horology | the darkling

his fault

In her dreams, Felik and Dmitri clutched at her heels, blood leaking from their eyes, their mouths opened in an eternal silent scream. Traitor  they whispered, soundless. We'll kill you.

And they did.
Until Irina burst out of bed, either crying of screaming, she would be buried in darkness, skin burning as if alight in a thousand fires.

Panic clouded her mind. Irina felt helpless, and she hated it. Her blue eyes sparked in aggressive bursts of energy. A sound came emerged from the lake; a strange bubbling followed by a monotonous hiss. Irina walked down the hall fast, eyes drew forwards. She didn't turn, didn't stop looking forwards. If she did, she was terrified that she wouldn't be able to stop the sour taste in her mouth.

But she did see a reflection out of the corner of her eyes. It disappeared so fast it might have been an illusion, the trick of the light but Irina never missed detail. A black shadow, bent over a body. The smell of fresh blood and old paper. Muted noise of slicing, as if a blade had been drawn across something fleshy. A face. It was the General's.

She turned around the corner too late and ran straight into another figure. She pitched forwards, unable to maintain her balance. Her head spun. Irina braced herself for the impact of the ground but it never came. The Tidemaker opened her eyes, just a crack. She was suspended several centimetres off the ground, auburn hair falling around her shoulders. Only one Squaller had that control and that power. Her body drifted gently up into standing.

She didn't want to look. She knew Konstantin was staring at her. The blonde boy she used to be so fond off, now turned into a stranger. It was his fault. All of it.

'Irina'

That day. She was sitting with Konstantin, by the lake. They were under siege by threats from all their teachers who were fed up with their disobedience and lack of focus. But life was good and neither one of them cared when the next scolding or beating would come. They had their lives to live and they were making the most of it. How utterly naïve.

Konstantin was reading her a book; Irina's blue eyes were squinting at the words on the book, her hair spread around his lap. The sun feel in golden rays onto his blonde hair and baby blue eyes. He looked like a chiseled statue of Cupid, disproportionally perfect.

His voice was mellow and baritone, pleasing to hear.

But the words that flowed from his mouth felt like a stab in the stomach. She didn't know what book it was and she didn't care. It was about murder, the homicide of the character's family. The protagonist, her name was Anya, had a psychotic episode, unable to control her rage. In her fit of panic, she had taken up an axe and murder them. Then she set the house on fire.

Irina lay motionless across Konstantin's lap and listened. Each sentence was a blow, each syllable was a curse word, each page torn at the trauma in her memories. She had bolted forwards and run. He called her name in the distance but they went unheard. It wasn't his fault, she knew that now, they were just kids being kids. But kids grew up into monsters.

'Irina'

Her head snapped up to meet his eyes. He looked concerned, of course he was, because he was still a child. To survive in the real world, caring for others was a burden. Irina replaced the somber look with a scowl.

'What do you want?'

'I... I just want to know if you're alright.'

She thew her head back and laughed mockingly.

'I don't need your help.'

Konstantin's baby blue eyes were cast to the side. His muscular body seemed to shrink.

'You did before.'

'And I will never make that mistake again.'

Irina pushed past him.

'Irina'

There was determination in his voice. She turned around, feigning a look of annoyance on her face.

'What?'

'Whatever I did to you, I'm sorry. I wish I knew what I did wrong but I don't. I know it must be have been something big; I know our friendship meant more than a stupid fight or whatever I did. So, I'm sorry.'

Here it was, emotion. The coward's truth. But her heart gave a small leap of joy, foolish happiness. But she couldn't let him get inside her head. Even though each word would sting sharper than a knife, she said them anyways.

'Our friendship meant nothing. Nothing to me. There was nothing between us and there never will be. Because you're weak and you're pathetic. Because you think sentiment solves everything. Don't ever talk to me again.'

Was it possible that the sentences she spoke now hurt harder than the words he had said years ago?

Irina regained her better-than-thou posture and strided away. She pushed past him with her shoulder and for a split second, she could feel the shadow on a hand on her elbow. But he didn't grab her, beg her to stay. She wished he did.

The Tidemaker made a straight beeline towards the one person she trusted wouldn't call her insane. Michail. He had been kind to her when she wasn't able to be kind to herself. When she hated herself, she went to him. There were no feelings between them, just words and intimacy. She told him her bad days, he told her his. Nothing more.

It had taken her a long time to open up, much longer than he had, but she supposed he didn't really have any trauma. Sure his father passed. But now, he was having a crisis of love, the usual.

Her history was much more complicated.

The door to his room was slightly ajar. She scoffed; it was typical behaviour, he was too trusting. She straightened her navy blue kefta and ran a hand through her hair. It was tussled from her half-fall earlier. Irina wished she had a mirror with her; she hoped she wasn't a mess. Michail was stood by the fireplace, bursting with glowing embers and the faint outline of burnt out logs.

He didn't acknowledge her presence. Typical. Irina elegantly made her way over to his desk; it was adorned in a variety of alcohol, cups of whisky, empty bottles of gin and half shots of vodka. She made a face and brushed them over to the side. Irina made herself comfortable, swinging her legs up onto the table. There wasn't much else on it anyways.

'Feet off'

He didn't sound sober. She did with a graceful roll of her eyes. The man turned to face her. The bags under his eyes signified the return of his insomnia.

'What do you want, Andreyev?'

'I have a... concern. About the General.'

'I distinctly remember you spying on me for him.'

She froze but a slow smile formed on her lips. So he remembered that night.

'Believe me, I wasn't looking for dirt on you, just the girl. Or should I say the new lieutenant?'

'You won't turn me against Seraphina. If that's the only reason you're here, leave.'

In the flash of a light, Irina was standing in the corridor. He had used his powers. The sneaky bastard. The eggshell white door began to swing shut. She wedged her foot against it. A hiss of annoyance came from the other side.

'But I have something that can turn your beloved bastard against her General.'

There was a pause. She waited but Irina knew that she had piqued his interest. When the door was finally opened, the former lieutenant looked like a new man, hungry and ambitious.

'How.'

Irina pushed past him, signature smirk still on her face.

'I'll need a cup of tea.'

Michail scowled, his green eyes sparked in exasperation.

'Fine.'

'Now.'

He got her the tea. With a lazy, pleased smile on her face, Irina sank back into her chair.

'So, you know how its against the law to commit homicide?'