SWNOVELS Chapter Chapter Eighteen - Ramiel
I dream of my mother.
She cradles my head in her lap, caressing my cheek with a slender, porcelain hand. Her touch is warm and familiar, like the hum of the summer air as it glides and reaches into the library to bend and change books with its light kiss.
My mother has that effect on people—with a simple touch, you forget everything, and only she exists: a lone star glowing in the world’s impenetrable darkness.
Her face is thin and small, just as I remember it. Eyes a sparkling gray, always glossy with longing. Light pink lips are bowed at the top, her cheeks pale but vibrant, and her eyebrows always tense, converging over her nose. Dark, wavy hair ripples around her, long and stormy like the rain clouds that attend a moody sky’s thunderous wrath.
She smiles down at me as tears fill her eyes. Her fingers settle, shaping against the form of my jaw and cheek.
“Rami,” she says in a weak voice. A crystalline star slides across her white sky skin and hangs on her chin, shivering along with her jaw. She shuts her eyes and more tears fall, her eyebrows quivering in sorrow. “I’m sorry I left you so soon.”
I rest my hand over hers, covering it almost entirely. Under my large, rough fingers, her petite hand twitches. My jaw clenches. Who could kill such a beautiful, delicate person? And then, how could my own father treat her murder like it had been nothing?
“I don’t blame you for leaving me. I never have,” I say, struggling to keep my voice measured and even. It’s difficult. The memories of our limited time together flood back, and soon tears are budding in my eyes, threatening to destroy my pride once again.
“Oh, Rami,” she sobs, putting her other hand over mine, a sandwich of comfort to my now shaking arm. “You can’t blame your father, either. He...”
I shake my head, and she stops for a moment but then laughs softly. It’s a musical sound.
“Your father loved me, my son. And I loved him. It’s not his fault for what happened.” Her voice is calm and soothing, but my chest tightens.
Her life had been stolen in the night as she bathed in her private chamber. The blunt blade of a magical dagger was plunged through her heart, a flowering bud of crimson that dyed the water of her bath. She’d been found in the morning, her face indistinguishable and her body bloated and wrinkled from the water that reeked of death... and of lavender.
Members of the royal court concluded she’d committed suicide, but I knew that my mother would never do such a thing. She was murdered in cold blood. And at her funeral, nobody—not even the king—cried over her body.
“King Azriel never loved you,” I murmur, my voice a croak. Tears reach my chin. Her hand lifts off mine to wipe the droplet from my skin, then she places her hand on my other cheek. I reach my other hand up to hold hers. “He didn’t even cry at your funeral.”
I remember sobbing for days, weeks, and months on end, haunted by the image of her warm smile that would twist into a mess of skin ravished by magic. Every time I saw her face in my nightmares, I’d ask her if she’d taken her own life. And her answer had always been a calm shake of her head and a smile before she disintegrated into nothing.
Her eyes twinkle like crystals as she cries, yet her smile never wavers. The tears freely fall, and she can’t wipe them. Her expression is filled with sorrow and understanding. Does she believe me? Can she see the truth?
There’s that smile again, and she rolls her lips in on each other as she sniffles. “It matters not if your father loved me, Rami. I loved him dearly. As for my departure,” she pauses, tilts her head to the side, and her gray irises pass over my face, “it was my time to go.”
I grip her hands tighter. “I... I didn’t give you permission to leave.”
She laughs. She actually laughs at this. I know I’m being childish, but it’s all I can do to keep her here with me. I miss the comfort she brings, the warmth and the security that had been too short.
“You’ve grown into such a handsome man,” she whispers, ignoring my immature comment. Her hands ball into fists under my hands, the backs of her fingers cold on my skin. “You look... just like your father.”
My entire body stiffens and I slowly grab her hands, pulling them away from my face. She retreats them to her lap, then starts combing through my hair with her fingers. I don’t stop her. She’s not real, just a figment of how I remember her and a skewed perception of her perfectness. Everyone knows nobody can be perfect, yet I still can’t see her in any other way. She never gave me a reason to think she was anything less than.
Even if she damns me with words regarding my resemblance to King Azriel.
“So handsome,” she repeats, her hands tangling themselves in my dark brown curls. “So handsome.”
I know this dream is coming to an end, because her face begins to morph into that hideous mess of skin and bone and moisture, red and white and black and gray swirling into a gory monstrosity.
I close my eyes, take a deep breath in, and wait for the moment when I wake up.