The next day, Sebastian returns to the spot where he saw the being with wings. He was sure the being would return, and he had every intention on approaching the being.
He tries following the trail in which the being went, but ends up going in the opposite way.
He continues his walk, stepping over or going around earthy obstacles whenever he approached one. It wasn't long before he came upon a group of trees. Unlike the randomly order the surrounding trees grew in, the group of trees grew directly beside one another similar to the way a group of friends huddle together to speak in hush tones.
Finding the trees odd, Sebastian approaches them; his gaze following the trunks of the trees upwards. He lowers his gaze after a few minutes of staring up at the treetops. A flowery scents drifts in the air. Sebastian wondering what the good scent was and where it was coming from. He inhale and exhale quickly, tracking the scent, but never moving a step; only leaning forward.
"It's coming from there?" A puzzled look changed Sebastian's face to reflect his confusion.
Reaching forward, he extends his right hand. But when, his middle finger touch the bark, a ripple effect occurs similar to the ripple effect of water once something falls into it.
He jerks his hand back. "Huh?" Sticking his hand forward again, he watches in silence fantasizing as the tip of his fingers disappear. He brought his hand out, staring at it.
Determination shines in his eyes. He runs forward, closing his eyes in the process.
"I don't feel any different."
Opening his eyes, the first things he sees are flowers. Purple flowers were everywhere. It was like he had walked into a flower shop, except this wasn't a building. And the flowers seem to grew randomly.
About twenty-five feet ahead of him, he saw two trees. The trees were like drawfs to the ones outside of the pocket, yet they were more beautiful and older.
Sebastian stands to his feet, noticing how no flower seem to grow along a areas leading up to the two trees.
He walks towards the trees. What he sees at the base of one of the trees was a bundle of red roses tied together. He kneels, and brushes his fingers along the bundle. He looks near the base of the tree to see words imprinted neatly into the beautiful, old oak tree.
Rosella Sylvie Cobalt.
He frowns, taking a few steps back. Never taking his gaze from the tree base, he sits down, pulling his kneels up so his hands can rest on them.
When he didn't receive an answer, his gaze wanders. It was long before he spotted an stone not far from the tree. Besides that grave was a stone headstone in crooked writing that read:
Who is Azarel?
Glance darting around, head turning, as if looking for answers, he remembers his sister telling her their father was called Tyson Cape-Cobalt.
Must be family or a friend.
Gaze clouding, going distant, he dismisses the thought, thinking back to what Elizabeth told him about their parents and names. In the case of alphas, most couples take the last name of the born alpha.
"I wonder if Elizabeth know about this place. Nah, she probably doesn't. It's not like she stays around a whole lot now."
He thinks about Elizabeth and how she explained her reason for her absent and her new job three years ago. Whenever she gave him a reason, somehow, that reason almost always went back to their grandfather. The old man wanted her to do something or she always have to keep him happy, but he didn't want to see Sebastian.
"Mom, are you there? Can you hear me?"
He would spend hours trying to come up with an image of his parents, only to end up forming empty cut out versions that never seemed to satisfy the longing in his heart. Knowing what they looked like would give some insight into who he was or even some sense of knowing who he came from, but that wasn't possible.
Elizabeth explained to him that they didn't take many pictures years ago due to some superstition floating around the supernatural world that they wouldn't show up in a picture if they had taken one. It wasn't until recently when Elizabeth had taken up the task of buying a camera and proving the superstition wrong. He could recall her first snapping a picture of him.
It was his tenth birthday, and she had surprised him by snapping a picture of him with whipped cream on his nose.
The familiar voice that soothe his longing was there to remind him once more that he never knew his parents, and so there was nothing to feel about nothing. Yet, he was jealous of his sister. She had gotten time to be with their parents. To know their faces and scents. To laugh and play with them. Perhaps, even to growl at them when she didn't get her way.
You have that too.
The same voice would whisper to him once again. His sister. She was more to him than just his sister. In his eyes, he saw her as a mother. The only one to take care of him all his life. Calling her mom was never a thought entertained by the hybrid. For since, he was able to speak short words, he was taught to say 'sis'. And from that point on sis because sister. Sister to Elizabeth or Eli.
Staring at the graves now, he wonders what Roselle Sylvia Cobalt looked like. Was she a dirt blonde like Elizabeth or a dark brown head like him?
Hands touching the lips, mouth, and face, Sebastian wonders which features did he get from his parents. He seen television shows where the child of a happy family looked just like their parents in some way or another. Did he have his mother's eyes or ears? His father's face? The questions seem endless.
YOU ARE READING
Tales Beneath a White MoonWerewolf
Book One of The Moon and Grim Reaper Trilogy Parentless, Elizabeth Cobalt has a difficult role in life as an adolescent. A role that seems to result in her play-along personality front for her grandfather, unwanted popularity as the future leader, a...