It's a beautiful day.

The sky is a canvas, painted with wonderful shades of pink, orange and blue, forming a marvelous painting above our heads and the grass is perfect, with the liveliest green and the tiniest white flowers blooming in random places. Besides me, silky locks of honey colored hair flutter in the wind. They make the scene complete, like the final piece of a puzzle falling into place.

"Do you think we can do it?" A voice asks. A sweet voice. Her voice. It seems to fly with wind, words growing distant, dancing between flowers and trees, brushing every petal with the gentleness only the innocent the child can carry.

When she turns around, I find big green eyes. They glimmer, and the hope I find in them is enough for the both of us.

I open my mouth to reply, to tell her we can. I move to hug her, to hug her childish innocence but something keeps me quiet. Something keeps me still. The girl smiles, a smile as bright as the sun, but there is something awfully wrong:

Everything is beautiful. Everything is perfect.

For a moment, I push the thoughts aside. I take it in, I watch the grass dancing in the wind, and the sun hiding in the horizon, I watch the beauty I can no longer have. And lastly, I look at the little girl. My eyes move, she's already looking at me, but not the real me.

I open my mouth anyways. "Yes, yes we can"

Her smile widens, she opens her mouth and I feel time stretch as I wait for the following words.

Finally, she speaks. "I promise I'll—"

And then I wake up.

A drop rolls down my face, I feel it leaving a wet trail through my skin until it lands in the pillow. Sweat? Or tears? I don't know.

I sit up, eyes flashing through the room, mind finding reality. The cold is the first to greet me. It's a horrible kind of cold, the kind that gets under your skin, the kind that reaches your bones. It seems to kill you from the inside, stilling your muscles.

Then it's the ash.

I climb out of bed, legs wobbling with tiredness and dizziness to the door. I push it open and step out, for fresh air, I tell myself, and then I realize there is no such thing here.

The sky is ashen blue. Grey. The ground is covered in ashes, in burned wood, in remains of what used to be, in sorrow, in despair, in hopelessness, in grief. In pain. Grey.

Its the most painful part of the sight. To see, to remember what it was. To remember the flowers, the colors, the grass. To remember the laughter, the sweet melody ringing through the air. The tears, they weren't often, but there were. Little rivers running down our cheeks as we sang our fears to one another. And the smiles. But now there's nothing. Grey.

I turn around, my home. Paint peeling off, rooftop broken, missing windows. Grey.

Grey. Grey. Grey.

Everything is grey.

I take a deep breath, if only to calm down but I end up coughing. There's nothing pure anymore, there's nothing clean left. Just abandon. Just corruption.

Before I can do much, a set of footsteps catch my attention. If this thing has done me any good, is sharpening my senses. I reach for the knife along my leg and—

"Damn it" I curse under my breath. How can I forget my weapon?

The steps grow closer, they're slow, careful. Dangerous.

I press my back against the corner of the house readying myself with what I've got: my two hands.

I listen carefully, they're in the front door. It's an easy way in, the door's wide open.

And my things are inside.

I shuffle closer, raising my hands in preparation... and then I jump in.

We both stop dead in our tracks.

"What the hell are you doing in my house?" I say brittlely.

He doesn't answer. His eyes sweep over me in a rude manner, his face contorting with something between disgust and amusement. "Still mourning?" He spits out, something like a smirk curving the side of his lips.

I lower my hands. He's not an enemy but that doesn't make me want to punch him any less. "What do you want, Jax?" I spit out, ignoring his gaze. I feel like a mess, and apparently, it shows.

Finally, he looks up at me. He crosses his arms over his chest, leaning his body back against the wall. "There's been another attack, far north."

Another attack, another innocent life taken away.

I close the door behind me, if anything to feel more safe.

"And what do you want me to do?" I ask, narrowing my eyes over him.

"Though that with all that 'hero' thing you might want to play the part, no?"

