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I'll be posting my story here as well!  If you're interested in it, please feel free to follow my other account: ManuWrites
Thank you if you take the time to read it!

Previous Chapter:

Mature Content

Next Chapter:

All Chapters HERE.

CHAPTER 29: HOME

                Everything around her was soft. Pillows? Blankets? Malia couldn’t tell. Her body was stiff, heavy, as if it had been smashed and glued back together. If she moved, the pieces might come apart… not that she could move. Breathing was slightly painful still, but she was mostly at ease.
                What had happened? What was the last thing she remembered? Dwelling too much on memory made her relive the excruciating sensation of her bones breaking, of her flesh oozing. She pressed her mind to move past that, and the next echo to come back to her was the sound of Cain’s crying, of his pitiful confession. She would have preferred to move past that too.
                How could she feel bad for him? There was no point in denying what she felt though. Maybe next time she would be able to see beyond the evil façade of her cousin, and talk to the actual Cain. Understand him even. Yes, next time.
                Her attempts to recall anything after that were fruitless at first, then frustrating. There was nothing else. Only darkness. Maybe she was dead. Being in pain even after death was an undesirable possibility she had never considered. No, I can’t be dead. But what if I’m dying?
                That question brought a sense of urgency to her wandering thoughts. The past didn’t matter. She ached to open her eyes, to return to the realm of the living. She needed to look around, to confirm that the world would still be there to greet her. All at once, icy terror caressed her neck: What if she was still in the dungeon? What if all her efforts to wake up only returned her to that miserable hell?
                The temptation of surrendering cradled her. If she stayed here, in this hushed blackness that belonged to her alone, she wouldn’t need to be afraid. She was safe there. She was lonely too.
                She longed to see her friends. Was Gorken alright? Had Licorice reached Kadem in time? Had little Hedera stayed hidden for long enough? How badly wounded were Aldous and Bayard? She had to wake up, after all. It would have been selfish not to seek to ascertain the truth.
                As Malia struggled to keep unconsciousness at bay, thirsting for a thread to hold on to, what shook her senses and guided her path was not an emotion, or conviction, but a smell. A sweet aroma she had fallen in love with years ago. Strawberry pie. She loved all food, but she adored strawberry pies. The irresistible scent roused the swirling void that was her stomach. She was starving. When had she eaten last? I’m hungry. I’m so hungry.
                She opened her eyes.
                “I can’t believe it worked!” Malia heard a loud voice before she could adjust to the light. It was familiar, yet different somehow. “Licorice, you go get them!” The voice rejoiced and then moved away, “It actually worked!”
                Reality stayed too bright for Malia’s eyesight for a while. She listened to footsteps, some approaching, some retreating, and unceremoniously she was able to focus her vision on the wooden ceiling of Kadem’s lair. She barely had the time to revel in the realization, to copiously thank whatever providence might be out there, when someone pushed open the creaking door of the room she was in.
                Ah… Malia wondered what it was that she had seen first. His bronze, uneven hair? His green eyes? Her silver pendant hanging from his neck? The worn out clothing and his almond skin beneath it? She wasn’t sure. But less than an instant had been enough to perceive him as Gorken. He burst in as if pushed from the outside, a wooden tray with a strawberry pie on it in his hands.
                Malia was so ecstatic she forgot how frail her body was. After raising her torso in one hasty motion, her smile distorted into a strained grimace. She held her side, waiting for the spasm to subside. She exhaled then and returned her glance to the door, embarrassed by her clumsy display of eagerness. But Gorken wasn’t there anymore.
                It was likely that her senses were dull, but even so, the speed at which Gorken had appeared next to her was startling. Before she could see where the pie had gone, Gorken’s arms were already around her, locking her in a tight embrace. He had a way of hugging her that was both calming and flustering. His hold was a fortress, safe and encompassing, unmovable in its tenderness… and yet the embers of restrained passion were always there.
                Malia clung to his back. She giggled nervously, and then she felt tears welling up in her eyes.
                She didn’t want to cry. For eight years she had kept the promise to herself. Her resolve to never again be the helpless girl who solely cried had endured, unbending. She hadn’t lost to her uncle, to Cain, to the rigid solitude of the northern palace, to her master’s sudden disappearance, to her lasting aimlessness, to the corpses of Sven and Avah, to torture. None of them had stolen tears from her.
                But now, she was so happy she couldn’t stand it. She was alive, and so was he. She still had arms to grasp him, and eyes to see him. She was alive. They were both there. They were alive.
                Malia tried not to make any noise, but she was certain Gorken could tell she was crying.
                She kept her face hidden against his chest. Her wishes were so contradictory it was laughable; she wanted to be spoiled by Gorken, held with the patience and gentleness one would afford a child, but she didn’t want him to see her sobbing. She didn’t want anyone to witness her self-indulgent tears. …Anyone?
                “Gorken,” her voice sounded better than she expected, “Where are Aldous and Bayard? What about Hedera and Licorice?”
                He didn’t move for a few moments. He was reluctant to let go of her, but in the end he was forced to yield. “They’re all alive.” He moved back slightly, a sad smile on his face. Malia was scared to ask about his expression. Why was there sorrow in his words?
                “…What a killjoy.” Aldous entered the room along with Bayard, his usual mocking tone a natural comfort, “Boss, what will she think if you say it like that?”
