We Come Alive in Bodies Not Our Own

A piece of my larger story Deora Ar Mo Chroi featuring the character Treblyk Riddle. 


 The glass mirror shatters as my clenched fist connects. The sound is heartbroken rain clattering against the floor. The shards bite into my bare feet and fist, the full length frame just a shell. Just like me. I fall to my knees, blood spreading out slowly across the stone floor. Some days I find it impossible to live.

To function.

Today is one of those days.

The problem with being all but immortal? You have forever to replay your biggest mistakes. To relive your greatest tragedies.

Gods I miss him.

I’m beginning to shake. My body is reacting to the shock of being stabbed with hundreds of little pieces of my failures. I just feel cold.

Please. Just let it end.

I lie down, curling in on myself. My hair is becoming tacky with my own blood as it lies in the pool that has formed. I shouldn’t have awoken this morning.

Just want to sleep forever.

I’m tired. So tired all of the time. The shaking is worsening. I can hear a low keening noise coming from my mouth, but I am powerless to stop it. Wouldn’t even know how. I curl in tighter. I can’t do this. It’s been so long since I last saw his face. Kissed him. Held him so close that I once thought we were one being. We could never be separated.

I feel a hand brush hair away from my face and hear a low voice uttering what sounds to me like nothing. Edward. He couldn’t have gotten past the sealing on my doors. A whiff of chaos.

Ah. Syric.

Strong arms lift my body and it’s almost a relief when he puts me back on my bed. Several bodies climb in around me and I can finally breathe again.