What was Lost and Found in the Fire

Ch. 44 Silas and the Castle of Glass

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Sang's/Cyan's POV

Location: With Leninora

Date: November 2nd

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After breakfast, and clean up, and Lucian's surprising farewell, I rushed outside after taking a quick shower. 

Leninora told me to meet her outside, near the empty stables.

My mind still flashes back to that nanosecond of Lucian's lips touching my cheek. It swirls up my thoughts and makes me feel gooey and cloudy. I should be working on finding Tommy, and setting up my toys but first I need to find out what Leninora wants.

My cheeks have cooled, and my mushed up brain snaps back into focus as Leninora's slumped over position against one of the wooden posts meant for tacking down the horses comes into focus.

Her eyes are half-mast, and clutched in one hand is a lit cigarette and the other is filled with a large mason jar of something that reeks of booze. It's inconspicuous enough, with it's orange-red color but the barely tolerable scent of tequila mixed with vodka wafts from the wide mouth of the glass.

"It's a little early to be drinking, don't you think?" I grumble.

Len gulps down some more of her Bloody....Maria?....and straightens up.

"I want to show you something, and I can't do it sober." Leninora looks uncharacteristically somber. Not to be confused with sober.

My mind flies to a hundred different places and falls on only one subject that could make Len this serious. "Are you taking me to where Mom is buried?"

Len winces. Then, jerkily brings her jar to her lips and then drains a good quarter of the liquid.

It takes her a minute to compose herself, and when she does her voice is deeper. "Yeah, in a way. Come on, before I lose my stomach for this shit."

She turns away and trudges off. Her gait is wobbly and I jog to catch up with her, to shore her up when she tilts too far to one side and nearly crashes to the ground in a drunken slump.

We walk, arm in arm and leaning against one another, for a few hours. We pass cottages and stroll through gardens. Len points out places to me: spots my mom liked to visit to write or doodle, landscape gardens my mom designed herself, special areas meant just me, for some other life that I had been meant to live.

One place that hit me hardest was a wooden cradle tucked into a corner of the backyard of one of the original cottages on the property. Len explained that it had been made with grape vines from a villa in France, brought over after one of mom's honeymoons.

It had been overtaken by a rose bush, and a rattle had been left forgotten inside of it. It was a sad and yet breathtaking sight.

Eventually, we walked to the woods, and into them. It went from bright daylight to a shady, if chilly, haven. I'm glad I found a pair of jeans and a long-sleeved shirt in what's left of the clothes from Lala, though I decided to skip on the shoes because the air is colder than I was expecting.

And denser. Lately, everything has felt so....thin. And painful. The very air around me and in me has felt so tenuous and frail.

But out here, the tree's feel as if they're enveloping me in safety. Out here, not a single soul can see me. Dontavion is far away. All the mysterious boys wanting to save me are far away. The prying eyes of the public waiting to tear into me, to claw out the secrets myself and the others are hiding, are far away. Nothing out here is interested in me.