                Malia hoped a witty response would come to her mind as Bayard and Aldous sat next to her, but all she could muster was a quivering lip. Her heart pounded against her ribcage with joyous relief. Her friends were alright. They were safe and sound. The image seemed plucked from a greedy dream... and then it cracked, as a mirror hit by a ruthless stone. Something was off, but it took Malia long moments to locate what it was.
                “…Aldous…” she stared at the knotted sleeve of his jacket. Her innards had petrified in a matter of seconds. The right words wouldn’t come, but she had to say something. “…Where’s your arm?”
                “That’s not the most tactful way to ask,” The redhead laughed, “but if you must know, it’s buried just outside. Kadem went to the trouble of bringing it back, but couldn’t reattach it in the end.”
                “…How… I don’t….” Malia felt like running away for some reason. She didn’t know what disturbed her more, the sight of Aldous’ missing limb, or the nonchalant way he talked about it. She risked crying again. She was terrified of asking the wrong questions, of imagining how it had happened. But deep down she knew. The generals. Talos.
                “…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” was the only part of her turmoil she could put into words, “It’s because I was with you that-”
                “Stop it.” Aldous’ cheerful mood disintegrated. “I don’t want to hear it.”
                Malia’s stomach sank. Was her apology trivial? Of course Aldous would resent her. Picturing the redhead being cold to her from that moment onward crumpled her chest. But she couldn’t just escape, “Apologizing is the least I can do...”
                “I don’t want your apology.” Aldous’ tone was a frozen blade.
                Malia lowered her face, afraid she would break down in the middle of their exchange. What could she say? I can’t blame him. I can’t fix it. Don’t cry. Don’t you start crying.
                Aldous sighed, “You’ll make me say it, won’t you? I can see that you don’t get it. Malia, look at me.” He patted her shoulder, “Do you remember what I told you the last time we were here? I told you to count on us. I said you wouldn’t regret it.” He removed his hand from her back to rub his own hair in an annoyed gesture, “And look at how it turned out! I went and dropped an arm! We lost to Talos and slept through all the conflict while you were being tortured in some dreary dungeon. How pathetic is that? If on top of it you apologize, it’s like… it’s like you think we’re… How will I ever ask you to trust us again...?”
                Malia understood all too well. Feeling responsible for Aldous’ loss was to disrespect him as a warrior; whether she thought she was to blame or not wasn’t what mattered. The shame of feeling useless, the fear of being left behind… Those she could comprehend; she knew their insidious sting. She wouldn’t inflict it on her comrades.
                She smiled, “What’s the point of asking me to do something I’ve never stopped doing?”
                Tension left Aldous’ body. Behind him, Bayard nodded gratefully. Before the redhead could resume his task of enlivening the air, Malia said, “I do have one request.”
                “We’re all ears.”
                “Can I give you guys a hug?”
                Bayard and Aldous shared a content look before approaching her warmly. Theirs was an affectionate, playful embrace. The kind of cuddle that set things right.
                Once Aldous and Bayard returned to their places at the side of Malia’s bedding, more doubts formed in her head, “Wait… You said you lost to Talos, so who beat him? How are you alive?”
                Bayard shifted his head towards the door, “I believe it’s your turn to enter.”
                “What?” a whisper so loud it scarcely counted as one replied from outside, “What if the shock’s too much for her?”
                “She can hear you. She’s weakened, not deaf.” A pleasant, soft voice retorted, “Let us go in.”
                Malia recognized the yellow eyes, dark skin and verdant hair of the pair. Instead of small white dresses, their bodies were clad in vines and leaves. Instead of little girls, they were young women. But they were unmistakably Hedera and Licorice.
                Malia glanced at Gorken, “For how long was I asleep, exactly?”
                He chuckled, “For around a week. I too thought demons might age a little too fast when I saw them.”
                “Surprised?” Hedera grinned, “I’m taller than you now, Malia. Someone else will have to be the ‘child’ of the group.”
                “You seem to be under the misconception that it was your stature that made you childish.” Aldous did his best to sound serious.
                Hedera crossed her arms, “You shall not disturb me with your juvenile teasing, human.”
                “His comment did bother you.” Licorice added delicately, “I can feel it.”
                “That’s lovely Licorice. Now you must also be experiencing with me the distinct flavor of sororal betrayal.”
                “Family feuds aside,” Malia snorted a thin laugh, “you haven’t answered my question. What happened to you girls? Did you defeat Talos?”
                “There is little to explain, princess.” Licorice sat down, “During a dire situation we shared the same desire and regained our connection to the earth. Lady Kadem was correct about our predicament. Then I killed the enemy.”
                “…You killed Talos?”
                “Originally I intended to torment him thoroughly, but-”
                “You could call our link with nature our power.” Hedera interrupted her sister, “It was still unstable that day, but now that we have control over it, we were able to permanently return to our original forms.”
                Their original forms? It was strange to call them that, given how humanoid the twins looked. Although that was only one of many doubts clouding Malia’s thoughts. She wanted to ask so many questions that, in the end, they got tangled and none formed entirely before overlapping with a different query. The more she pondered, the more the sequence of events eluded her. How are we even here? What is the power of a demon? Where is Kadem? Who got me out of the castle? What about Cain? Why did-
                A loud grumble escaped Malia’s belly and irreparably wounded her stream of consciousness. “You know what?” she concluded after a pause, “All else can wait. Gorken, could you please hand me some of that strawberry pie?”

