I barely remember getting to my room. Barely remember shutting my door. I hug my pillow to my chest, lying on my side, staring at the bed. The moment I exhale, the floodgates burst open. A single sob escapes my throat, breaking the dam. I curl into a ball, like I’m holding on to the pain inside.
But it’s too much.
My lungs burn as I cry.
My body shakes with each sob until I forget how to breathe. This is what it feels like when your whole world dies in a single night. This is what it feels like to be utterly alone. Time ceases to exist, but I feel nothing and yet suffer from the ghost of my aunt’s smile, wishing I could talk to her and the pain from Micah’s inability to love me the way I loved him. The way I tricked myself into believing that he could.
The air in the room feels different when I peel my eyes open, like something snuck in while I was asleep. I rub the sleep from my eyes, wincing at the sting.
Everything is blurry as I flip over to reach for my glasses on the nightstand, slipping them on. A text notification glows on my phone.
Diana: There was a delivery for you. I didn’t want to wake you, so I had one of the guys help me place it in your room. The book is on your dresser. Let me know if you need anything.
I glance at the dresser. The thick leather book my aunt always carried sits on top. I spot my aunt’s mirror perched against the wall, the glass covered in kraft paper.
Her mirror. Her book. The undeniable proof that she’s gone.
The memory of yesterday hits me in full force. I rush out of my room, almost not making it to the bathroom to throw up. There wasn’t much in my stomach.
I don’t remember when the last time was I ate. After freshening up and getting a toast and coffee, I walk back into my room and sit on the bed.
I stare at the covered mirror. The gold-gilded frame shines like an ancient relic.
“I feel so lost without you,” I whisper, as if she can hear me. “I miss you so much.”
If it weren’t for her paying for my college education, I would be homeless right now. The house we lived in was rented. She couldn’t afford to buy one when all she did was save for me to go to college. She said it was a wish my parents would have wanted.
But I wished my aunt lived long enough for me to repay her. I close my eyes and try to remember my parents. When I was fifteen, I thought I remembered a smell, sweet with a hint of fresh mountain air. A warm embrace near a fire underneath a dark sky glittered with stars like a million fireflies floating in the air. I shake my head. It must have been a dream because I don’t remember their voices or what they looked like. My aunt said they died when I was eight, but certainly an eight-year-old would remember something, and I don’t. All I remember is my aunt and the house I grew up in.
Checking the time on my vintage clock, it’s already one in the afternoon. Diana should be in class. A wave of sadness clutches my throat, and I reach for a tissue from the new tissue box Diana must have left for me on top of my dresser, accidentally knocking my aunt’s book from the edge.
The thick leather-bound book falls with a thud on the floor. The red dragon shining over the black leather cover catches my attention. There is a white and blue dragon facing the opposite, creating an oval shape like a crest. My eyes trail down to the title written in calligraphy: THE BOOK OF LEGENDS.
There were times I saw it perched on my aunt’s nightstand and thought it had a soul, like it had been watching and waiting for the day I would have possession of it.
I wipe my face with a tissue and pick it up, admiring the feel of the worn vintage leather beneath my fingertips. My aunt guarded this book like it was the last Bible in existence. She never allowed me to read it, but honestly, I wasn’t a fan of fantasy novels, so I was never tempted.
Until now.
I open it to the first page, and there’s a map that reads in bold black letters, ELARION, at the top. There is a river that divides two kingdoms running north and south, beginning and ending at the sea. There is a dragon on each side: the kingdom of Elariya on one and the other, Nithya. The top corner has a group of snowcapped mountains where the sea meets a volcano.
I turn to the next page, and there is a dedication written in bold script.
To the daughters of Nithya, you will always be queens in our hearts.
May you never forget.
King Valtori
A shiver runs down my spine like a tiny icicle prickling my skin. Then the sensation turns to fire, and my breath hitches. The sound of voices whispering in a chant grows louder.
And louder.
Aen’viorr thra’zaal! Saorith. Saorith vior’el drakohal. Aen’viorr thra’zaal. Saorith. Saorith vior’el drakohal. Aen’viorr thra’zaal. Saorith. Saorith vior’el drakohal. Saorith! Saorith!
I slam the book closed, and it drops to the floor by the foot of the bed. A drip of sweat runs down my back.
“It’s a fantasy,” I mutter. “That’s it. A fairy tale. It’s not real.”
I grab the book and toss it inside the top drawer of my dresser, slamming it shut.
I stare at my reflection in the small mirror above my dresser, rubbing under my eyes, careful not to let my glasses fall. My eyes are red and swollen from crying. Dark circles outline my lashes like dark half-moons. My cheeks are flushed, and my lips are swollen. There is still a bit of eyeliner smeared at the corners.
When I turn around, I walk up to the floor-length mirror and rip the brown kraft paper. Then the satisfaction of tearing something into a ball gives me a sense of relief. I toss it in a ball by the dresser and step back, taking in my thick thighs underneath my black leggings. My oversized purple sweater hides my hips. Lifting it higher, I see the dip at my waist, then to my large breasts. I release the fabric and then take a good look at my face hiding behind large thick glasses. The shape of my eyes warps into tiny little slits, making my eyes look like tiny specks through the lenses.
The memory of my aunt telling me how beautiful I was every time I stood in front of it. How I reminded her so much of my mother. “Beautiful,” she would say.
But that’s not what I see. I see the flaws everyone talks about. Soon, I won’t be able to see them, but I will know they’re there.
Nostalgia hits me like a train wreck, knowing I will soon lose the precious gift of sight. No one will be here to guide me. To help me wrap my dark hair in a messy bun. I won’t hear my aunt's voice or her laugh. All I will see is darkness. No need for large goofy glasses or caring if my clothes match. I won’t be able to see anything. All I will be able to hear are my flaws.
My reflection suddenly warps. A whisper slides through the air like a breath of wind.
Aen’viorr thra’zaal. Saorith. Saorith vior’el drakohal.
My blood turns to ice. Then to heat.
Aen’viorr thra’zaal. Saorith. Saorith vior’el drakohal.
The mirror shifts. I rub my eyes, hoping it’s a trick of the light. I push my glasses up my nose, but I swear—for a second, just a split second—it ripples. Like a lake rippling from a single drop of water.
When I blink, a gasp rips from my throat. The mirror boils. The ripple turns into a churning storm. Water brims to the surface, boiling like a pot on a hot stove. Then suddenly?—
Two large black hands burst out of the glass. Blackened fingers. Clawed nails reaching for me.
I try to scoot back, terror gripping me in its fist, seizing my lungs. I push myself with the bottoms of my shoes until my back hits the edge of my bed. I scramble to get up, but then?—
The hands grab my thighs hard, dragging me across the floor. Black vines snake over my legs, tangling me in their web.
The last thing I hear is my own scream before?—
Everything. Goes. Dark.