My heart pounds melodically against my rib cage as I continue down darkened the hallway. With every step I take, another inch of me begins to catch fire as the urge to every nerve. I’ve explored this place a thousand times in memory, but that does nothing to cease the ebb and flow of fear shaking through me. My feet march forward without hesitation until I finally reach the large door I’ve seen so many times in slumber. It’s weathered and worn from years of neglect, the vibrant red mahogany now dulled to a matte finish by decades of dust. The air I’ve been unconsciously holding deep inside my lungs escapes as though it is being siphoned out. Archaic runes cover every spare inch of the door’s surface, their light a hazy glow that continuously emits a low electric hum.

“Do you want to go in?” A voice from the shadows whispers, causing every hair on me to stand at attention. Now, I hesitate. My mind begins calculating every possible outcome that may be derived from the current situation. Fact: I have no idea what is on the other side of that door. It could be a trap. Fact: I don't have a clear grasp on what I'm doing. Out of habit, my hand starts fumbling in the shadows for his. I am painfully aware that the moment our skin touches, the world will fade away. Everything will make sense. Fact: I need him, for I am nothing by myself.

"What's on the other side? Is it safe?"

The shadow shifts as a hybrid looks me over, his features unable to decide whether he is a boy or a man. Sea green meet my own, their gaze fanning the already devastating flame in my bones. “I can’t answer that for you, Sirena. This is your decision, and as much as I’d like to help you, you’re the only one who can make it.”

Instinctively, I tighten my grip on his hand as I take comfort in the familiar shivers that race through my body. The door’s hum has begun to grow louder, distracting me from making a logical decision. Fear begins to take over. I can’t go in there, at least not by myself. “I’m afraid." I whisper, shocked at how small and fragile my voice sounds, “I don’t want to go in there alone.”

“You won’t be alone. In the entire time that you've known me, have I ever left your side? Can you grasp any moment in our existence where I've not been yours to break or command?” My words evaporated from my lungs, an observation he decides to accept as a concession. “Exactly. So what makes you believe I would suddenly choose to desert you now?”

“I don’t know, Tristan. Something just doesn’t seem right.”  He’s only trying to comfort me, to help me realize that I've already made my decision. But what if I’m wrong? He had been against this from the start, yet here he was. I wish I were capable of being selfless. We could both be in hiding right now, but instead I’m about to walk through a glowing door that may be leading me to certain death. If I were a better person, I would tell him to stay behind. I could be brave, but the fact is that I'm not. I'm too much of a coward to rescue myself.“Promise me you won’t let go of my hand?” He smirks a little, and I am overcome with a sense of easiness for the first time in days. “I’m serious. If you let go, I will never ever speak to you again.”

“I am yours in life and death.”

With his voice echoing in my head, I close my eyes and focus as I raise my palm to the door. I hear the words of the Ancients dancing off my tongue. I should be surprised that I can speak them so effortlessly. I’m not, however. So many things have transpired in the past few weeks, and I’ve decided to just accept that worlds is full of strange and seemingly impossible things. As my voice gets louder, the runes begin to shine brighter until there are glowing a blinding shade of white. Gears and sprockets rusted with age make up the door’s lock and begin to turn in syncopated unison. I can see Tristan watching in awe as an unseen electrical current passes between us and the door. A slight gasp escapes my lips at the sight of my once pale skin now completely translucent, bursts of silver and green lights dance vibrantly through my veins. The energy is building, I can sense it’s need for release building in the center of my belly, and my body becomes a ship lost at sea being thrown amongst the waves. The intensity of Tristan’s gaze, which seems to be taking in every atom of my being, is nearly too much and for a moment I’m afraid I might combust.“Remember that you promised not to let go.” The final gear slips into place with a sharp click, and all of the light dissipates leaving us in total darkness. With a hesitant exhale I will the door open. I can still feel the current living inside of me, but it has quieted it’s storm into a gentle rain.

“Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not too late. We can turn back.”The worry in his voice is endearing, and I know I must be strong for his sake. He has brought us this far, and I can’t afford to fail him now. I do my best to force a reassuring smile, but I’m sure that he can see straight through it.

“We’ve made it this far. It would be a pity to not see what happens next. Don’t you think?”My right foot steps forward, followed by left as we hesitantly head toward the void. I’m unsure of what monsters are lurking in the dark, but the ache in me knows that I have to find out. I can’t keep living in constant fear of who or what I might be. With Tristan by my side, I know I’ll be safe. He has spent our entire life protecting me, and now I finally hold the power to do something for him. With one final step I find myself completely engulfed in darkness, panic coursing through me. I had prepared for every possible outcome. Every variable had been accounted for.

Every variable except the one where Tristan lets go of my hand.

