Immortals | ✓

10 | art

ANGER, the burning, blurring, sleuthing kind. The kind I had once felt when my father argued with me when he threw away my dreams and replaced them with his. The kind I had felt, years ago, when Arch and I got into a fight with some football players visiting our school. The kind that I knew I had felt many times, but let out only when I had lost control. The kind I never wanted to showcase to the world. Rage, that seeped through all corners of my brain, made my fingers itch, made the corners of my eyes twitch and the nape of my neck lightly shiver. 

That's the kind of burning rage I knew would fuel my newfound powers, the kind I didn't have any more after using them day after day, every few hours; that rage and anger, and a whole lot of belief.

I didn't lack anger, Clarissa knew that before she ever tried to train me. I lacked belief, and today, I knew I lacked any kind of motivation to muster the two.

Somehow, I still wasn't there, not yet. Every day, the reality of my existence seeped in through stories of legends and my ancestors. It seeped in through abilities and powers, and more than anything else, it seeped into me, every time I held a bow and shot an arrow into targets. All my senses came alive when the bitterly cold metal of the bow touched my fingertips every morning, but this new skin did not register much of the cold or cause any discomfort, an ability I was soon beginning to like. The bow seemed to interpret my senses as if it was merged with my palms and while I was scared of it at first, I learnt to breathe and steady myself before I gave into it.

"You're wasting my time," she grumbled, ripping me away from my thoughts, and all I could do was roll my eyes at her. I, literally, wasn't capable of doing anything else. I had done absolutely nothing in the last hour except shoot a few arrows, worse than ever before. I just couldn't do it, not today. 

The sun was beginning to rise, I could feel its warmth. We had been training, or at least trying to, for the last hour, in a clearing, far beyond the creek. Clarissa had knocked on my door at four in the morning, but I had been awake way before that. I had walked across my room a million times, I had tried to find the kitchen and heat milk twice. I had been aimlessly walking around almost all halls of the old mansion, never having enough courage to knock on the door that I had wanted to knock on since the night began.

I couldn't do it. I didn't know how to, or what to say when I woke her up from her sleep. Standing a few yards away from her, separated by a thick wooden door, I knew she was fast asleep. Her short breaths, her hands moving across the covers, I could hear it all. 

I knew if I knocked then, she would be on her feet with a gentle knock but what would I say to her when her eyes met mine? When she would open the door, what will I say to comfort her? I had nothing to say, and I was also no one to say anything.

But that's not entirely true, just a facade I made to hide my inability to speak to her. I knew what I could have said, I had the thoughts and planned conversations stored in every corner of my mind but I knew better by now. With Aethera, even my newfound abilities were a failure. I could stumble, seconds after those eyes would meet me, and all the words I would prepare would vanish in seconds.

She has that effect on me. She's always had that effect on me.

I want to talk to her, more than anyone else these days. But it's been four days since we arrived, three since Clarissa told us what we are. And three days since Aethera has said a single word to me. Or anyone else for that matter.

She's tied to her room through invisible shackles. She never leaves, and no one ever visits. Clarissa has asked Jace to send her food but it is always returned. Her door never opens. If it wasn't for the glass wall that separates her room and the gardens, I wouldn't have seen her all these days too.