Heirs of the Gods

Ch 40: A down-spiral

Ella's room was submerged in complete darkness. Not even the moon peeked through the drawn curtains. The one source of light came from the flickering, lopsided candle in front of her.

Illuminated by the orange glow, she recrossed her legs and braced her palms flat on the wooden floor, peering at the silver filigree hand mirror laying in front of her. Her shadowy reflection peered back at her, deep bags under her eyes accentuated by the candlelight.

She closed her eyes briefly, blinking to stave off the slight burn of dryness. A whiff of breath escaped her nose as she attempted to concentrate past the white dots in her vision and the fuzziness in her head. She allowed herself a moment before opening her eyes and concentrating on her reflection again, pushing away the stray bits of white hair obstructing her sight.

The pounding in her temples, like a diadem of pressure, was a blaring warning that she might be straining herself too hard. Yet, she persisted.

Breathing deeply, she counted back from thirty, staring unblinkingly at the mirror until her vision clouded and everything went blurry.

As her vision plunged into white, she was met with the familiar sensation of airiness that came with clairvoyance. A disconnect from her body. Just wispy darkness. She settled into the recess, prodding around until she could feel that particular tether she was looking for. Right there, connected from somewhere underneath her ribs, straight into the unknown. A bond.

She grasped the connection until it felt tangible. Promising. Then, she began to fill her mind with images. Flashes of colour, snippets of laughter and bits of conversation. She filled her mind with Rosemary.

Rosie, and her tendency to bite the ends of her hair when she was nervous or deep in thought. The way she smiled like their mother and laughed like Ella, but she took after Grayson in the way she became eerily serious when she was upset. Rosemary, the one who always managed to calm everyone—even Ella—with her quiet, easy nature.

Ella, nine years old, wonderstruck as she held a newborn Rosie in her arms, swaddled in a soft blanket; a big yawn escaping from a pink mouth, a tiny fist wrapped around her finger. The first time Ella loved her.

Grayson, teaching a younger Rosie how to ride a horse, cheering her on as her pony jumped a hurdle. An activity they shared daily, even when Grayson was busy, he always made time for Rosie. Undoubtedly, his biggest soft spot.

Her mother, proudly pinning yet another wonky picture as Rosie watched with a flustered grin. Her dresser was a collage of childish drawings, displayed like trophies, most of them Rosemary's pastel watercolours. Ella could recall watching them spend hours together, quietly painting in the gardens, twin gingery curls and soft smiles.

Rosemary, the heart of their family. Rosemary; big brown eyes, rusty curls, knobby knees and freckled shoulders. Birdie.

The bond between them began to strengthen. Ella could feel it, solid and tangible, like a thick rope between her fingers. It was there. All she had to do was pull.

But as she did, it slipped. Out of her reach, it was impossible to fully grasp that elusive connection. Like water between her hands, away away away it went. As if taunting her. Panicked, she tugged on it to no avail. It was like grasping air, no substance whatsoever.

The pounding in her head spiked, as did the throbbing of her mental barriers. Still, Ella kept going. She doubled down on her efforts, intent on finally managing to track that bond, she only needed to--

"You need to stop, you've been at this for days." A cool voice brought her back down to earth, away from that space in her mind. Just like that, the airiness disappeared.