We'll get through
I know this, I've seen it
A hundred times, a thousand times
Just one more time
With you and I, I'll pull you close
And then we'll say goodbye
Silence.
A sound that had been heard by small ears for a long time - what seemed like forever. At least within the mind of a child. Soft footfalls through vacant hallways, the light rapping of fingers across walls, even the quiet
swish of fabric against fabric could be heard when one moved. The steady, rhythmic beating of one's own heart heard within their ears. The only sound that conveyed any trace of life within these walls.
Thump-thump. Thump-thump.No more laughter. No more shouts of glee or thundering races up the stairs; they had all gone their separate ways. As if that one person had been the glue that held them all together, with their departure everyone else slowly followed. He was no longer even comforted by the company of her children, his siblings...
His gaze flickered over the countless shadows, traveled along the wooden paneling, skimmed across the wooden floor. The slit, ebony pupils within pools of liquid gold caught every detail, every dimension; with no sound it was easy for one to slowly fine tune their other senses. Not that his had been dull in the first place, but the heavy stillness that had befallen and spanned many hours soon stretched into days, into weeks, into months.
It was like living in absolute nothingness; a house of emptiness, a temple of oblivion.
Ophi placed his palm flat against the dark, cherry wood door, even its smooth surface touched with the cold that had seemed to grip the house; the silence's only companion. He gently pushed the door on well oiled hinges, the solid block of wood making not a sound as it swung inward, revealing to him a shadow-filled room that was somehow darker than the others. The door stopped a good distance from the wall, but the boy simply stood just outside the threshold; bright eyes peering into the blackness beyond, as if his gaze alone could chase away the darkness.
Hesitantly, after standing on the edge of the room for what seemed like an eternity, the serpentine child gingerly stepped forward into the room. The catlike pupils in his eyes dilated, trying to give him a better view into the unknown, but he didn't need a visual reference for this place. As young as he was, he knew what lay within these walls all too well, even if this had been the first time he had come here since it had happened. Since
she had gone. He didn't even understand why she had gone, or where it was she went to; he only knew that she was no longer here, with him, and that she could never come back here. No matter how badly he wanted her to.
Scaly lips parted to release a soft exhale, radiant eyes almost glowing in the darkness as he moved forward; larger shapes coming into view. A chair in the corner, a dresser next to the window, a window that was covered with heavy drapes that hadn't been moved or even touched in so many weeks. And the bed, at least queen-sized, with a canopy and velvety fabric draped across it; the wooden posts carved with beautifully intricate designs.
The air smelled faintly of her; he noticed this as he neared the foot of the bed. Vanilla. He always remembered the vanilla because it smelled so good, but it wasn't just vanilla; there was something sweeter mingled with it. He couldn't remember what it was, but he didn't care because it wasn't vanilla and something sweet, it was her scent, it was her.
He placed his small, mossy-hued hands on the bedspread, as soft as it had been the last time he had touched it, and he felt something shift inside of him. It wasn't a pleasant sensation, it was a dark, yucky, crawly feeling that made him feel confused and lost and so very, very alone. And it hurt, he didn't know why it hurt, but it did; it hurt him inside, not outside, like he had gotten a cut
under his skin. A cut bigger than any he had gotten before, and he knew it was a cut that he couldn't put a bandaid over and make better.
Not in a million years.
Getting two good fistfuls of the bedspread, Ophi struggled for a moment before pulling himself up onto the bed; his lone wing flapping once as if to help him. He paused for a moment, on his hands and knees, something glimmering within the depths of his eyes. Something innocent, pure, something only a child could carry within them. A small flash of hope that maybe, just maybe, if the room was the same, if the curtains were the same and the bed was the same, and if it
smelled like her...
"
Mama...?"
His voice was small and sad, yet there was a desperate hope that lie underneath. A hope for everything to be the way it had once been, for things to be as they should be, a hope for everything to be okay.
But even as he peered up at the dark bed and spoke the one word he cherished over all others, all that greeted him as his eyes adjusted was a down turned sheet and a neatly set pyramid of pillows at the head of the bed. Yet still, the child continued to look on for a moment longer, the hope only melting from his face when a sound from his own mouth broke the silence; a quiet, anguished mewl.
Rhiannon was gone.
Forever.
Round, golden eyes suddenly filled with tears and he quietly made his way towards the large headboard; tiny body shaking and chest heaving as he attempted to hold in his grief. When he reached the pillows he collapsed onto them with a loud sob, trembling hands taking the blankets and pulling them around his body. He coiled his tail about him, tucking his hands underneath his chin and curling up in his mother's bed, tears spilling from his eyes and soaking into the pillow beneath him.
As the heady scent of her wafted from the pillows and blankets, he cried quietly, feeling more alone than ever. The pain he felt was more than a child should ever have to feel, the loss he suffered more than he could bare, and as he cried within the darkness for his mother, perhaps deep down he was also grieving for the part of himself that he had lost when Rhiannon died.
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