In the beginning, time was fluid like water. Everywhere one looked you could feel it envelope you like a warm blanket; gently caressing the edges of your being. It was electrifying. It was magic. We did not have a need for words like “if” or “when” since it was common knowledge that anything that would happen had happened. There was no point in worrying about our futures because our futures were already occurring. We were immortal and we were already dead. 
Most will not be able to recall the day time became stagnant and our corpses began to decay. For some it is locked so far deep in their memory it is as though the past never existed. For myself, I am forced to remember every moment of every day with perfect clarity.I know the exact moment I was blessed with this curse. I know who is to blame, although some may say that is a more complicated speculation.

As I listen to the man’s labored breathing, I try to picture in my mind what he would look like if I could see him. We had been secluded in the Between together for what felt like decades, but I had no idea of who he actually was. I remember faces- not faces that actually belong to people, but more like the idea of them. I remember the sharp lines and angles of a nose, or how deep and wide-set a pair of eyes can be. I know what a person should look like, but the longer I’m here the less I am able to recall exactly how all these individual parts fit together.I wonder how the light would reflect off his irises, or whether his lips turn upwards or down. It pains me to know that she can see his face so vividly in her mind. She does not deserve the honor. The boy had died for her despite the fact that she did not love him. I cannot fathom that sort of devotion. It is something I have never known.

While I cannot see his face, I can feel the light fading from him. What have I sentenced him to, and why have I done it? Was it for companionship? Have I really been that lonely? Have I grown so selfish that I would willingly subject another soul to my fate? I would like to believe it’s not so, but he warned me about this. His words are always taunting me, reminding me that I am not to get attached or interfere in the lives of mortals. I  do my best to dismiss his advice; it is his fault that I’m in the Between to begin with. Is it truly that horrendous and naive of me to think that my visitor could be happy here? Perhaps he could fight off the madness that had laid claim to the others. He had been special enough for the gods to take interest in him, maybe they would save his sanity as well.

“She’ll come for me.” The words shattered my solitude and I turned my head in the direction of the sound. His voice was rasping and stuttering, as though every word was a breath of air that had escaped him without permission. Is he talking to me? It had been days since he had acknowledged my presence and I’m afraid the art of conversation is not a skill I’ve mastered. 

“It seems rather foolish to rely on the person who had you murdered to save you.” 

Footsteps echo around me, and I instantly know who hs arrived although I can never bring myself to let his name roll off my lips. “That’s the jealousy talking, my dear one.” Fear begins to seed itself deep within me, spreading it’s roots through out my body until they have wrapped themselves so tightly around my heart I feel as though I am being stabbed by a thousand thorns. The poison seeping him from his aura threatens to drown me as his fingers gently caress my cheek. “Oh, darling. Look how lovely you’ve grown. Solitude suits you.” 

Bile rises in my throat as the man’s lips graze mine with an unwelcome familiarity. How many years had I yearned for his touch only to be repulsed by it. Fate is cruel and unkind. I was destined to be trapped in a cage of my own making. 

“My men inform me that you have taken the witch’s consort here as a sort of pet. Is that true?” The question is pointless as where I cannot see, his eyes work perfectly fine. He can see the boy. It sickens me that yet another pair of unworthy eyes are memorizing what I will only ever be able to imagine. “Why are you here, Master?” I choke on every word, hatred spilling out along with them.

“I would appreciate if you would tone down the hostility, darling. We both know how much you look forward to my visits. Is it wrong for a husband to want to visit his poor, lonely wife?” He lets out a laugh that stings like lemons in an open wound. He’s torturing me and he knows it. There is no fathomable way he is unaware of how much his visits pain me, or how much the thought of being his wife shatters me over and over again until sometimes I’m afraid there will be nothing left. He acts as though we are star-crossed lovers when in reality, he is the one who had me locked in the Between. 

“I love you, my darling.” He is lying, poorly I might add, but I choose to ignore the growing pit deep within my stomach. Even if he didn’t mean it now, maybe he would eventually. He must care for me quite a bit if he was willing to leave his homeland and family to be with me. I am so lucky that he has chosen to overlook how plain and boring I am.  He has done so much for me that when he asked me for a favor how could I possibly say no? “We’re almost there.”

It had taken nearly a week of constant travel before we reached the city, towering over us with it’s modern architecture and stature. New Astraea was supposed to be a safe haven for those without Enchanted genetics. The city had been erected without the use of magic; a testament to what mortals can accomplish without assistance. He said we would be able to start over here. We could build a life together. All I had to do was agree to do one small favor for him and then our future would be unlimited. I had agreed before even asking what it was that he wanted of me, and now that we stand before a giant cathedral I finally feel the butterflies fluttering in my stomach. He grabs my hand as he pushes open a wrought iron gate and begins to lead me up the stone path. The curves and arches of the church are familiar and new all at the same time. New Astraea had tried so hard to find a style that was modern and separate from that of the Enchanted, but it seems as though they couldn’t avoid all Astraean inspiration. 

