Tag Archives: painting

The Awakening, part 14

It must be late morning by the time I open my eyes. I lay curled up on my bed, Moira’s diary under my outstretched hand. I feel somewhat groggy and tired. Shouldn’t have read through the night, but I just couldn’t stop myself. The content between these pages sounds incredible, and yet I can sense the truth behind the words.

I sit up on the bed and hold the diary in my hands. I get lost in thought as I examine its simple leather cover. What would it be like, to see a dragon fly over my head? Would I be terrified, startled, mesmerized? Would I tremble in fear, or rejoice to see such a magnificent sight?

I finger through the pages before I put the volume under my pillow. It is by no means thick, but Moira’s handwriting is rather small and some of the letters she uses are unfamiliar to me. So I haven’t even made it halfway through.

I briefly consider looking for the source of the strange illumination that is still present, but drop the idea almost instantly. There are no shadows to search by and besides, I decide to not question something that makes my life more comfortable. Instead, I get up from the bed and move toward the painting of a soldier that caught my eye yesterday.

Giles. The name just pops into my head. I don’t know how it can be, but it’s like I feel that it’s his name. I raise my hand and gently touch the canvas. This scene is positive. A soldier returning home. He’s obviously happy. And yet… Now that I examine the painting closely, I can sense that not everything is well. The artist didn’t want it to show. But it does, somehow. I can see it in my mind’s eye, as clearly as if I’d been there myself.

Giles was among the first battalion that made it back home after the war was over. Not won, but not lost either. I was so immensely happy when I saw him walking toward me. We had missed each other for so long. He hugged me tight and told me how happy he was to be back home with me. At that moment I was too overjoyed to listen to what my power told me. But as the days went by I could feel that I was losing him. He didn’t complain, but I saw he was in pain. And it would only get worse. When I finally realized he was suffering from a poisoned Elfin arrow, it was already too late. I could only ease his pain as I watched him waste away.

The emotion is too much for me. I step back so quickly that I stumble and fall on my ass. What was that?? I avert my eyes, half afraid to look at the painting, and make haste as I go down. As I descend via the pantry shelves and look up one last time, I see the attic is dark again.