Page 172 of Tower of Ash and Darkness
I haven’t known peace in years, not truly. But here, with him, I feel it.
When I finally speak, my voice barely a whisper, it feels like I’m uttering a secret I’ve never dared to share with anyone before.
“There’s something inside me, something dark… Not my magic, but something deeper, something I can’t explain. Something I can’t show.”
I brace myself, expecting him to step back, to offer words that will reinforce the walls I’ve spent so long building, walls I thought would be my only protection. But he doesn’t move. His voice, low and warm, wraps around me with a tenderness I’m not ready for.
“You never need to hide that part of yourself from me, Lailah,” he says, each word a quiet promise. “You might carry darkness within you, but every time I’m near you, I’m blinded by the light you don’t even know you possess.”
The words soothe me like a soft rain on parched earth, filling cracks I didn’t know existed. I stare at him, feeling lighter than I have in years. His eyes meet mine, and in them, I see something I’ve never allowed myself to believe—acceptance.
We lie together, side by side, the world slipping away as the hours stretch into something timeless. Words fall from my lips, soft and slow, as though they’ve been waiting, imprisoned, for this very moment. He listens, his voice like velvet, absorbing every syllable,every breath. It feels as though nothing else in the world matters but this quiet exchange.
The night deepens around us, the stars above shimmering like distant, forgotten memories. The cold, crisp air stirs the quiet hum of the universe, and in this sacred space, I can feel his gaze steady me, anchoring me to this moment where I am neither the princess nor the monster, but simply me. Just Lailah.
For the first time in years, I am not hiding. I am not waiting for rejection. He sees me, truly sees me, in a way no one ever has. And for the first time, I don’t feel broken.
“Casper,” I whisper, my voice trembling with the vulnerability I’ve kept buried for so long. “Do you ever feel like you’re trapped in a role you didn’t choose?”
The words sound almost too loud in the quiet of the night. He shifts slightly, his fingers brushing against mine—a touch so gentle, it feels like it might break the moment.
“Every day,” he murmurs, as if admitting a truth he’s never dared to speak aloud.
I turn to him, his eyes catching mine in the starlight, holding a quiet intensity that makes my heart race. There’s something in them—tenderness, longing, a freedom that reflects my own. I lean into him, resting my head on his shoulder as silence fills the space between us, not heavy but full of shared understanding.
“I don’t want to leave,” I murmur. “Not yet. Not when it feels like the rest of the world doesn’t exist.”
Casper’s hand brushes my hair back, his touch warm and steady.
“You don’t have to,” he says softly. “Not now. For as long as you need, we’re here. Just us. The world can wait.”
And I believe him. Beneath the stars, this fragile, fleeting space feels untouched by the confines of duty or the world trying to pull us apart. It’s just us—unmasked, unburdened, real.
Our voices lower, words shared like confessions, fragments of ourselves long hidden coming to light. His voice is steady, warm, each word he speaks holding me together, as though nothing else existsbut this moment. When I speak, he listens—truly listens—as if my every word is a truth he’s been waiting to hear.
Above us, the stars continue to shine, their light faint but steady. His gaze lingers on me, as if memorizing the moment, grounding me in a way I didn’t know I needed. The warmth of his presence seeps into me, and the night deepens, wrapping around us like a cocoon. My eyes grow heavier, the pull of sleep too strong to resist. I let myself drift, the sound of his breath, the feel of his closeness, anchoring me in a fleeting peace I almost believe could last forever.
As the firstlight of dawn creeps across the horizon, a cool touch against my skin stirs me from sleep. I blink against the growing light, confusion clouding my mind as fragments of the night return to me. Then it hits me—I’m in his arms, his steady warmth grounding me even as panic flutters in my chest. I pull away slightly, my heart racing, and glance at him. His gaze is already fixed on the horizon.
"You need to go," I whisper, the words tight in my throat, panic clawing at me.
How long have we been here?I can’t even remember falling asleep, and now the sun is rising, its light creeping closer, chasing away the fragile cocoon of the night.
“Casper,” I say, panic tightening my chest, my hand gripping his arm. “We need to get you out of the sun.”
But he only smiles, a soft, knowing curve of his lips, brushing his thumb across my cheek in that familiar, gentle way that momentarily makes everything else fade.
“I want more of this,” he murmurs
I swallow hard, the implication settling deep within me. He wants more. But the reality of my life—the promises I’ve made, the roles I’m bound to—clings to me like a heavy shroud. This connection, fragile and fleeting, doesn’t belong in the world I’m tethered to. Tears blur my vision, and I let them fall, each one carrying the ache that grows more painful with every second.
Casper brushes them away with a tenderness that feels almost sacred, his touch grounding me even as I feel myself unraveling. Together, we rise, moving toward the entrance of the cave, our shared silence laden with everything we won’t say. Each step echoes in the stillness, and it feels as though time has paused, holding us in this fragile moment.
The memories of the night linger like a ghost in my mind—the softness of our voices beneath the endless expanse of stars, the warmth of his touch steadying me in ways I didn’t think possible. It was raw, unfiltered, and impossibly real. As the cool morning air fills my lungs, I realize just how fleeting it was. Just how much I already miss it.
I move toward the bedroll, my body yearning for rest, but my mind refuses to surrender to sleep. My eyes flutter, struggling to hold onto the final threads of wakefulness as the exhaustion presses into me, heavy and relentless. Yet, with each passing moment, the grip of weariness loosens, fading into the edges of my consciousness, leaving me lighter, freer somehow.
Casper moves with quiet grace as he gathers kindling, his movements almost ritualistic. The sound of wood against stone fills the air as he arranges the pieces, creating the perfect foundation. He strikes flint, and soon, the first flicker of flame dances in the dimness, casting a soft glow across the cave.
