Thought

Chapter One

Word Count: 1639

~Luella

"I told you it would be pointless."

Della sighs deeply, looking straight ahead at the road. The only reason I went to this therapist session was for her, but I don't know what else she expected. I've been on medication they have prescribed before, and it did nothing but give me serious anxiety until I could no longer deal with it. Since then, Della has been looking for other options.

"He didn't say anything different?" She questions, giving me a skeptical glance. I nod at her to concentrate on her driving. It hasn't rained this heavily in Fate's Territory since I first came here three years ago from Death's realm.

I shrug, fiddling with the air conditioning absentmindedly. "Same old diagnosis. He might have said something about it maybe being magic. Crazy old man."

Della snaps her attention to me.

"Watch where you're going would you? I might hate these dreams but I'm not planning on dying today," I comment. Della looks back at the road, but her knuckles clutching the steering wheel are white, and there is a frown etched into her forehead.

"Magic? You know that's not much of a stretch," she comments. A laugh almost slips out of my mouth at her statement.

"Aren't you meant to be the practical one?" I ask her.

"Come on Lu, it's not that odd is it? I mean, we live in the land of Fate. You've been in the
immortal realm for three years, and I know you've witnessed magic before," Della says, turning down my street. She's right. I've witnessed petty magic from people at street markets, but nothing impressive.

Della pulls up my driveway, parking the car in front of the garage. I love my home. Luckily I have a great job that has meant I can live in a beautiful house on the shoreline. Fate has the best territory in the immortal realm, which is something I stand by. Especially when I get to watch sailboats on a good day drift into the nearby dock.

"All I'm saying, is that this has nothing to do with magic. It's probably just my messed up mind," I comment, popping the door open.

Rain mists against my face and I fumble with my keys, pushing my front door open. Della follows me inside, cursing the weather, wiping water off her face. Rain visits here so often, I'm quite enjoying this strange weather.

"You should really clean up in here," Della comments.

"I think it looks fine in here," I mutter, moving into the living room and I pull off my jacket. Maybe it could be decluttered in here, but I like my space. It's creative in my opinion, which I wouldn't expect my perfectionist sister to understand.

Della picks up a stack of books, weighing it in her arms. "I mean, do you even read any of these? You're meant to be a writer, not a book critic."

Taking the books from her arms, I stumble over to one of my bookshelves. The wood already is sagging from the weight of my current collection. There's something so addicting about collecting books. Coming to the immortal realm uncovered many authors I loved in the mortal world who continued their work afterwards.

"They are for inspiration," I reason.

"Do you ever leave this house?" Della questions. Turning around, I narrow my eyes on her. She stands there, hands on her hips, looking concerned.

"I don't have enough time in the day to go out with my wine drinking friends to east low fat hummus while we whisper about attractive guys who come into the bar," I remind her, watch her raise an eyebrow at me. Della has a surprising amount of time and money which she still won't share with me on its origin.