Once the door opens my sense are overwhelmed and all I can taste is the dust suspended in the air around us. Although this city is lively, it is apparent that this church has been abandoned for quite some time. Time has caressed everything object inside this place, a fact that seems to comfort me. He leads me towards the altar, which is nothing more than a simplistic granite slab with a groove along the border. There are no runes or knots, but instead the traditional ceremonial designs have been replaced with blank space. They are erasing us from their history and from their future. I glance down at the floor as I slip one of my trembling hands into his, interlacing our fingers in a desperate attempt at grounding myself. I know that I do not belong here. I am not welcome. His hand rips away from mine as steps forward, his eyes intense and predatory. I can feel the pit in the depths of me deepen and I know I should run. Why had I come here? Was it my love for him that had made me so reckless? 

“Darling, it is time.” 

My feet move forward despite the fact the rest of me is ice. He turns to look at me, violet eyes analyzing every molecule of my being. He points towards the altar, and my body continues to move as though it were on autopilot. I exhale as I lift myself onto the granite, the coolness of the stone taking me by surprise. It is impossible to find a comfortable position as I lie down, the stone pressing against every joint and protrusion. He refuses to meet my gaze, and instead forces himself to focus on an object in the distance. I should have left. Correction. I should never have left. “What do I need to do?”

The world is vibrating with an intensity so vivid it burns my eyes. I can see every crack and pore in the wooden rafters above me, their  tones earthy and welcoming. The brass candelabras that line the walls illuminate, their flames dancing and intermingling like sprites. As my pulse quickens, the nagging feeling that something isn’t right only grows stronger despite how hard I fight against it. I need to quit being so selfish. He never asks anything of me, despite how treacherous my lineage is. If this is what it takes to prove that I love him, then surely I can oblige. “Are you ready?”

I think he is going to kiss me, his lips hovering just above my own, but instead he begins to paint my lips and cheekbones with something wet. The nauseating smell of metal begins to flood my nose as an electric shock dances through me; the shivers so powerful they almost hurt. For a moment he hesitates and finally sees me. “You don’t have to do this. We can run and live like nomads. I love you. I always have.”  

There it is again, that glint in his eyes that gives away the truth. It’s foolish of him to think that he can lie to me  and I won’t notice. But what is he lying about? Is it loving me or loving me enough to leave his family? I suppose it doesn’t really matter, because I have already resolved that I am his and only his. I would swear my mind, body and soul to the universe and in return I would become mortal. That is what he had said, and I need to trust that he has his reasons for lying to me. He would never hurt me.  “I want to do this for you.” I think that I see a moment of remorse, but then it’s gone. Whatever he feels towards me is malleable and easily compartmentalized. “I love you.”

“As you wish. The ritual will now begin.” 

I stare at the small ornate stars carved into the eaves of the ceiling. I pretend that I outdoors beneath the night sky and feel a small twinge of comfort. I feel myself gasp as the metal pierces my skin. I try not to flinch although the blade is imperfect and flawed with it’s nicks along it’s length. The warmth spreading through my abdomen burns, but it is not nearly as agonizing as I imagined. I can feel my immune system stand at attention as it prepares itself for a battle as the damp air begins to fill the split in my self. 

“In the name of the Tree of Brigid, I hereby offer this virgin to the Ancient ones as sacrifice. May my obedience please you and may you transfer her magic to me as payment.”

“What are you doing?” The screams come out panicked and raspy. He looks at me with such pity that his I can feel his superiority crawling beneath my skin like a swarm of insects. Reality begins to set in. I should be furious know that this was his plan all along but I still cannot bring myself to hate him. His name rolls off my lips but he refuses to look at me as though I am nothing to him, which is probably true. How could you do this to someone you loved? My life force is beginning to ebb and flow, growing fainter by the second and I know if I am going to do this I need to do it quickly.” “I have changed my mind.”

“Wait-”

“I am no longer willing.” He knows as well as I do the Ancient Ones will not take payment if it is not given freely. His ritual is forfeit and my death is now worthless. What is the emotion painted across his face? I have never been granted the privilege of witnessing it before, so I am unsure. Maybe it is admiration.” 

He leans in close, his hand gently stroking back my sweat-dampened hair. “This is the only way that we can be together, my love. Please don’t make me lose you. I could never forgive myself. Please, darling. Swear fealty to me.”

I should denounce him and his gods, but my heart will not allow it. The momentary illusion of choice, was just that- an illusion. We both know that my heart had been sworn to him the moment we met. I will die on this cold piece of stone all because I am too foolish to choose otherwise.

