Tales of the Hollow Heart

Chapter Six: The Burden of Guilt

Esvelie manages to sleep through the night, a feat seemingly unthinkable until this very night. Now, she lies awake, staring at the dark, windowless walls. The lack of natural light makes it nearly impossible to gauge the current time. However, faint and nearly indiscernible slivers of light peek through the cracks of the wooden door, indicating the sun's rise to some extent.

Rubbing the back of her hand over her sleep-crusted eyes, she feels a pang of guilt as she suddenly realizes why she was able to sleep, undisturbed, the entire span of this moon's passing. She blinks a few times and slowly shifts her right arm, immediately waking Acron in the process. Esvelie offers her palm, to which Acron willingly scurries into her grasp. "We better get you hidden before someone wakes up and sees you." She whispers under her breath.

She wordlessly perceives Acron's bantam huff of annoyance as he nimbly crawls up Esvelie's arm, only stopping long enough to dramatically throw her hair out of the way so he can settle back into his normal hiding spot.

Rolling her eyes, Esvelie sits up and throws her feet over the side of the mattress, slightly ashamed that she never even attempted to strip her boots off before climbing into a clean and painstakingly made bed. As her senses further awaken, she picks up on the air's earthy freshness, a far cry from the mustiness she'd grown accustomed to in her Woodline home.

Shuffling her feet slowly, she figures the best way to go about making up for her lack of etiquette is to at least shower. She knows she probably isn't in the best condition considering the events of the past day, the dirt and grime caked against her skin only further proving the necessity to wash up. Just to be safe, she decides to take Acron along.

Clambering her way into the dimly lit washroom, she carefully shuts and secures the door behind her. Holding her hands out before her face, she blindly feels around the dark room for a candle or lantern, quickly letting out a sigh of relief when her fingers brush a waxy wick next to the top right side of the doorframe. However, her face drops at a single realization: She doesn't have a match.

Silently cursing herself, she cautiously swings the door open once again, sheepish as she approaches a sleeping Engom. After a few moments of mental preparation, she whispers, "Engom, I'm terribly sorry to wake you. Did you happen to see any matches when we came in? Do I need to ask Ahriyel for some?"

Esvelie can barely see the outline of Engom rubbing drowsiness from his eyes, and obviously still half-asleep, he mumbles, "I thought I saw some in the kitchen area on the edge of the counter. I believe they were in a small, green ceramic bowl."

"Thanks. Sorry." Esvelie frantically whispers before tiptoeing into the kitchen.

Sure enough, without hesitation, she spots the darkened haze of an object sitting on the edge of the countertop, which she now knows to be a bowl of matches. She scoops three into the palm of her hand, closing her fist and securing the rough stalks of wood beneath her fingertips.

Padding her way back to the washroom, she can feel sweat beginning to prick at the back of her neck, much to Acron's discontent. Something about walking around in dark rooms among other Eleaves always makes her feel uneasy.

After repeating her ritual of shutting and latching the door, she relocates the small, flammable wick more quickly this time. Swiping one of the matches across the textured stone wall, she smiles to herself whenever it promptly lights ablaze. Now having a small amount of light, she can see the flame-washed outline of a lamp.

She wastes no time kindling the wick and bringing the room to light, tired of vulturing around in the dark. Extinguishing the match with a flick of her wrist, she throws it and the rest into a small pile in the corner.