                “It will be my pleasure.” He snickered as he relinquished the tray.

Description
I'll be posting my story here as well!  If you're interested in it, please feel free to follow my other account: ManuWrites
Thank you if you take the time to read it!

Previous Chapter:

Mature Content

Next Chapter:

All Chapters HERE.

CHAPTER 29: HOME

                Everything around her was soft. Pillows? Blankets? Malia couldn’t tell. Her body was stiff, heavy, as if it had been smashed and glued back together. If she moved, the pieces might come apart… not that she could move. Breathing was slightly painful still, but she was mostly at ease.
                What had happened? What was the last thing she remembered? Dwelling too much on memory made her relive the excruciating sensation of her bones breaking, of her flesh oozing. She pressed her mind to move past that, and the next echo to come back to her was the sound of Cain’s crying, of his pitiful confession. She would have preferred to move past that too.
                How could she feel bad for him? There was no point in denying what she felt though. Maybe next time she would be able to see beyond the evil façade of her cousin, and talk to the actual Cain. Understand him even. Yes, next time.
                Her attempts to recall anything after that were fruitless at first, then frustrating. There was nothing else. Only darkness. Maybe she was dead. Being in pain even after death was an undesirable possibility she had never considered. No, I can’t be dead. But what if I’m dying?
                That question brought a sense of urgency to her wandering thoughts. The past didn’t matter. She ached to open her eyes, to return to the realm of the living. She needed to look around, to confirm that the world would still be there to greet her. All at once, icy terror caressed her neck: What if she was still in the dungeon? What if all her efforts to wake up only returned her to that miserable hell?
                The temptation of surrendering cradled her. If she stayed here, in this hushed blackness that belonged to her alone, she wouldn’t need to be afraid. She was safe there. She was lonely too.
                She longed to see her friends. Was Gorken alright? Had Licorice reached Kadem in time? Had little Hedera stayed hidden for long enough? How badly wounded were Aldous and Bayard? She had to wake up, after all. It would have been selfish not to seek to ascertain the truth.
                As Malia struggled to keep unconsciousness at bay, thirsting for a thread to hold on to, what shook her senses and guided her path was not an emotion, or conviction, but a smell. A sweet aroma she had fallen in love with years ago. Strawberry pie. She loved all food, but she adored strawberry pies. The irresistible scent roused the swirling void that was her stomach. She was starving. When had she eaten last? I’m hungry. I’m so hungry.
                She opened her eyes.
                “I can’t believe it worked!” Malia heard a loud voice before she could adjust to the light. It was familiar, yet different somehow. “Licorice, you go get them!” The voice rejoiced and then moved away, “It actually worked!”
                Reality stayed too bright for Malia’s eyesight for a while. She listened to footsteps, some approaching, some retreating, and unceremoniously she was able to focus her vision on the wooden ceiling of Kadem’s lair. She barely had the time to revel in the realization, to copiously thank whatever providence might be out there, when someone pushed open the creaking door of the room she was in.
                Ah… Malia wondered what it was that she had seen first. His bronze, uneven hair? His green eyes? Her silver pendant hanging from his neck? The worn out clothing and his almond skin beneath it? She wasn’t sure. But less than an instant had been enough to perceive him as Gorken. He burst in as if pushed from the outside, a wooden tray with a strawberry pie on it in his hands.
                Malia was so ecstatic she forgot how frail her body was. After raising her torso in one hasty motion, her smile distorted into a strained grimace. She held her side, waiting for the spasm to subside. She exhaled then and returned her glance to the door, embarrassed by her clumsy display of eagerness. But Gorken wasn’t there anymore.
