{ 15: To Grieve in Silence }

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15


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To Grieve in Silence







LYKALIS awoke with a pounding headache incomparable to any she had before. It pulsed against her skin, like her brain was trying to break out of the confines of her skull. A groan of pain escaped her lips, bringing a hand to her shut eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose as the battering pain in her head continued. Her other hand clutched onto a soft blanket, velvety under her fingertips. She stretched her wings, feathers hanging over a bed too small to fit the lengthy limbs.

She huffed, rolling onto her side. She grasped her blanket, pulling it higher over her shoulders. There was something quite comforting in the way Sidiem fabric replicated the finest of animal furs. Her fingers grasped the pillow beneath her, shifting the cushion with ease. A part of her wondered why Osteria allowed her to sleep in, but she was too tired to care. She buried her face into the fabric, a pleasant fragrance brushing against her nose.

Her eyebrows furrowed with confusion.

That smelled a lot like lemon scents and bergamot–

Wait.

That smelled like–

She sat upwards, eyes snapping open in an instant. Her vision cleared as she squinted against the bright light of the morning sun. She let her gaze dart across the room, and she found herself in a quaint apartment, just large enough for someone to live in. There was a broad window before her. eyes falling on a balcony door.

No wonder Osteria hadn't shaken her awake– she wasn't in the palace.

Her hand wrapped around the ring hanging from her neck. Relief filled her as she realized her father's ring was still pressed against her skin.

Her lips pursed as she methodically pulled the plush blanket from her body. She flapped her wings, shaking the sleep out of her limbs. Feathers fell to form one sleek surface, a rustling sound echoing in her ears. She pressed her feet against lush carpet, gentle against bare skin.

She paused, looking down at herself.

Sleeves slipped past her hands, covering her fingers in a protective layer of fine silk. A robe was tied carefully around her waist, the fabric of her dress peeking out from beneath.

Relief settled in, before she remembered she couldn't figure out who or what had brought her here. She padded towards the windows, eyes flitting across the ground beneath her. They must have been at least eleven stories high, the street a miniscule line across the ground.

Dahlia of GoldМесто, где живут истории. Откройте их для себя