My breathing is beginning to become more shallow and rapid. His eyes widen as my world slowly begins to fade around the edges. “Please, my love. Stay with me. We will be immortal, and we can be together forever. All you have to do is say it.” He’s becoming desperate as my heart slows. I can see my blood in the wells etched into the altar and I know it won’t be long now. “JUST SAY IT.” 

He knows the end is close as well and any tenderness has been erased from his voice. In its place is a commandeering malice that terrifies me.  “Please….I can’t lose you.”

“Tell me you love me.”

“Of course I love you. Please don’t leave me.”

He doesn’t mean it. I know this. I just don’t care. If I don’t possess his love, then I possess nothing of value. “I, daughter of the Morrigan, true heir to the house of Brigid swear my fealty to you, husband.”

The electricity I have held within my bones since birth begins to drain away from me. I can sense myself being tied to him in ways I shall never be able to escape. In this moment, I can foresee him breaking me over and over again until there is nothing left of me. As the ground shakes and my ateries pump what is left of my life out into the world for all to see, I know I have failed. I have given absolute power to someone the gods deemed unworthy, and for that I shall pay.

“My child,” the universe whispers “have you any idea of what you have done?” 

It is done. I am dead. These are the gods of my father, and of his father before him. Suddenly, I feel like a small child about to be scolded. I instinctively search for him, but am greeted by nothing but darkness. My soul is tied to a man who will use me until there is nothing good left. I can feel the Ancient Ones awaiting my answer. “I have made a terrible mistake. I am sorry.”

“Aye, that you have Daughter of Morrigan. Alas we must honor your other. There is nothing that we can do as consent was given freely.”

My heart sinks, but I am not surprised by their answer. I knew when I married him that I was designing my own prison, yet I persisted. “I understand, Great Ones.”

“However, given that the contract was not negotiated honestly, we can offer you a compromise. If you agree to be our eyes in the mortal real, we will reduce the length of your contract to the boy. Three hundred mortal years of servitude, or his death. Whichever comes first. After that time you will be free from your agreement.”

“I accept.”

The  air fizzles and pops, and I get the distinct feeling they are conversing amongst themselves. The words sound the same, but it is someone new who now speaks. “Be advised, child that if you break your oath to him you will be doomed to wander the In-Between forever. Do you understand the agreement?”

“Yes, I understand.”

“As you wish.” 

It had all been a cruel trick. I can see that now. Not only had I willingly condemned myself to eternity with the man who had murdered me, but in an attempt to lessen my life sentence I had given away my sight as a bribe. “Please go away, Master.” I turn toward the window, allowing the warm air to dance across the cool, wet spots trailing from my useless eyes. “You are not welcome here.”

His arms wrap around my waist as he pulls me against his chest, our hearts beating in unison as they will forever do. I can feel the wickedness pulsing through him as I yearn to pull away, yet my body never moves. Despite my hatred for the man, there remains a part of me that still hopes that he did love me at one point. Hope is the only thing that makes my time in the In-between bearable. Regardless of my feelings, if I ever want to be free of this man I must obey him. The Ancient ones had made that part of the arrangement very clear. “I believe I am welcome anywhere you are, my darling. You belong to me.”

“Be that as it may, if you ever loved me at all….even the tiniest bit, you would respect my wishes and just leave me alone.”

He feigns as though I have wounded his pride, but we are both aware this is nothing but a joke to him. “How could you question my love for you? You wanted us to be together and I gave you that. “

“I thought you wanted us to be together, too. If you didn’t love me, you should have released me. Or you could have told me the truth of what you intended to do. There was no reason to confine me here like a caged pet.”

“You are my wife. Of course I wanted us to be together. If I had thought there was any other way I would have-”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. You killed me because you thought me weak and naive. This was an attempt to steal a power you could never wield on your own. Go ahead and attempt to justify it however you like, but we both know the truth. This was a selfish act that you only ever intended to benefit you. This had nothing to do with us. I’m not even sure if there ever was an us.” 

The silence between us is welcome, but he doesn’t let release me. Our bodies are still pressed together; electricity sparking between the two of us. His breathing is speeding up as the energy wells up inside him, begging for release. “You’re wrong.”

For a moment I believe I hear sorrow in his voice, but I am sure it is just wishful thinking. There is no way a man like him is capable of feeling anything. He has shown time and again that the only thing in the universe that he cares about is himself, so why would that suddenly change now? “Am I? Explain to me how I’m wrong.”

He spins me around until my face is cupped between his hands, an intimate and gentle gesture that takes me by surprise and makes me weak in the knees. I can feel the air shifting around us as his lips hover centimeters above mine. His lips brush mine and I instantly feel of a collision of bittersweet resentment and desperation so powerful it is almost enough to erase the pain he has caused me. 

“I have always loved you. There has never been anyone else for me, it has always just been you.” Every interwoven fiber of my being wants to believe him; to believe that he can change. It’s impossible. He killed me. He trapped me here. He can’t be trusted. I know this, so why do I keep bending when I know eventually I will break?