I clench my hands, really wanting my fist to connect with his face. "Did you come here just to bother me?" I leave the entrance, heading to the table where the knife lies. It feels nice in my hand, and I instantly feel my muscles relax at the familiar weight.

Jax doesn't move, but I don't expect him to. This place makes you forget old fears, instead replacing them with bigger ones. Everyone should have a weapon now, anything. But we can't stay unarmed, it's necessary. It's vital.

And everyone should point it at everyone.

I aim directly at him, a warning more than anything.

"What exactly are you doing here, Jax?" I say, throwing aside any emotion still stuck to my voice.

For a moment, he doesn't move. His cold grey eyes stare, not making a sound. And then he straightens himself, pushing his body off the wall. His shoulders droop a little and his hands are shoved into his pockets as he begins to speak. "I saw your friend" he says with a shrug.

My hand drops.

"What?..."

My arms fall back to my sides and my gaze becomes lost in the sea of emotions that seem to crash over me. Everything stops, everything becomes still, even the howling wind fades away. Images are pushed onto my mind, images I don't want to see, images I'd much rather have gone. But they're there. A moment burned, forever imprinted into my head. Then a nightmare, a dream. A memory.

Her.

Horror is next.

I raise the dagger again, my eyes refocusing on his face. "Did you—"

"I didn't do anything." He says, cutting my words short. My arm falls with relief.

Jax runs a hand through his messy black hair, and a few strands fall into his face. He brushes them away abruptly. "Look, I don't care about your friend, nor do I care about your feelings, but I have to warn you about something," he says.

I don't say anything. It's not a shocking revelation. There are somethings that don't need to be voiced to be known and this is one of them. I don't like it, but I understand. Still, I can't help but feel a twinge of anger at the words.

"She's been used on the attacks," he begins, and I visibly tense as I imagine her, fighting against the innocent people who she so dearly wanted to protect. It would make her hate herself. I wonder if she does.

But she's not herself anymore, I remind myself.

"She's key to their victory, so she's an important target, one of the most important. If she continues to be, she'll get an arrow through the heart" he takes a threatening step forward, his eyes hardening even more. "And," he begins, his brow furrowing to an infuriating glare. "if she gets any close to hurting any of my people, I'll do what I have to do."

Breathe. Breathe, I tell myself.

"And what the hell do you want me to do?!" I blurt out instead.

I've had enough feeling guilty about what happened to her, I really can't have this right now. If only he knew, if only someone knew just how much I've done, how much I've tried, how much I've searched for something to help her, for something to undo this mess. If only someone knew how many nights I've stayed awake. But instead he comes here as if I had been sitting here all this time, as if I've just been watching all this time, enjoying what's going on outside.

My grip around the dagger becomes worryingly hard and for a short, sickening moment I wish to slash out. I quickly try to shake it off.

"You—"

It doesn't work.

"Just shut up!"

The blade of the dagger digs into the wood table, my hand still wrapped around it, my knuckles bone white. This time, when I talk, I talk through gritted teeth. "Just. Shut. Up."

A long, heavy silence falls and stretches between us. Nobody moves, nobody makes a sound. I try to breathe, to calm my racing heartbeat but my hand just keeps tightening it's grip, and my heart just continues drum in my chest.

This is not what she would've wanted. This is not what she wanted for me.

Slowly, I let her face plague my mind. There's a sweet smile curving her lips, and her eyes are bright, sparkling with hope and dreamy wishes. She's as bright as the sun. "We'll be the heroes of Ashbridge!" She said it so enthusiastically.

Slowly, I let go of the weapon and the anger is quickly replaced by something else.

"This is not what she would've wanted..." I think aloud, heaving a sigh and hoping to let out the sudden tension. I never liked arguments, fights are the worst and I never got into any, but lately it seems unavoidable. Everyone is tense, everyone is angry, everyone is a time-bomb about to go off. I hate it.

