Page 45

H.E.R.

S hadows don't exist in darkness. In the darkness, there is no light to define such a boundary, no contrast to carve the edges of a shadow. Instead, the darkness is seamless; a void where no shapes can emerge, no outlines can form, and no distinctions can be made.

I think I have a shadow. In return for giving him light, he protects me.

Yes, my Shadow is a boy. Just a boy. I hear his broken breaths and pained groans when he thinks I'm sleeping. I hear his pain. And still, when he growls to me, and the vibrations sink into my bones, the cuts, the bruises, and the broken limbs don't hurt as much.

I think he's the reason I can still fight. I think he wants me to fight. I think he wants me to hope there's more than this… this… nightmare.

Blood trickles down my neck, warm and sticky. It pools in the hollow of my collarbone, soaking into the thin fabric of my dress. It isn’t deep; I don’t think so, at least — but it stings.

"You're going to die here, Baby Flame," a voice whispers from the darkness. Their voice is low, cruel, cutting through the silence like a knife. I know better than to look toward it. I'd learned quickly there’s no one there, no one important, no one who matters.

I close my eyes, pressing the back of my head against my favourite wall; the wall that vibrates as if it’s alive, sinking its warmth into me and giving me comfort every night. I wonder what kind of beast lurks behind it, and I wonder if he'll finally talk to me.

My fingers tremble over my wound, squeezing so hard it hurts.

I’m not going to cry. Not here. Not now.

But the tears are there, threatening to spill over with every shallow breath as the warmth returns and enters my veins, tethering me to reality, holding me together when everyone else just wanted me to fall, and cry, and break. And break. And break…

My words are low and fragile as I whisper, "I don't think I deserve your comfort, Shadow."

I hurt someone today. It made Ricci proud. He looked at me with a proud gleam in his eyes, his smile wide and his teeth sharp. I wanted to hurl. I wanted to curl into a ball and cry.

For the very first time, I acted on my evil thoughts. That isn’t me. It couldn’t be me; I’m good.

It wasn't just anyone. It was Ricci's soldiers. They kept kicking me when I tried to stand, and I snapped. I stabbed them. Their blood is still on my hands. I didn't mean to; I was just so angry. So helpless. So, so afraid.

Papa is going to be mad again.

My sister is going to be disappointed.

"I'm s-sorry," I whisper. My voice sounds broken, but perhaps I deserve it. I'm supposed to be good. I know better than to use my anger for selfish reasons. It’s evil, and I'm not evil.

I'm good. I'm good. I'm good.

I feel it; the darkness creeping at the edge of my mind. It’s always there, whispering to me, promising me peace if I just give up — if I just let go. Shadow's warmth is enough to fight it, but now it feels so far — so, so far.

I don't want to surrender to the darkness; if I do, I’ll lose everything — even myself.

But then I hear it; a voice unlike any I’ve heard before. It’s deep, warm, and so gentle. I know it’s real, feel it deep in my soul it’s real.

"Don't apologise, Dream. You deserve everything."