Fyra (First Draft)

Thirty One

Lily stood in the doorway, a familiar smirk painted on her face. Fyra shook off the voice that sang in her head, ignoring the wave of simultaneous confusion and anger. The blonde girl wore the same aura of superiority and entitlement, and she was altogether unchanged, save her attire. In exchange for the glamorous court fashion she wore when Fyra had met her in the castle, she wore a simple black dress. 

What the hell was Athan involved in? Evidently, the web of lies was more tangled and confusing than she had thought. She hadn't known what to expect behind this damn door, but it certainly wasn't Lily. 

Don't be angry, she told herself, her grip on Athan's hand growing ever tighter. It is in the past and there's nothing you can do to change it. 

"Are you trying to cut off my circulation?" asked Athan, letting out a breathy chuckle. 

"Maybe," she retorted, relaxing her hand. She brought her focus back to the doorway where Lily and Past Athan stood. 

The old Athan was tense, staring at Lily with an apprehensive gaze. She stared back. 

A shiver went down Fyra's spine. Lily was a nasty piece of work, but she had never looked so...unbalanced. There was a darkness about her that Fyra did not recognize, and it seemed like she was almost at war with herself. There were shadows beneath her eyes, making it clear that sleep evaded her. It was impossible to explain, but something was terribly off about her. 

"So I see you finally decided to be reasonable, Athan." Lily said after what seemed like an eternity of silence.

"That depends on your definition of reasonable," Athan mumbled, the frown on his face carving itself deeper until it was a scowl.

Lily laughed, turning on her heel and making her way inside the room behind her. 

Past Athan followed, hands clenched in his pockets.

Fyra tugged Athan to follow, but he didn't move. The sequence of events slowed until Past Athan froze in the doorway, paused in a split second of a memory. 

"Wait," he said. "I'm not going to try to justify this, but I wanted you to know that I did this to protect you. They knew about my magic, not yours. I had to make you believe I was gone so you wouldn't look for me." Desperation tinged his voice, echoing the regret that he had carried for so long. 

"I'm not going to say I forgive you, because you knew who I was and what I'd lost and you made me believe that I'd lost you too. I didn't even know you had magic. Did you?"

"Not until they told me. I...I would have said--" 

"Its fine," Fyra blurted. "Well, I mean... It's not fine, but...lets just continue...whatever this is."

"Of course," he said in a rush, walking ahead to pull her through the doorway that Past Athan had already made his way inside. 

The ambiance of the room was, to Fyra's surprise, was rather pleasant. Light bathed the room, dancing with shadows as wind rustled the black curtains. The furniture was sparse yet elegant, consisting of only a small ebony table encircled by chairs. Five candles stood on the table, one in front of each chair. A door that most likely led to a small, adjoining room filled a corner. 

Lily sat down, draping herself across the chair. "Take a seat, Athan. You look a little tense."

He didn't move. "I'm fine where I am, thanks." 

She raised an eyebrow, the corners of her lips rising into a wicked semblance of a smile. "That wasn't exactly a question. Sit."

The hesitation in his step was clear, and Lily seemed to feed off his discomfort. Finally, he sat.