Elisabeth Writing

Iris awoke in soft light, stretching her arms over her head and sighing in contentment, turning to the right side of the large, cloud-like bed. Her fingers traced the indent of where her love had slept the night before, sleepily, wondering what dreams he might have had when she’d been flying in her own. It was strange that they still had dreams, here in this place. Nightmares still stalked her at times, but they nipped at her heels far less than they had when she’d been there. 

But as the pads of her fingers prodded the space beside her, she realized that his side of the bed was cold. 

Her hair floated around her face as she sat straight up, her heart already pounding like something within her knew. An oily feeling began to slither in her gut. “Wilder?” She tentatively called out, her voice shaking as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. It couldn’t have been that far past dawn, and the scent of the blooming roses only made her stomach tighten further. He had planted them, when they found this place. Or rather, when they’d chosen it. She’d liked the soft lapping of the waves on the shore, and he’d liked the rich soil and the large windows that let in all the natural light. They’d both liked the bow windows and the one turret room, which they’d claimed as their bedroom almost immediately. They’d both liked vibrant colors and bold patterns and soft fabrics. They’d made this place their home. 

Hadn’t they? 

She pulled on a red sundress that he’d once said made her glow. His hands had bunched the fabric of it when he’d pulled it up to her waist, his knee between her thighs as he’d made her squirm and moan, her hands fisting into his shirt, his lips at her clavicle. The memory normally made her flush with pleasure but today it only made her throat slam shut. Where was he? He could be on a walk, Iris reasoned with herself, but that rang hollow to her even in her mind. He would have left a note. Why hadn’t he written a note? She was already slipping into her flip flops, preparing to make a dash for the building on the top of the hill. The woman there would have answers. She had to… 

Iris stepped out into the air, thick with salt, and took a few deep breaths. Sails dotted the sparkling waters as boats floated by lazily, not a care in the world. They never had to fear a storm overturning them or taking their lives. That part had already happened. She took a moment to stand still and watch them, feeling something tug at her stomach, something deep and best left buried. People strolled along the grass or in and out of the trees, budded with spring flowers or the raiment of autumn colors. Here, seasons were all at once, all the time. The buildings in the square were all made of white marble, and the streets were made of golden bricks or rosey stones. A trill of laughter floated to her ears, and she looked up as a young girl went running past, chased by what could have been her mother or sister – it was hard to tell, here. People appeared as the age where they were the happiest, whether they had… left the other place… at that age, or not. 

And that was another thing that she didn’t want to think about. 

Iris lifted her head and looked up to the building that dominated this world: an airy coliseum-like place, with towers made of moonstone, at the top of a large hill. It shimmered in the heat like a mirage, but she knew it was a tangible thing. The steps up the hill reverberated with music, and she knew that they would be warm in the sunlight. It was a rare thing to visit there, despite how beautiful and welcoming it seemed. The building on the hill was a place you only visited when you had a problem, and here, there weren’t too many of those. Iris, of course, had been going there for years now: training and learning from her mentor, Ourania. She usually took the stairs with care and patience, every step ringing with intention. But today wasn’t an ordinary day. So, Iris ran. 

She was soaked in sweat, her hair in damp tendrils around her face, by the time she reached the entrance. Airy music and the smell of lilacs drifted to her, but today they gave her no peace. Ariel, one of her friends and fellow students, looked up at Iris in surprise from her perch on a large indoor fountain. She opened her mouth, presumably to ask why Iris was there, when she seemed to notice her friend’s state of dishevelment. “Iris, are you alright?”

Iris panted, her legs shaking, and put a hand to her stomach, which seemed to have dropped to her toes. Ariel gave her time to collect herself, her brown eyes shadowed, her mouth turned down at the corners. “No time. Where is Ourania? I must speak to her. Now.”

“What-”

A voice made of smoke and dreams wrapped around them both. “It’s alright, Ariel. I was expecting her.” 

Ourania glided into the room, nearly floating with grace. Today, her honey blonde hair was braided in a coronet around her head, with loose curls around her face. A small tiara of diamonds and aquamarine glinted in the hazy golden light, and her face was somber. Iris felt a true bolt of fear strike her. The woman before her was always smiling, always laughing, always touching you with light fingers and soft lips against your cheek. To see her so restrained and sepulchral made Iris’s worst fears flash before her eyes, made her nearly fall to the floor. This was the face of bad news. Of doom, of gloom, of sorrow. Iris took a shaky breath. “Where is he?” She demanded. “Where is Wilder?” 

Ariel’s gasp was audible. And Iris watched as Ourania flinched. Flinched. Bile rose up in her throat as Ourania shook her head slowly. “He’s gone.”