                It was likely that her senses were dull, but even so, the speed at which Gorken had appeared next to her was startling. Before she could see where the pie had gone, Gorken’s arms were already around her, locking her in a tight embrace. He had a way of hugging her that was both calming and flustering. His hold was a fortress, safe and encompassing, unmovable in its tenderness… and yet the embers of restrained passion were always there.
                Malia clung to his back. She giggled nervously, and then she felt tears welling up in her eyes.
                She didn’t want to cry. For eight years she had kept the promise to herself. Her resolve to never again be the helpless girl who solely cried had endured, unbending. She hadn’t lost to her uncle, to Cain, to the rigid solitude of the northern palace, to her master’s sudden disappearance, to her lasting aimlessness, to the corpses of Sven and Avah, to torture. None of them had stolen tears from her.
                But now, she was so happy she couldn’t stand it. She was alive, and so was he. She still had arms to grasp him, and eyes to see him. She was alive. They were both there. They were alive.
                Malia tried not to make any noise, but she was certain Gorken could tell she was crying.
                She kept her face hidden against his chest. Her wishes were so contradictory it was laughable; she wanted to be spoiled by Gorken, held with the patience and gentleness one would afford a child, but she didn’t want him to see her sobbing. She didn’t want anyone to witness her self-indulgent tears. …Anyone?
                “Gorken,” her voice sounded better than she expected, “Where are Aldous and Bayard? What about Hedera and Licorice?”
                He didn’t move for a few moments. He was reluctant to let go of her, but in the end he was forced to yield. “They’re all alive.” He moved back slightly, a sad smile on his face. Malia was scared to ask about his expression. Why was there sorrow in his words?
                “…What a killjoy.” Aldous entered the room along with Bayard, his usual mocking tone a natural comfort, “Boss, what will she think if you say it like that?”
                Malia hoped a witty response would come to her mind as Bayard and Aldous sat next to her, but all she could muster was a quivering lip. Her heart pounded against her ribcage with joyous relief. Her friends were alright. They were safe and sound. The image seemed plucked from a greedy dream... and then it cracked, as a mirror hit by a ruthless stone. Something was off, but it took Malia long moments to locate what it was.
                “…Aldous…” she stared at the knotted sleeve of his jacket. Her innards had petrified in a matter of seconds. The right words wouldn’t come, but she had to say something. “…Where’s your arm?”
                “That’s not the most tactful way to ask,” The redhead laughed, “but if you must know, it’s buried just outside. Kadem went to the trouble of bringing it back, but couldn’t reattach it in the end.”
                “…How… I don’t….” Malia felt like running away for some reason. She didn’t know what disturbed her more, the sight of Aldous’ missing limb, or the nonchalant way he talked about it. She risked crying again. She was terrified of asking the wrong questions, of imagining how it had happened. But deep down she knew. The generals. Talos.
                “…I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” was the only part of her turmoil she could put into words, “It’s because I was with you that-”
                “Stop it.” Aldous’ cheerful mood disintegrated. “I don’t want to hear it.”
                Malia’s stomach sank. Was her apology trivial? Of course Aldous would resent her. Picturing the redhead being cold to her from that moment onward crumpled her chest. But she couldn’t just escape, “Apologizing is the least I can do...”
                “I don’t want your apology.” Aldous’ tone was a frozen blade.
                Malia lowered her face, afraid she would break down in the middle of their exchange. What could she say? I can’t blame him. I can’t fix it. Don’t cry. Don’t you start crying.
