Scales and Swords ✓

54: Death

I longed for warmth, for the first time in my life. A coldness crawled from the tips of my toes to the ends of my head, and surged deep into my bones. I could feel myself tremble to create heat but heat seemed but a mere dream. An impossibility. I was suspended in the air, dangling by nothing, fixed in place. An emptiness surrounded me, blackness without light, nothing without sight.

Then at once there was light behind my eyelids. And there was something soft against my back, as warmth crawled back into my body, but only so little that I knew it wasn't all of it. But it was enough to be comfortable. Too comfortable, I didn't want to wake. But I did. For two things, the smell of a pot of stew on the stove and the sound of wood being chopped. Just like every morning.

Just like home.

My eyes snapped open. I was in my room, that was for certain. A ferocious hope surged through me, countered only by a gripping fear that held me in bed.

Where my heart should have been working was a stillness to my body. My chest was quiet and still. Almost empty. That forced me to sit up, with a courage diluted by confusion. My hands felt frigid in each other.

If something was wrong within me nothing was wrong outside. The sun had just begun to climb across the blue sky decorated by the occasional cloud. The wheat beyond my window swayed to the passing breeze. And the sounds and smell of every morning remained.

I wasn't dreaming. Dreams couldn't have been as vivid, familiar, as real this. I was here. I was home.

I stood and moved to my door. Gripped the handle. Dropped my hand. Tried again but dropped it again. My chest twisted into a knot but still managed to feel hollow. I stepped away, swallowed hard.

My hope held like a boulder by a string.

I pulled the door open. The boulder dropped.

My little home was empty. Now silent, cold, without a scent in the world. Mom wasn't in the kitchen. Dad wasn't out back chopping wood. Hirai wasn't out doing something reckless. Ray wasn't by Mom's side pestering her with a million questions.

But there was a man at the table. A man I didn't recognize. He was looking at me, staring, watching. He looked every bit real, every bit alive, with bright eyes like the setting sun, and a pleased smile. But if he was real then everything else wasn't.

"Good morning Miss Molieilai," he said, interlocking his fingers on the table, his gaze never leaving me. "How was the transit? Cold, as nothingness should be, I hope."

"It's just Mo," I replied, calmer than I wanted my response to be.

The corner of his mouth quirked. He nodded, his eyes leaving me to survey the room instead. "Of course, you're still just Mo." He was an undeniably attractive man, with impeccable features and a strong body, dressed in noble's garments. But that did not excuse his intrusion.

"What does that mean?" I took a step forward. "Who are you and why are you in my house?"

"My. Just like mortals to place temporary claims on eternal things." He scowled, though that did little to disrupt his beauty.

"Who are you?" This time I took a step back. Beacuse I had enough sense to feel unsafe despite the steadiness of my chest.

His amber eyes bore through me. I felt exposed. He saw me and through me and past me. He clicked his tongue and looked skyward. "I am known by many names across the lands but in all these stories I am but an essence of Earth."

"Earth?"

His gaze found mine again, a vivacious glint in his eyes. "The Beast, of course."

"You're the Beast?" I blurted.