White Orchids {BOOK 1 COMPLETED}

Chapter 18

It feels strange to wait in the waiting room without Clover, to speak with Wolf and to knock on the gigantic gate. This is what the rest of my life – or death – will be like, and there's something depressive about it. Clover is not perfect, and I certainly know I am not either. But he has been there since I died, no matter how grumpy and cold he might have been the first weeks. The thought of being alone creates a heavy lump in my chest.

Nor did Clover belong to the Eleven. I know I'll see him when the apprenticeship ends, he had after all said he'd take me and Artemis to the Oak and Arkaros. Yet I have a fear we might never see each other again.

I'm not sure what I see him as. But one thing is clear – there are things he's hiding, even from Artemis. I hate that he has seen my deepest thoughts, shame and guilt. Yet he's likely the only friend I have here. It would be different if I still had been alive. If I'd hear myself say something like that and then in the next second call them a friend, I'd probably wonder if I had lost all common sense. But here things are complicated, I cling to the few things that I have, even the unhealthy ones. I barely recognize myself.

I fiddle the paper while I wait for the number above the tree door to change. Once it finally happens, I sweep my eyes over the soul wanderers. It's easy to see who is alone and who is bringing their apprentices. I know I'll be one of them soon, even though I'm only dipping my toes right now.

Once I get inside of Blomst's office, she's sitting behind the desk and moves a hand over the messy papers. It bothers me that she's not using magic to keep things tidy and orderly, the way that Saturn had.

"One moment, Orchid," she says and flip through the papers.

For an impatient woman she's surprisingly good at keeping others waiting. Not that it'd be something I ever tell her. While the air feels still and comfortable, I know how it felt when she or Couleur was angry. I have a feeling that even Cerberus' anger will feel the exact same. A devastating wave that knocks you off your feet.

Blomst pulls her hand through the air with a single sweep; a chair grows out from the ground. I sit down while she continues to flip through the pages.

"Aha!" She smiles proudly as she pulls out a paper from the messy piles of loose pages. "There you are."

She puts her free hand against her cheek.

"Almost three weeks has passed since you arrived. Time flies, does it not? Or what is it you humans say?"

"Yes, but I can imagine it goes much quicker for you."

I don't know how old she is – if she even has an age. As far as I know she might as well have always existed.

She smiles, yet it doesn't reach her eyes.

"I didn't always have a sense of time. One, hundreds or thousands of years, everything felt just as long. I was taught that time can be ruthless and then a year, a month or a week feels like an eternity."

I don't know how to react. The sorrow, just like her wrath had done, fills the entire room and makes the air heavy and suffocating.

"So no, I don't think time goes any faster for me."

The weight of the air makes me bite down hard; I want to take a deep breath, but I have a feeling that I don't want to show my discomfort. Blomst pulls out another page that she lays on top of the other. The sorrow still hangs over us like heavy clouds, it's not as visible on her face. I must have touched a very frail part of her, and it's more terrifying than the anger she'd shown. Not even the cold and starry gaze that Saturn had beats this fragile sorrow.