                Aldous sighed, “You’ll make me say it, won’t you? I can see that you don’t get it. Malia, look at me.” He patted her shoulder, “Do you remember what I told you the last time we were here? I told you to count on us. I said you wouldn’t regret it.” He removed his hand from her back to rub his own hair in an annoyed gesture, “And look at how it turned out! I went and dropped an arm! We lost to Talos and slept through all the conflict while you were being tortured in some dreary dungeon. How pathetic is that? If on top of it you apologize, it’s like… it’s like you think we’re… How will I ever ask you to trust us again...?”
                Malia understood all too well. Feeling responsible for Aldous’ loss was to disrespect him as a warrior; whether she thought she was to blame or not wasn’t what mattered. The shame of feeling useless, the fear of being left behind… Those she could comprehend; she knew their insidious sting. She wouldn’t inflict it on her comrades.
                She smiled, “What’s the point of asking me to do something I’ve never stopped doing?”
                Tension left Aldous’ body. Behind him, Bayard nodded gratefully. Before the redhead could resume his task of enlivening the air, Malia said, “I do have one request.”
                “We’re all ears.”
                “Can I give you guys a hug?”
                Bayard and Aldous shared a content look before approaching her warmly. Theirs was an affectionate, playful embrace. The kind of cuddle that set things right.
                Once Aldous and Bayard returned to their places at the side of Malia’s bedding, more doubts formed in her head, “Wait… You said you lost to Talos, so who beat him? How are you alive?”
                Bayard shifted his head towards the door, “I believe it’s your turn to enter.”
                “What?” a whisper so loud it scarcely counted as one replied from outside, “What if the shock’s too much for her?”
                “She can hear you. She’s weakened, not deaf.” A pleasant, soft voice retorted, “Let us go in.”
                Malia recognized the yellow eyes, dark skin and verdant hair of the pair. Instead of small white dresses, their bodies were clad in vines and leaves. Instead of little girls, they were young women. But they were unmistakably Hedera and Licorice.
                Malia glanced at Gorken, “For how long was I asleep, exactly?”
                He chuckled, “For around a week. I too thought demons might age a little too fast when I saw them.”
                “Surprised?” Hedera grinned, “I’m taller than you now, Malia. Someone else will have to be the ‘child’ of the group.”
                “You seem to be under the misconception that it was your stature that made you childish.” Aldous did his best to sound serious.
                Hedera crossed her arms, “You shall not disturb me with your juvenile teasing, human.”
                “His comment did bother you.” Licorice added delicately, “I can feel it.”
                “That’s lovely Licorice. Now you must also be experiencing with me the distinct flavor of sororal betrayal.”
                “Family feuds aside,” Malia snorted a thin laugh, “you haven’t answered my question. What happened to you girls? Did you defeat Talos?”
                “There is little to explain, princess.” Licorice sat down, “During a dire situation we shared the same desire and regained our connection to the earth. Lady Kadem was correct about our predicament. Then I killed the enemy.”
                “…You killed Talos?”
                “Originally I intended to torment him thoroughly, but-”
                “You could call our link with nature our power.” Hedera interrupted her sister, “It was still unstable that day, but now that we have control over it, we were able to permanently return to our original forms.”
                Their original forms? It was strange to call them that, given how humanoid the twins looked. Although that was only one of many doubts clouding Malia’s thoughts. She wanted to ask so many questions that, in the end, they got tangled and none formed entirely before overlapping with a different query. The more she pondered, the more the sequence of events eluded her. How are we even here? What is the power of a demon? Where is Kadem? Who got me out of the castle? What about Cain? Why did-
                A loud grumble escaped Malia’s belly and irreparably wounded her stream of consciousness. “You know what?” she concluded after a pause, “All else can wait. Gorken, could you please hand me some of that strawberry pie?”

                “It will be my pleasure.” He snickered as he relinquished the tray.