“How can you expect me to believe you after what you did? You promised me we would be together, and then you murdered me. No. You didn’t just murder me, you sacrificed me in the hopes that you would be all powerful and I would remain submissive eternally. That definitely just screams of love and devotion. Do you understand how lonely I have been here? I am trapped in the land between the living and the dead. I am forced to watch the world destroy itself repeatedly. It’s so painful that I wake up ever morning wishing I were dead, only to remember that I already am. There is no hope for me, Master. So please, explain to me how you could sentence  me to this if you loved me?”

His demeanor shifts as he pushes away from me, the air suddenly chilled. Before I can scream or cry or muster up any sort of reply he is gone.

Once again I am stuck watching the world burn, except this time I’m not alone.

“Darling, it’s time to wake up.”

Most days I can still vaguely remember my parents, but lately my mother’s voice has been haunting me with increasing frequency. Her energy resonates all over this town, yet everyone seems immune to it’s presence but me. In sleep I often surrender myself to memories of her white-gold hair that fell just below her chin, or sometimes I’ll conjure up the image of her nose wrinkling up in thought. If I push myself hard enough I can still see her sitting in the bay window of my childhood home, her eyes watching the waves that Father will eventually ride home on. Her fingers liked to dance across the window pains, tracing designs that no one could see but her. If I allow myself to remember for too long my mind carries me away and I begin to miss her. I’ll begin to miss the gentle curve of her lips and the dimples that kissed the corners of her mouth when she smiled. Or I’ll long for Sunday morning brunch and how her eyes, violet like my own, would light up as she set the table. My mother was my best friend, and even now I know that I will miss her more than I will ever miss anyone.

Even so, I feel guilty. Every night when these dreams come for me, as sweet as they are, I wake up wishing that they’d never come again. My memories are beginning to unravel me at the edges. They leave me in agony as I constantly grasp for them to try and mend the holes that time creates. I am terrified that I will forget her, yet I yearn for the sweet freedom forgetting her would bring. 

Smells of breakfast taunt me as I force my eyes open to face a new day. I taste sweet bread and syrup on the air, a family tradition usually only served long before the sun had risen in the sky. Depending on the time of year, Mother and I might be graced with Father’s presence at the table. His smile would be half-hearted, but it was always a better compromise than him not being there at all. It is bittersweet to witness the moments my mind has chosen to stitch together; my entire life is a puzzle that seems beautiful until you examine it up close. If you were to observe my life piece by piece the fantasy is shattered and the tragedy becomes apparent. My brain doesn’t hesitate to continue connecting the dots from one memory to the next until my thoughts are leading me down a road of which my father is the beginning and the end.

Traces of heavy pipe smoke and ocean salt are always the first to hit, tainting the around me like the musk of too much perfume. A salt and pepper beard haphazardly grown on a wind-weathered face that never seems to smile. His boots thundering across the cherry oak board that covered our home as he searches for this or that. I often think of how he ruined the ocean for me with his lack of attendance at dinner; a clear sign that the sea was more a home to him than we were. What I recall of my father is always a stark contrast to the idealistic portrait my mind has painted of my other. Some days I swear that I hate him, and I don’t truly need the approval he could never bring himself to give. But hating him is a double edged sword and seems to hurt almost as much as loving him does.

That is the cruelty of death. Death leaves you constantly reflecting on the past, yet you remain unable to choose which memories are cherished and which creep silently into your dreams when you’d rather just forget. Eventually, whether you want to or not, you are relicing nightmares repeatedly until you begin to think you might be going mad. Or maybe I was mad all along. I suppose that is always a possibility.

As I lie in bed, partially listening to the steady breaths coming in rhythmic succession from beside me, I try to shut out the sounds of my parents arguing in secret. Long after they thought I had gone to bed, their voices would echo through the air vents, every word that passed between them dripping with venomous disdain that was so different from the pet names they called each other in front of me.

“We can’t lie to her forever, Celeste!” Father would bellow, hissing her name as though it burned his lips to even whisper. “We’re supposed to be preparing her for the future, but how are we doing that exactly? All we ever do is hide her from the truth; from what she is.”

“I don’t know, Johnathan.” Mother’s voice was laced with guilt and defeat, but she never relented or changed her mind. It was around this point during their squabble that Father would begin to pace back and forth, his metal-soled boots shaking the house like thunder with every step. “Do you really think she could handle knowing what we know? This is too dangerous of a secret to trust her with, my love. We have gone through so much to keep her safe and now you’re suggesting I throw all of that away? I won’t do it, Johnathan. It’s safer for her to never know.”

