Glassmage Oblivion

Chapter Thirty-one

Chapter Thirty-one

“You’re made of sand,” Gabrielle whispered, a numbness washing over her body. She believed every word Oanu Nox had spoken, yet how could it be true?

“Yes, and no,” the Glassmage said thoughtfully. “Sand may be the raw material, but the substance of who I am (the paste that holds me together, you might say) is the strength of my parents. The Sonata. The love for my sister. The regret as well as the weave of precious memories. The horror of Sora’s sudden death and the miracle of her birth. Her life was the spark of my own. It is my will that shines, not the sand.”

Gabrielle thought she understood, but it was a difficult canvas to focus on. She had so many questions! Gabrielle asked, “So you went to them? You found your parents?”

Oanu smiled and touched the girl’s cheek. “Yes. Somehow, I knew exactly where to go.”

*     *     *

I stood outside, watching them through the front window. Mother rested on the long couch and Father sat beside her, his hand on her shoulder. I knew this was my moment. I had the power to wash away their grief, to usher in a new phase in all our lives. Given our capacity for love and the creative powers at hand, nothing was impossible.

 Gathering my courage, I stepped up to the front door and knocked. For a long time, there was no response. I waited a long minute before knocking again.

How I wished I could have taken it back.

Father opened the door, a weary look on his face. When he looked up at me, there was shock.

“Father,” I began, but stopped.

“No,” he whispered, followed by a sound as if he couldn’t breathe. It was horrible.

“Who is it?” I heard Mother ask. Her footsteps grew louder across the wood plank floor.

Father was slowly shaking his head, his eyes locked on mine. I knew then my mistake, but didn’t know how to correct it.

Mother came into view. I smiled at her, but before I could speak, she screamed.

Oh, how she screamed. A scream that seemed to go on forever.

“I’m not Sora,” I said, my voice louder than I wished. “I know I look like her! It’s okay. I’m another. I’m—”

What was I? What right did I have? I wasn’t requested, nor was I expected. Backing slowly away, I watched Mother hide her face in Father’s shoulder. She continued to scream, the sound muffled in his shirt.

Father stared at me with a conflicted amalgam of emotions. His body was locked in place as painful tears coursed down his cheeks.

And I was the cause of this. Me. The feeling was too much. All I wanted was to bring peace and solace, yet I delivered only nightmarish agony.

My body disassembled, the bonds breaking under some system of rules I did not yet understand. My mind, however, remained in focus. The transformed part of my physical form, the part that started as the sand from the beach, rose slowly into the sky. I suppose watching this happen was too much for Father. Did he question his sanity?

I had my final image of them, collapsed on the front porch. Mother curled around Father, who was staring at the place I’d last been standing.

So up I went, leaving the misery I had unintentionally caused behind. But it was hard, so hard to do. It was saying goodbye forever. I had just been born, but was leaving home. When I finally overcame the worst of this crushing grief, I shot upward. I was free. And what miraculous, transcendent freedom!