkness from her stomach, only to eat like her life depended on it. Which then caused more to come up, this time with her partially digested food. This symptom, although reoccurring, usually only lasted a few days at most.

Weldir wondered if the fact that she had carried two had made all her symptoms far worse than usual. She wasn’t usually so unwell, fatigued, or absent-minded. She even struggled to cast magic, and being in her raven form was near impossible to fly in. She’d been unsteady in all ways.

She’d nearly stumbled her way to this cottage, but she did hunt and gather food when she made it her temporary home. That had ceased from the moment she’d given birth, once more falling back to not eating since her being a Phantom meant she didn’t need to unless growing life.

Since then, she had not left.

Weldir wasn’t usually so concerned for her wellbeing. She had a rather determined, spritely spark to her personality. She’d proven, time and time again, that she was tenacious andresilient. She could be teasing when she was in the company of others, and she could be playful with their offspring.

So, to see his mate become lacklustre towards life had drawn his ever-watchful gaze.

She rarely left the bed, preferring to lie there in a half dream-like state while it was clear her mind was elsewhere. Lindiwe barely interacted with their offspring, letting them roam around the cottage freely or all over her. She cuddled them, which helped to settle her shivers from the cold outside, but she didn’t cling to them when they desired to scamper around or play with each other.

Despite how much she rested and slept, the dark impressions under her eyes never faded and her gaze just appeared lost.

Seeing the complete flip in her personality, Weldir had attempted to console her. Lindiwe, for the most part, was unresponsive.

When he asked about their offspring and their potential to escape, she reminded him of the barrier she had permanently placed around the cottage. When he asked her why she looked so solemn, she’d mumbled something about how many women faced a depression after their pregnancy.

He didn’t know if she was being truthful, or if that was just an excuse to avoid speaking of the last conversation they’d had in his realm, the one during which she’d asked to leave abruptly. She refused to speak of it, even after Weldir had done some reflection on it.

Although he didn’t feel desire, he realised that many humans required affirmations within their relationships. Physical, verbal, and perhaps even spiritual. He truly never thought she’d deign to be intimate with him due to her rigidness around him, but her simple request showed she was actually quite the emotional creature. And, as always, lionhearted when she sether mind and heart to something, even if she was shaken and unsure.

He appreciated that she’d asked, and thus, he allowed his regret to fester and eat at him over how he handled the request.

Weldir wanted to find a solution.

Although true that he didn’t feel anything, he did have emotions, perhaps not as strong as humans, but they did exist. Her throwing at him that he was detached was another truth, but one he could work to change.

Before Lindiwe, I’d only ever been alone.

The only conversation he’d ever had was the one during which he’d been given his tasks, and then he was moved to Earth. She was his first and only companion, and he was learning much from her and the memories of humans he’d been diving into.

He could ask for some grace regarding what he lacked, but he thought it may be an insult at this point. Many years had passed for her, and they were no closer than when their bond was first formed. He’d been so consumed by building Tenebris, gaining power, and creating his servants, that he’d not stopped to truly see how Lindiwe had fared.

Then again, what had really brought on his deeper reflections was how she’d responded the last time he’d tried talking to her. The memory of it played out in his thoughts, and his mist vibrated in what could only be an outright, full-body cringe.

“You are always welcome to call for me, Lindiwe,” He’d finally told her. “I am here for you to lean on, should you want someone to talk to.” He, himself, wanted someone to lean on, to converse with... for someone to fill the quiet he’d come to cherish with the music of their voice.

Forhervoice to fill his void, even with the distance between their two realms.

“What’s the point?” she’d muttered with her gaze lowering, lacking any flare of anger or snark. “There is little warmth inyour words and all you can offer is sentiments. I desire none of those things.”

Weldir was struck by how austere her words and deep tone had been. Rendered speechless, he’d completely lost his voice since then, no matter how deep into winter the world crawled.

He’d realised then that his words within his realm had caused a burn that was even present on her soul. The charcoal of it had spread, covering her entire torso and face now.

The silence between them was stilted. He thought he’d enjoy the peace of it after so long of living in the sound of disarray from screaming souls, but between them, it felt stuffy. Were matehoods usually this strained between others, even those that had a transactional occupation to them?

Perhaps I was not designed for matehood.He’d hurt his own female unintentionally and without truly understanding how.

He’d acted and spoken in ways he thought best, and it constantly caused strife between them.

Weldir blamed it on his godhood, and that he didn’t have a single experience they shared. There was no common ground, no familiar scenarios in which they had lived. There always had been, and likely always would be, an imbalance between them, and that would never change with his form this way.

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