Sinister

IV

FOUR

CUTS AND BRUISES CAN HEAL IN A MATTER OF DAYS, BUT MEMORIES HAVE THE ABILITY TO SCAR A PERSON FOR LIFE.

The days following the attack were dedicated to healing, as Cyelena remained in the small hut for the foreseeable future. Her wings were shredded to a point that she believed they were damaged for the rest of her life, and although it was even more of a cause for misery, it only fuelled her need for revenge.

She hadn’t thought of a plan yet. Hadn’t had a chance to. The bumbling stranger – Ryker, had been taking up her time with stories and struggling attempts to make her feel better. He had promised her that she could stay with him for as long as she needed, and she was grateful for that. His concern for her had almost been touching.

She had to admit, the stranger was beginning to grow on her. He was warm and friendly, eager to make her as comfortable as possible. Although his conversational skills weren’t exceptional per say, it didn’t bother her. She quite liked hearing his constant voice; it filled the silence that had wrapped itself around her like a snake preparing to kill it’s pray. Since the moment Cyelena had smelt the smoke from burning bodies, since her hands had been stained with her mother’s blood, the last piece of her had faded away into the shadows.

She didn’t know who she was anymore, but that didn’t matter as Ryker’s endless chatter filled the void where her soul had once been.

Cyelena had lay in that little ramshackle hut, surrounded by nothing but wooden walls that contained the bare minimum of furniture. Cyelena had been convinced to stay in the only bed, at Ryker’s insistence that he had slept on the couch outside for most of his life. He was adamant that she stay as comfortable as possible, especially whilst she was healing.

There was a fire in the main room, which Ryker would light every evening, and they would sit by the crackling flames and brood about their situations. Ryker had informed her about life in the middle of the woods, far away from other people. From what she’d gathered, it was boring, which was why he found amusement in telling her all the cringe-worthy stories and chat up lines that he had overheard from men at a bar in the closest village.

Despite his endless conversations about his life, it didn’t stop him from asking her questions. Regretfully, of course, with an awkward rub at the back of his neck as his cheeks turned a funny shade of pink. Cyelena found it amusing. Fae rarely blushed, but it just happened to be yet another characteristic that made him stand out from the rest. It was… endearing.

He would ask her questions about her village, about the attack, about her family. She would answer as shortly as she could, her eyes squeezed shut as unwanted memories played over and over in her head. A few times, she would snap, and run out of the cabin in order to release her anger. Her wings would flutter uselessly at her back as she attempted to rise off the ground.

It was futile – she was just a freaky fae girl with no parents, no home, and a pair of broken wings.

All she had left was the shadows in her mind and the dark power that was slowly manipulating her body. Often, when she would snap, Cyelena would find herself standing in the woods, hidden from the hut as her eyes became glowing crimson orbs, her hands firing up with flickering flames that were brighter, redder than those of the fire in the hut.

And a lot more dangerous, she would muse later on, once she had returned to the cabin and taken seat besides Ryker once again. Ryker would never comment on her sudden departure, and nor would he brush upon the aforementioned topic that had brought her to a rage. Instead, he would hold out a slice of bread or a plate of food, and Cyelena would accept the peace offering in silent gratitude.