The Fantasy She Desired

After all, there was nothing left to do but pick up the pieces. While sorting through the elderly woman's clothing and lovely jewelry, Elyra felt numb, as though she was incapable of feeling anything. Like Annelore, the garments were brittle with age. How recently had Annelore purchased a new clothing for herself? She had always made sure that each year Elyra had two new outfits.

And the decorations: painted pieces of burned clay, stone carvings, and lovely glass ornaments. Elyra's grandma had proudly shown them all off when she was younger, drawing what little happiness she still had from her treasured items. The half-demon, however, only discovered a few of them, and the most of them were shattered, as she combed the chamber. Where had the others gone? Elyra made an effort but was unable to recall.

In addition, she had anticipated finding a box full of gold and silver, treasures amassed over a long and prosperous life, but no such hoard turned up. Three silvers were tucked away in a box that had once contained gold jewelry, and only a few coppers were lying around.

Elyra looked back at Amara after picking up one of the silvers and rolling it between her fingers. Elyra enjoyed the companionship of Amara, who had lingered to assist her in sorting through the elderly woman's possessions. Elyra might not have had as much right to be here as the witch-girl did. She certainly didn't appear shocked by how little Annelore had left behind.

She must have spent years—possibly the majority of Elyra's life—selling her treasures. But she had never spoken a word of it. She had maintained the façade of the life she wanted to present, handling it all with taciturn dignity and caution. Elyra questioned whether she and Amara had discovered even two complete golds together as they dug through the few remaining pieces.

"Grandmother, did you think you would live forever?" For a moment, she forgot that Amara was in the same room as her and whispered. Or did you simply want to pass away before everyone realized how far we had fallen?

The half-demon was surprised to receive a response because he hadn't anticipated one. "All she had was her pride." For someone who had recently lost a loved one, the words had a biting edge that was unexpected—or maybe not so strange after all. She abandoned everything of worth, including wealth, honor, and love. She wouldn't have anything if she hadn't pretended. Me and you? The fantasy she wanted did not include us.

After a short silence, Amara said in a low voice, "But she did tend to us, didn't she? with all of her remaining might.

Then she became silent and wiped her eyes with her sleeve across her hand. She briefly resembled the child she was—eleven, maybe twelve, still very young. Once an orphan, and now again.

Elyra put the useless wooden box down and walked across the room to kneel next to the girl. Her instincts told her that was the appropriate thing to do, but they didn't provide her any further direction. Is it time for her to hold her? Kiss her forehead, stroke her hair? Since she had never experienced such a gesture, Elyra was unaware of it.

Finally, in a quiet voice, she whispered, "Amara."

"I understand," the witch-girl said, her eyes stopping suddenly as her face froze into a neutral expression too poised for her years. "My grandmother wasn't even her. I should stop crying; you are the one who There was silence after her words faded into a heavy hiccup.

Feeling the burden of duty as the elder, Elyra tried to find something to say to break the oppressive silence. At last, she said, "She was as much your grandmother as mine," which caused Amara to stop and give her a strange look. This encouraged Elyra to keep going for reasons she was unable to identify. Without regard for anyone who may overhear from outside, she raised her voice and pressed, "Aren't you as much my sister as if you were half-damned yourself?" "Do you think that just because her bones are in the woods now, I'll forget that?"

Despite being sincere, her final remarks seemed hollow and ended too abruptly. Elyra felt as worthless as ever as the awkward stillness returned. When Amara remained silent, she finally answered, "Well, I won't."

She was disappointed if she had hoped for a response. A long moment later, the witch-girl went back to folding the old clothes. Elyra was defeated and went back to the plain wooden box with its three thin silvers. She put the third in her pocket and palmed the other two.

She avoided looking at the girl as she crossed back to Amara and took her hand, pressing the two silvers into her palm. "We'll divide it fairly," she murmured feebly, "but it isn't much of an inheritance." Amara would require the funds much more than Elyra, and that was just.

Regarding herself, she found herself thinking about Dorian, the farmer who loved her while being aware of her secret. She was old enough to get married, and he was a decent man. Although he hadn't proposed yet, she had a feeling he would do so shortly. She was certain it would be a lovely life, a settled future. She may eventually come to love him. Compared to a woman facing the world alone, half-demon or not, that was a much better possibility.

But her tongue seemed heavy and ineffective, unable to ease Amara's pain or ease her own sorrow. "Amara… the house," she said, her words piercing like swords. Was it your grandmother's?

The witch-girl shook her head and made a halting attempt to speak. She cleared her throat and gave it another go. It was sold by her years ago. It must be given back to the bank upon her passing. She muttered, "You should take what you can carry and go," after an excessively lengthy pause. Nothing is keeping you here right now. "The angel won't stop hunting you," she added, looking skyward. Staying will result in your demise.

Elyra felt as if she had been struck by those heartless words. She briefly remembered her grandmother's final blow to her and the heartbreaking realization that their relationship had ended there, forever. She felt dizzy, but it passed, and she found herself in the old woman's room, holding a ripped piece of cloth.

The angel. Since they started organizing Annelore's belongings, she hadn't given him a second consideration. Amara was correct, though. Until one of them was dead, Sent, the angel, would pursue her relentlessly. Would she make it through that last battle? She shrank at the idea of his blood on her hands once more. She shuddered as tears pierced her eyes. There was no easy answer. Not even Dorian was a possibility anymore.

Amara was correct. She couldn't find anything here.