Used to Be

The darkness opened its arms and engulfed him as he stood, waiting, listening to the rhythmic sound of rain as it collided with the ground, a ceaseless, whispering cascade of water that soon sparked a chill along his spine. Try as he might, Roland could not decide on which way to turn, whether to walk or to run, or if he should simply stay put and hope for the wakening rays of sunlight to filter through the closely knit trees. That same glow he had noticed earlier remained, something hazy and out of reach, but the pale light would bend with every gentle breath of wind, swaying against the pressure of rain. Fireflies, perhaps, or some spectacle he had never seen before. Whatever world he had stepped into had dressed itself with none of the comfort and familiarity of the home he had known before. This one writhed with all the fatal allure of a poisonous flower, unfurling with tantalizing sparks of colour in the darkness, inviting one to lean in and inhale. It was poised to strike, like a snake in the underbrush, with fangs sharpened to a point. Roland had been bit by one such viper before; he was not about to fall victim to the same ploy again. The first stirring of motion to fall upon his ears was the soft staccato of footfalls, a flicker of movement between the trees as Roland turned towards its source. What emerged was not a beast of the forest, violent and hungry, but a small and graceful shadow, painted in the lines and curves he had come to know and love. Lena. She had been the first to welcome him back once before, and she was there again, folding out of the darkness with a grace that stood in stark contrast to the sharp edges closing in around him. As she rushed towards him he forgot, for a moment, that he wasn’t home. Her laughter, her voice, was a beacon to him, and he moved towards her with little care for the pain sparking in his limbs. “Are you alright?” He questioned as she closed the distance between them in a rush, his name echoing from her lips. Lena wrapped herself around him, despite the mud that had splashed up his side and across his chest, the scrapes on his limbs and the rainwater tracking down his neck in thick rivulets. The Songbird welcomed him into the abyss with her warmth, her fervor, and somehow within her embrace, this new world didn’t seem so frightening after all. Roland’s bloodied knees trembled as he sank into her touch, holding onto her like he would clutch a torch in the darkness. He breathed in her scent, so familiar and pleasant, so it would block out the taste of all that was strange around them. Yet, she no longer smelled of home, of northern winds and the icy air, and Roland grew still, troubled, beneath her grasp. “Where are we?” He said, voice a quiet whisper beneath the rain. “Where are the others?” Push your luck if it makes you a promise that turns con men honest.