Page 145 of To Trap a Soul

“Are you sure?”There was a frown in his voice.“I don’t mind waiting a little longer, if it helps you heal.”

The offer allowed the very rare tenderness for him to spark in her chest. She didn’t often feel anything for Weldir, but he was good to her in his own way. Patient. And he’d somehow learned how to be understanding. He’d changed much, had become more relatable, as if he’d been watching humans to emulate how to be or act like one.

She wondered if he had done that... for her.

“Yes, I’m sure,” she muttered, slipping her hands around compacted white powder to make it smooth and hard before grabbing a little more. “You said it could be my choice this time.”

“Why now?”he asked, and his voice hinted at curiosity.

Because it’s been seventeen years.Because she had to move on eventually, even if her will sometimes crumbled at the thought.

Lindiwe was also done with this part of the world now, and she’d made a promise to Weldir she would place a child on Zafrikaan when she was ready. He’d been waiting for that for many years, and she wanted to keep that promise now, after all the support he’d offered through his company. He’d been there for her, even if it was distantly.

He’d let her weep while offering her words about Nathair’s life in Tenebris. He’d filled the void when she no longer wanted to feel alone. He’d even occasionally brought her to his realm at her request and held her when she sought some kind of physical touch.

It was more than she’d ever expected from him, and it allowed her to have a deeper appreciation of him.

But more than that, Lindiwe wanted to go to her homeland. The quicker she finished up her task and kept her promise, the faster she could go back to Austrális.

She wanted to see Fenrir, but she also longed to see Orson.

Her relationship with Orson was impossible. He seemed to hate the very sight of her. She couldn’t get within sniffing distance of him, otherwise he’d either hunt her to destroy her, or flee to avoid her entirely – like he didn’t wish to look upon her.

It hurt her terribly, but she knew she had no one else to blame but herself. They shared wounds that she didn’t know how to heal, not when his humanity was so low, as was his ability to speak. Not when looking upon him still brought on an overwhelming amount of sadness, regret, and pain.

Not when the opposite was obviously true for him.

Maybe in the future that would change, and she’d keep trying to nurture any possibility of them having a harmonious relationship. She’d need to put in the effort and be the one to reach out, even if he never came around to forgiving her.

But she’d keep trying – forever if she needed to.

She could blame her grief and pregnancy hormones forever for how she’d treated him, but she’d also found a way to absolve those same feelings for those very same reasons. She was to blame, even if the situation made her blameless.

Being a mother is... hard.

“I just want another child,” she finally answered, once she’d made her sculpture.

Lindiwe knew if she was patient, maybe one day, one of her children might come to love her, or even just appreciate her. The more she had, the more likely there would be one.

She’d take just one, if that was all the world had to offer.

Just one child who might, someday, like her company. Might even hug her, sleep next to her, feel fondness for her. One who might actually let her feel like a mother, rather than an entity to be fearful of or disdain.

She’d like that, even if it took forever. Even if it took birthing a dozen more Duskwalkers.

With that thought and longing in mind, Lindiwe placed her sculpture on the grey, mostly flat rock just peeking out from the white powder beside her. Then she stood and brushed the snow from her men’s trousers and readied herself to be transported away from the real world.

She left behind the icy version of a baby Duskwalker – who was in the midst of a cute, scampering stride with their right paw out – to melt when the summer came. As Weldir whisked her away, a cold ray of sunshine made the ice glitter off its blobby paw and pointed snout.

December 26th, 1755

Lindiwe was so used to the way Weldir summoned her to his realm that she just closed her eyes and accepted it. She fell, like the world had opened up below her feet and swallowed her whole into the abyss of the void. She was caught by comforting weightlessness, as though she was thrown into water but couldn’t feel its chill or wetness.

When she blinked her eyelids open, swallowing darkness invaded her sight. It was such a stark contrast to the blinding white she’d been surrounded by.

At least it wasn’t cold, and the talisman tied to her belt ceased pulsating with magic.

Her arms, clothing, and hair floated. She stiffened her muscles, flexed her fingers, and righted herself so she could find Weldir. And there he was, waiting like he always was when she arrived. He hovered, his posture relaxed, his toes tilted downwards, with his hands limply raised to show the lack of gravity didn’t make them droop rigidly.

---