"I just want this place to stop turning into the grey hell it's turning into" Jax says, and I glance at him. He hasn't moved from his position and his face is still hard, but not as hostile as before. "and for that, I can't let anyone else get hurt. I hope you and your little friend understand" his voice is hard, and seriousness laces every word, accentuated by his furrowed brow.

I take a deep breath, embarrassment making my gaze slip away.

Before any other thought is voiced, Jax takes his leave, he walks past me, and a chill wind embraces the house as the door is opened.

"Bye, Cora"

- - -

The night has settled in and light is nowhere to be seen. Ever since that day, nights have become sheer darkness, it's almost impossible to go out and very, very dangerous.

The first attack was a mess, it was an explosion, or at least that's how it started. Then came those things. They were monsters, attacking everything in their path, destroying everything they touched. But it wasn't them, they were lead by other people, controlled, manipulated. One of them got to us, despite my efforts to keep the house secured, despite my efforts to keep them out, one got in and she tried to help. She became the hero she said she'd be, taking my place. Taking the hit of something that should've taken me. I still hear the scream sometimes, and I still see her face sometimes, crying, screaming. It's a damn nightmare that I re-live every single day. And I regret it every single day.

Everything's been a mess, no power, no order, no safety. Everyone knows better than to step one foot out, especially at night, but thankfully, I'm not everyone.

"I'm going to find a way to save you, Lyra"

Cold hits my skin as the chilling wind catches my long hair. It leaves my neck exposed and a chill runs through my body as the trees shiver beneath the wind and the leaves crunch beneath my feet. Everything seems stronger today, the silence is too loud and the sky is too dark, even the cold, and the wind, I fear might shatter me with a simple blow but maybe it’s his absence that leaves an empty void inside my heart.

The trees stretch as far as my vision can see and only a few beams of light penetrate through the leaves in the dark. I wrap my arms around myself and continue to move my feet. Branches snap and leaves crunch but the silence doesn’t seem to be broken.

As I continue walking, a small clearing comes into view, and there, the moon shines it’s beautiful light upon the dark and all I can think is him. I see his skin, so pale beneath the moonlight and I see his eyes, a deep and fascinating sea in which drowned way too many times. Tears well up in my eyes and soon, they wet my cheeks leaving a trail of emotion through my face.

I step into the clearing, the moonlight washing over my body.

“I love you...” The words leave my mouth in not more than a whisper and I know they’re not heard by anyone but they leave my lips before I can stop them.

Another cold wind blows against my body. It gets under my skin, to my bones down to my soul. I feel it. I feel it in my heart.

Leaves crunch again, a brach snaps and the wind blows again but this time, it carries something else. It carries a whisper, a voice lost in time, lost between the trees and the nights. It carries something I thought impossible, a dream, a wish.

“I love you too...”

I never had a voice. I wore a solemn expression, stuck in monotony, spoke in monologues in my head. I never had much of a personality either, or at least that’s what the faces said. They stared at me, so many eyes, so many voices. "The silent child" was my name.

The silent child

I was told I never spoke, and it was true, but how do you talk when all there is is a lifeless whisper? I asked myself the same question repeatedly throughout the passing days. The sun rose and hid, the moon disappeared. The wind blew and the sky cried as the days passed. I'd stare at the stars in the night sky. I liked it, it was silent, like me. It showed its beauty without the need of words, it was breathtaking without the need to shine like the sun. It was different.

I became a shadow in the back of a room, quiet, lonely, watchful. I still didn’t have a voice, in fact, it had only grown lower, smaller, but then...

I found something.

I found art.

I found music. I became so fascinated with the piano, I was intrigued by the way it could express so many things without the need of a voice. It was my lullaby, a tranquil song that calmed me in the dark.

I found painting. It was my passion. The way different shades could come together to form a masterpiece, and the way it didn’t even need color. A single pencil and a blank paper was all I needed. My hand would glide through the paper, gentle strokes and lines became part of something much bigger. I was amazed.

