Page 143 of A Grave Not Made For Mourning
But I know what comes next, verbatim.
The twins, Cassius and Jasper, cry.
Terran turns to me. “You were supposed to be picking flowers.”
I am no longer watching from the outside in. I am entirely my fourteen-year-old self again, looking Terran in the eye while I feel him.
Sibling rivalry turns to true hatred.
“You were supposed to be picking flowers!” he screams.
But what he means is,this is your fault.I feel it. Both the blame and the guilt. It’s all here, ever-present.
“Terran!” Pa reprimands.
“She’s theprodigal child!”Terran shouts. “The strongest of us can’t pick flowers safely?”
“Ter,” Cassius says. He tries to wrap an arm around his brother, but Terran shoves him off.
“I didn’t like you,” Terran says, turning to me furiously. “But now Ihateyou.”
I understand. I hate me too.
That’s when the image stops. My family freezes, like they’re characters and not people. I watch them all, suspended in animation. I long for one last touch, one last hug, because the storm comes right after this.
My life changes in a moment.
But as I reach out to the past, I am pulled out of my fourteen-year-old body. I stand at the doorway of my old home, watching my frozen family from the outside.
The way I have been for years now.
The boy stands next to me as I wipe tears from my cheeks.
“You saw yourself,”he says.“A child.”
I cry.“Yes.”
He rests a hand on my shoulder.“You saw her make a choice—to try and save a life.”
I push his hand off of me, my voice steady.“I saw my mother die.”
“Wendy—”
“Take me back to Azaire.”I turn to him, pleading.“I need to be with Azaire.”
I expect the boy to fight, but he nods. When I open my eyes, I’m in the woods of Visnatus Academy. Azaire lies in a bed of grass and mushrooms. Dead. I try to find peace in knowing that his body is intact; it isn’t severed like Ma’s.
There is no peace in that.
I stare at him, wondering if I look long enough—if I summon enough power—could I bring him back?
If my power is life, can I not grant it to him?
I try, I do, but my grief smothers me. I reach to every tree, every plant, every star—but instead of feeling their fire, their life, I seem only to deposit death.
Leaning down on the cool soil, I kiss Azaire’s forehead. His body rapidly loses heat. His blood no longer flows. His heart no longer beats.
He will never be here again.
