***Cadiz***
The lunch bell rang twice through the halls of Ravenshollow. I stayed on my bed, staring at the ceiling while the shadows moved with the clouds outside. My stomach felt empty, but not from hunger. It was a deeper kind of emptiness that had been growing since my search in the library failed three days ago.
Three days of reading every book I could find. Three days of searching for even one mention of "null omegas." I'd read about bloodlines, magic, and omega conditions, but there was nothing about my situation. No clue. No trace.
The silence in my room felt heavy, pressing against me. Outside, I could hear servants walking in the corridors, horses in the courtyard, the clang of swords from the training ground. Life went on, but I felt stuck, like I was frozen in place while the world kept moving.
I forced myself to sit up and went to my desk by the window. Everything was neat and perfectly arranged. Ink bottles in a straight line, quills sorted by size, papers stacked evenly. It looked organized, but it only reminded me how little control I really had.
From the drawer, I took out the journal Camilla had given me before I left home. The leather was worn smooth now. I'd written in it almost every day since arriving, about the weather, the meals, the servants, the books. Ordinary things. It helped me feel grounded.
But now, the last few pages were still blank. I hadn't written anything in days. I couldn't.
What was there to write? That I'd searched for answers and found nothing? That people here talked about me like I was some rare item instead of a person? That my husband treated me kindly, but never closely, as if I was something fragile and distant?
I picked up a quill, turned it in my hand, and then set it down again. The words wouldn't come.
Maybe I could write to Camilla instead. I pictured her face, her bright eyes and easy laugh. She'd hugged me so tightly the day I left that it hurt. She was only twelve, still a child, but she always saw straight through me.
I dipped the quill into ink and hovered it over the paper. "My dearest Camilla" should have been easy to write, but I couldn't bring myself to start. I didn't know what I could say.
Should I tell her I was fine? That would be a lie, though I'd told it before. I'd written about the beautiful mountains, the kind staff, and the peace of my new life, all technically true, but hiding the real picture.
Or should I tell her the truth? That I was lost and confused, living with people who whispered about me like I was part of some plan I didn't understand? That my husband spoke to me with politeness instead of warmth?
The ink dried on the quill while I sat there, unable to decide. Camilla was just a child. I couldn't burden her with this. But lying to her didn't feel right either.
I pushed away from the desk and sat back on the bed. The afternoon light had shifted, and the room was filled with soft shadows. Time was passing, but I didn't feel part of it.
I pulled the blankets over myself. The warmth helped a little, though the air wasn't cold. I'd never been the kind of person to hide in bed during the day, but lately it was the only place I felt calm.
A soft knock came at the door. I thought about ignoring it, but the knock came again.
"Enter," I said. My voice sounded rough.
Mrs. Garrett came in with a tray of food. "Your lunch, my lord," she said, setting it on the table by the window. "Cook made your favorite soup, the one with the garden herbs."
I gave her a small smile. "Thank you. Please tell the cook I'm grateful."
She nodded and left.
The soup smelled good, warm broth, vegetables, herbs, but I couldn't eat. I just sat there, staring at it, feeling nothing. Even food had lost its meaning.
I thought of Mari, the maid who'd taken care of me back home. She would've scolded me for skipping meals. She believed most problems could be fixed with food and rest. Maybe she was right, but I doubted soup could fix this.
The light shifted again as the afternoon wore on. I stayed wrapped in the blankets, caught somewhere between sleep and waking. I didn't move. I didn't think. I just existed.
By the time the sun began to set, the soup had gone cold. I finally sat up, but it felt like dragging myself out of deep water. The untouched tray on the table reminded me of how useless the day had been.
Still, I couldn't bring myself to feel guilty. Searching for answers had drained me. I had nothing left for anything else, not eating, not talking, not pretending.
Tomorrow, I told myself, I would try again. I'd go back to the library. Maybe there were books I'd missed. Or maybe I'd find the courage to ask questions directly, even if it made people uncomfortable.
But not today.
Today, I would just endure it. Some days, that had to be enough.
The journal still sat open on the desk, its blank pages waiting. The letter to Camilla was only an empty sheet. The food was cold and untouched.
But I was still here. Still breathing. Still hoping, even if that hope felt small and far away.
The evening bells began to ring. I didn't plan to go down to dinner. I hadn't gone yesterday either. The thought of sitting across from Raizel, pretending everything was fine, was more than I could handle.
Outside, the mountains were turning dark as the last light faded behind them. They would outlast all of this, my fear, my confusion, my questions. Somehow, that thought comforted me.
Maybe I didn't understand why I was here or what they wanted from me. But I was still part of something bigger, something that would keep going even when I couldn't.
The candles flickered in the draft. Their flames bent but stayed alive.
So would I.