“I’m not suggesting we tell her everything, but we’re not always going to be here to protect her. She needs to know how to keep herself safe, how to control it. What if something happens to us? Do you remember how you were? Would you wish that on her, or have you even considered anything besides your own selfish ideology? By doing nothing, you are putting my daughter in harm’s way.”

“Your daughter? Really? Since when is she your daughter? You’re never even home.”

The words and structure of the argument may have changed, but the obvious point of contention never seemed to. Mother would then break down into sobs, and the sounds of my father desperately trying to console her would make it to unbearable to listen to anymore. Hearing my mother so upset, a woman who devoted her life to making sure I was never unhappy, is a scar I can never erase from my bones. For years, I spent my nights staring at the star-dotted ceiling of my bedroom, furious with my father for being so cruel to her. Deep down, I knew he was right, that they should tell me. But even though they were both keeping a secret from me, she was the one who spent her night crying alone. He disappeared for months at sea, leaving her the burden of whatever it was they were hiding, and how could that ever be justifiable?

Was it whatever was wrong me that made it so hard for Father to look me in the eye? So much of my youth was spent with this unknown secret tearing at my identity until it eventually dissolved any confidence I had in myself. For thirteen years I was desperate for his approval, striving to be good enough but seeming to always fall just short of perfection. I was a broken girl, falling asleep every night to the heart-wrenching idea that he was incapable of loving me, and for whatever reason, it was my fault.

I never did figure out what they were arguing about, but I did eventually come to my own conclusion about their secret. I was damaged; flawed. Even now I can still feel the scars from that realization despite how hard I may try to pretend the scars were never there to begin with.

“Good morning…” a slightly muffled voice still immersed in sleep startles me from my thoughts as I remember I’m not alone in my bed and I can feel my heart slamming against my ribs. As I attempt to sit myself up in the over-sized bed currently shared between us, I grasp the blue and white dotted comforter to my chest. “Did you sleep all right?”

I try my best to focus on my surroundings, but all I can seem to focus on is the broken cuckoo clock that hangs in mourning over an unused fireplace. I find myself pondering the curiosity of what the minute hand is frozen in a singular moment of time even though the rest of the world keeps moving. Every clock in house is broke, but whenever I try to recall the exact moment a clock stopped working, it feels as though a fog rolls in and then I’m suddenly not quite sure if the clock in question ever really worked at all.

Shaking the thought off, my eyes trail to the worn mahogany floors that hide beneath little islands of unwashed laundry and books, a jarring contrast to an otherwise neatly organized room. Sunlight is shimmering the the dust particles floating in the air, happily spinning and floating as though tiny fairies, a sight that eventually causes my brain to calm down. I am home. I am safe. I repeat the mantra in my mind until my breathing begins to return to a somewhat-normal rhythm.

“I’m sorry, darling. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” The man lying beside me has a dangerous smile that when paired up with tousled brown hair and sea-green eyes, is enough to bring a girl to her knees. He leans in to kiss me, his slightly rough lips brush against my own for only a moment before he reaches his slightly-toned arms above his head in a stretch. The air in the room suddenly seems quite thin again, which causes the slight ache in my chest to throb in return. It is all I can do to nod in response, while I still desperately attempt to catch up with my thoughts. As though sensing my confusion, the man pulls me into his lap in one fluid motion, simultaneously burrowing his face in my hair. Instantly, I an overwhelmed with a sense of unwavering safety and all my fear seems to subside. “Are you okay?”

“It’s nothing, Tristan. Just had that dream about Mom again.” The words come out as a whisper, shaky and nervous, easily giving away the things I cannot bear to say aloud. I know he is at a loss for words, so instead he just holds me tighter and allows me to wrap myself around him like a small child. It has always been like this for us, ever since we were children there has always been two sides to Tristan and I’s reality. There’s the version of our life that unfortunately involves the rest of the world out of necessity, and then there’s just us. All we have ever really needed is each other, and over time, our unhealthy sense of codependency has only grown. Despite the the changes life has thrown at us along with all it’s unknowns, the fact that we complete each other is the one constant that has never faltered.

Side by side, Tristan and I grew up together in little stone houses that were nearly identical in every way. While our fathers, who were best friends from their days at the Academy, smoked cigars and discussed politics over too many glasses of whiskey, Tristan and I would be spirited away on many adventures. There was no limit to what could be done in our little world, and we escaped to it whenever possible. In the beginning however, it wasn’t always just the two of us. Tristan’s older brother Edaniel would often tag along, the three of us proving to be inseparable. But time changes things, and as we grew older a rivalry developed between the two brothers and nothing I did seemed to make it better. I kept trying to invite Ed to join us when we would go out exploring, but he always declined. Eventually he just denied our existence all together, as though we were dead to him. Not even the death of my parents seemed important enough to change his opinion of us.

