A Court of Golden Dreams || 𝐍𝐲𝐱

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐰𝐨

Her father.

What a joke.

His figure was used by his mother as a pretext for everything. By now her father made his presence felt less and less in public. His public appearances were few and for a short time, his presence in the house was like a breath of wind that came and went suddenly. She didn't see her father often. But she often found herself wandering in front of his door.

(In her saddest moments she rested her forehead on the solid wood outside of his bedroom door, watching her tears fall on the dull floor. She thought her father could feel her presence on the other side, she thought that at least that idea could bring her comfort.)

She wanted back what they had years ago. The few times his father left that room his eyes were blank, apathetic. They looked into the distance without seeing anyone. When they looked at her there was sometimes a sign of recognition, but it went away as suddenly as it came.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

She remembers how she once found him in the garden, looking sadly at a rose. Her mighty tree that protected her, now reduced to a fragile branch. Now he looked like a soul in pain wandering the corridors, a ghost. She remembered how she slowly approached him with silent footsteps, squatting beside him and wondering why he was looking at the flower so sadly.

"Father." she called softly. At least one attempt couldn't hurt.

He seemed oblivious to her presence and suddenly jumped as if he had just awakened from an endless dream. He looked at her with startled eyes, almost half closed as if he was trying to recognize who was standing in front of him. A moment later, a moment of clarity.

As if he hadn't just been taken by surprise, he spoke as if he hadn't spoken in years. "Aesira, my beautiful child." He seemed to be talking to himself more than to her. Saying her name more to remind him who that name belonged to, rather than to start a conversation with her. He looked at her with a small smile, his eyes seemed to have taken back some of that life he was missing. "Look at you, how you grew up." She was still a child, but she had grown a few inches. It seemed strange to her how he was making this statement, he was looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time in a long while.

That had been called a moment. A moment, a fraction of time associated with the idea of ​​short duration or mere episodicity. As quickly as it had arrived, as quickly it had gone.

The father began to clench his fists as if he were in pain. His face had turned a ghostly white, his eyes had suddenly sunken and seemed to have acquired a look of terror. His forehead wet with sweat, his shortness of breath. He was panting, muttering something incomprehensible. Maybe something that started with an "f".

Aesira did not remember many details of what had happened, too shocked to even think. She tried to touch her father's arm before feeling his grip on her wrist.

He collapsed on the grass trembling. He held his shoulders as if to protect himself. His knuckles had turned white as his face. He kept repeating "Please...please, stop." Incessantly, as if it were a prayer addressed to the Cauldron. As if praying was the only thing that could save him from a danger that only he could see.

She didn't know when or how her mother materialized behind her, taking her by the shoulder. She couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet ―she was sure she was shaking like her father at that point. She tried to open her mouth to ask her mother for help, but when she took her eyes off the scene before her, she was petrified by her mother's reaction.

It was an exaggeration to call it a reaction, maybe because there was none at all.

Calantha was looking at her husband with the same self-righteous air as she looked at the servants or the other residents of the Spring Court. Realizing that her daughter was looking at her, her gaze became more saddened. The mask was back in its place. "Let's take your father back to his room," she said in a voice that betrayed no emotion. "You know he needs to rest."