And finally, I found writing. I found a voice. I spoke without a sound. It was my comfort. The words slipped through the ink, they came all together like the rushing water of the ocean. They didn’t stop, never ceased, I finally had a way to free myself from my thoughts, I could finally tell my story. I told it to the silence. My dear companion.

And so goes my story. I found a way to express every emotion without the need of a single sound. The night is still and it will forever be my favorite part of the day, I sit in the dark as my hand glides through an empty canvas, the piano sings in my ears throughout the process with its breathtaking beauty and when the masterpiece is finished, I write the words that need to be said, I tell the story that needs to be told and write the thoughts that need to be freed.

Art is my voice.

(The image above is a painting made by me digitally)

I sit in bed staring out into a shelf full of worlds, of doors and places like no one has ever seen. I look over them searching for the next one, searching for the next world to get lost in.

I brush my finger over their covers feeling the story within them, almost feeling the words as they wait to be opened. To release the story, to release an ocean of emotions and I find myself unable to let go, to leave a world that never existed for I fall in love with the words of a person that never lived. Their words become a part of me, filling a void inside my heart, their pain becomes my own and their laughter brightens the real world. And when it ends, I take with me the memories of a life I never lived and yet I borrow it’s lessons, I learn from its mistakes and grow from it’s experiences.

I am a reader and I have lived a thousand lives, I have met countless people and I have traveled through time and space, to horrors and beauties in a thousand different worlds.

"A reader lives a thousand lives before he dies. The man who never reads lives only one"

George R.R. Martin

I never saw your face

At least

Not in real life

But I got your texts

When the lights went off

And the nights turned cold

You warmed me with your words

We knew life

It wasn’t a fairytale

It wasn’t a game

I knew it

You knew it

I remember all the times you dried my tears

All the times you shared your fears

We were both broken

We were both alone

Holding onto each other

By promises and words

I never heard your voice

Or your laugh

I could imagine it

I could almost hear it

A ray of light in the endless darkness

A piece of joy in the endless emptiness

And now...

You are gone

I felt something wrong

I felt a light go off

I never got your text again

Never felt your warmth again

Never saw the light of your eyes

Or the way you smiled

Now I miss you

In the dead of the night

And the light of day

I hold onto the words you said

And the promises we made

I miss you

I hope you knew I cared about you

When you said nobody did

When your nights were cold

And your lights went off

I hope you knew

I cared for you

I miss you

I am a murdered

I remember her last breath.

That last breath. She was always so kind. I remember the way she looked at me. She wore a dead smile but even there... there was a smile. Small, broken, hurt, maybe fake, but it was there. It always was.

I remember the way her eyes glimmered that night.

Forever soft, and like the deep blue see, they held a terrifying depth, dark, alone, and fascinating, in it’s way. Tears wetted them. Always so soft.

I remember her voice.

Nothing could compare to it. The softest thing you’d ever hear, it was like the music of a piano played in an empty manor. Played, but not for anyone to hear. Beautiful, but full of suffering. If only someone had stopped to hear it, they would've fallen in love, but nobody ever did.

I remember her last words.

"I'm sorry"

She was always apologizing. Always being sorry, and yet, she had no reason to be. In her whole life she had never hurt a single heart, never shut a hurting soul.

I ended her.

I killed her for someone so delicate and fragile could not live in this world. She was innocent, pure, too much for a world full of hate and darkness.

I killed her.

I will always remember her. The way she seemed smaller every day, the way her voice faded away.

I knew her.

I knew her, I saw her in her best and worst moments. I saw her when she fell apart and when she build herself back up, and I knew her. I knew her perfectly because I saw her everyday in the mirror.

I am a murderer.

I am a murderer for I have killed a girl I used to be.

There’s blood in my hands but I learned from her and the once pure heart is now made of ice.

As the piano sings it beautiful melody, I will let my words unfold into the ink and the paper, between the endless pages I will lose myself pulling free of my thoughts I will spread them through the endless sea of white and I will let this be my medicine and my cure for only the pages will hear my story and only the ink will narrate my pain.