“Where is your mind this morning, Sirena? I feel like you haven’t been listening to a word I’ve said. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”

I force myself to smile, while attempting to avoid looking in his eyes. I know that if I do, they will compel me to spill my darkest secrets, and those are not something I want to divulge this early in the morning. “I’m sorry. Guess I’m just a little scattered today. What were you saying?”

“I know you miss them, but it’s going to be all right.”

“I’m fine. Really.” I guess it’s not entirely a lie, since my parents’ death doesn’t really upset me. What upsets me is the fact that there is something inherently wrong with me, something so awful they thought they couldn’t tell me, and then they took that secret to the grave with them. It’s the fact that they let me waste my childhood staring at the ceiling desperately trying to figure out how I was different, how I was flawed, compared to everyone else. No. What really hurts me the most is that they’re not even here for me to be angry at; to scream at for lying to me my entire life. But this is something Tristan will never be able to understand, despite how many times I try to explain it to him. I know it’s horrible, but eventually I just lost the desire to talk to him about anything related to my parents. Sometimes, you don’t need sympathy, you just need someone to listen. Tristan always tries to make the problem disappear, and he can’t seem to grasp that this isn’t a situation where that solution will work. While I adore him for this quality, eventually you just have to sit and deal with the pain. Even if it scars, you have to let yourself feel it, or it never leaves your mind. I’ve learned the hard way that just because you pretend something isn’t killing you, doesn’t mean it won’t.

A quick glance over at the mint-green nightstand, and my eyes focus on the only clock in the entire house that hasn’t seemed to break down yet. The illuminated numbers flash off and in a predetermined pattern, immediately reinstating the near-constant panic that tends to be in control of my body. “Tristan!” My body frantically flings itself from the bed as I scour the floor for clothes that are clean, which proves to be an act of futility. “I am going to be so incredibly late! Why didn’t you wake me up?”

A laugh escapes him, and for a moment I forget I’m mad because it may be the the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. “I don’t understand how you can be late for a job when you’re the only one working there.” I can hear him moving behind me as I pull a faded gray and black sweater over my head in a frazzled rush, nearly falling over as I do so. “Well, anyway. If you hadn’t been spacing out when I was explaining my evil yet oh-so-romantic plan earlier, you would know why I didn’t wake you up.”

“Oh? And what could this plan possibly be?” Next is a pair of relatively clean jeans, I know because I give them a quick sniff, followed by mismatched socks. I really need to do laundry, but I guess that’s going to have to wait. I can feel my frustration growing as I look around the room at how disorganized we have become since we moved in together two years ago. Nearly two years to the day, to be exact. It’s so typical of him to never think or ask about anything ahead of time, but I suppose most people just dismiss this quirk as another example of the ways in which Tristan distances himself from the responsibilities of the world. Everything is a joke, nothing is serious. “Well? Go on then.”

“I thought maybe we could both take the day off. I have some vacation time I need to cash in before it expires next month. Maybe we could drive out to Olena and catch a holofilm or something?” Tristan loves spontaneity and adventure, unlike me. I ha ve to have everything neatly planned out or I feel like I’m being rushed and I begin to panic. I pull my hair into a quick ponytail, silver curls cascading down my back in an unkempt yet passable mess. “Siri, did you hear me?”

You should take the day off, hun. Some fresh air would do you a lot of good. You’re looking a bit run down.

I shake off the concerned voice in my head, pretending that I can’t feel it nagging at my conscious. Nodding at Tristan, my entire mind goes back to focusing on finding my shoes. “I can’t, Tris. Not today. You know that I can’t just take time off from work at the drop of a hat. There’s no one else who can come in and cover for me, plus the store has a huge shipment arriving after lunch. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.”

A heavy sigh escapes him, an immediate indication that I’ve upset him. It feels like this is how it’s been between us for months; one of us wanting something the other can’t give. It’s like we’re operating on two separate wavelengths when usually we are so in sync with each other it makes everyone else in our lives feel uncomfortable. I’m positive that we’ve both noticed it, yet neither one of us has been able to actually voice it aloud. “I don’t see why it matters if you skip or not. I mean, what is the point of even keeping that place open if no one goes there anymore? Not to mention that if you were to sell the wrong book to the wrong person it could land you executed for treason. It just feels like an unnecessary risk to me.”

There it was again, that miscommunication. The silence echoes between us as I avoid eye contact, angrily pulling on a pair of black combat boots before grabbing my jacket off a nearby chair. Part of me wants to scream at him, to explain why the bookstore is so important to me, but I know that he already knows. We’ve had this discussion so many times since my parents died that I’ve lost count of his apologies. And he will apologize, he always does, as soon as he realizes what he’s said. As I leave our room, a glint off of light off of my vanity mirror causes me to catch a glimpse of my own reflection. I can’t quite put my finger on what has changed, but it feels like the person staring back at me is not myself, despite the fact that they wear my too-deep violet eyes as well as my silver curls. If I look real hard, it’s almost as though my facial structure has changing at night; becoming more angular and ethereal. My cheekbones more prominent. Eventually, if this keeps up, I’m not sure I will recognize myself anymore let alone anyone else. But that’s growing older, right? Everyone changes into someone they don’t recognize sooner or later. Nothing magical to it.

“Shit. Sirena. I’m sorry.” There it is. The realization followed by words that he says far too often these days. I know that he means it when he says it, but that doesn’t make the mistake just go away. I hate that this is what we’ve become, two strangers living together who used to know each others darkest secrets. I don’t want to be a stranger to him. I want to tell him what’s wrong with me, but the problem is I’m not sure myself. Eventually, I hope, we will find a way to fix this, but for now all I can do is blatantly ignore him as I head down the hallway leading to our front door. Portraits of people we used to know surround me on either side, but when I look at their faces I see no one I recognize. It’s been months since we’ve had visitors, most likely because people have finally learned that for Tristan and I, there is no room for others inside our reality. At least not right now. Maybe not ever, for me at least. “Sirena,” All I can see are his eyes, and the fear in them, as he spins me around, cupping my face delicately in his hands. “I really am sorry. I know how much the bookstore meant to your parents, and to you. Can you please forgive me?”

I don’t want to forgive hi, not right now, but the look of regret etched into the fine lines of an otherwise angelic face cause me to falter. By holding grudges I am only perpetuating this growing chasm between us, and who am I kidding? I’ve never been able to stay mad at him, a fact which just makes me try even harder to do so. “Just forget it. We’re fine.”

He leans in to kiss me once more, and I feel my head go so light that I worry it may float straight off of my shoulders. “You’re lying, love.” It’s not so much of an accusation as a fact.

“Oh am I? How can you tell?”

Tristan presses his lips to mine, this time with more passion as our bodies collide together. I can feel him whisper against my mouth causing a shock of pure energy to ripple through my body, shivers dancing up and down my spine. “Because, darling. I can taste it on you.”

“I’m going to be late…” If I stay here much longer I’m going to forgive him, and right now my anger is the only thing holding me together. If I lose my resolve now, I’m not sure if I will ever find it again. And then what use to Tristan will I be? “I have to go.”

His mischievous smile is blinding, and I know without a doubt that he’s won. Tristan always wins. In one swift, fluid motion he has grabbed his coat off the coat rack and slid his arms into the sleeves as he escorts me to the car. It’s nothing fancy; a two-seater with rusting paint and fading upholstery. With both of incomes, we could easily afford something newer, something safer. But I can’t force myself to get rid of my parent’s car yet. Or at least, one of their cars. The car they weren’t driving the night they died. I banish this train of thought away quickly, knowing that if I don’t I won’t be able to stop the nightmares that follow. Sensing my hesitation, Tristan sees an opening for one last attempt at getting me to skip work. “You sure you wouldn’t rather stay home with me instead?”

He opens the door and watches me intently as I climb in. I have to scoot the bench-style seat forward to reach the pedals, a fact that he has always found amusing. Like usual, I have to turn the ignition twice before the engine actually sputters to life. Tristan leans in to say good bye one more time, lingering for a moment too long, before he steps back. He nonchalantly runs a hand through his messy brown hair, and I can tell by his stance and the look on his face he’s thinking the same thing I am. We both know how quickly someone can disappear from your life, and how the things you forget to say are the words that haunt the rest of your life. “Promise me you’ll be safe? I know you’re upset with me, but can you at least call at let me know you got to work okay?”

The concern in his voice makes me forgive him instantly, although I’m too stubborn to let him know as much. I hate to admit it some times, but being angry hurts me more than it could ever hurt him.After all, as far apart as we may be now, it has always been Tristan and I against the world. It’s hard to believe that anything could change that, and the last thing we need is to be fighting amongst ourselves. I decided a long time ago we wouldn’t become my parents. “I promise, Tris. I’ll be fine.”

He gently shuts the door and I can see him watching me drive down the street when I look in the rear-view window. I’m careful to avoid the dead power lines and trash littering the street as I do my best to try and ignore all the new propaganda billboards that have popped up seemingly overnight.

Don’t ask what you can do for yourself, Ask what you can do for your country.

Enchanted are bad for our government and bad for our future. Report all suspected Enchanted.

Curfew begins at 7:00pm.

Don’t give us a reason, you won’t be tried for treason.

I find my mind wandering to the days when Astraea used to be so beautiful. Children played in the streets, and happy couples spent their days holding hands on park benches. But all of that has changed now. Everything in my life is tinted by the monochrome hues of ash and decay. Astraea hasn’t been beautiful in years. Two years, to be exact.

Perhaps I’m biased, however. To me, the world stopped being beautiful the night my mother died.