n o v a (incomplete)

t w e n t y - n i n e

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t w e n t y - n i n e 

The female curled into the sheets made from silky satin is abrupt in her movement, form jolting forward with the sheets clutched to her chest, ribcage heaving heavily below with her sharp inhales and exhales, choking for the air that refuses to cooperate with her.

Her hair is damp, the fronts sticking to the sides of her face which have become greasy with sweat that glosses over the top. Her eyes are raw, the skin surrounding them stiff with dried tears and puffy like the rest of her face which is tinged with a flushed pink.

The heart that keeps her alive is deranged in this moment, beats tripping over one another and causing the blood in her vessels to ripple.

It takes Nova several minutes to steady herself, to calm her unhinged body and settle the mind that had thrown itself into panic when she had fallen to slumber, taking her to the darkest depths of herself. Maybe the female should've been more prepared – after all she had been through much, her entire lifestyle having been broken and rebuilt in a newer way.

The nightmares were never going to go away.

Her knees tuck into herself, forehead resting on the joints as she tries to get herself together, feeling hollow and empty. The sheets she had slept on were now dampened with her cold-sweat, the side of the pillow sticky with tears. The fabric had all been rumpled, as if her legs had tossed and turned.

She breathes in and out. She was safe. Nothing would harm her here.

It's a quiet whimper, fiercely shutting her eyes, thumb naturally feeling over the scar over her stomach, and the bite of her thigh. She never saw the skin rippled through on her back.

A knock on the door refuses to let her dwell on her thoughts, and her stomach jumps with the notion, wondering who it would be. It's a quiet pad along the velvet carpet beneath her feet, soft and light enough to have her soles sink into it.

It's a woman she doesn't recognise, most likely a handmaiden, that doesn't make any eye contact with her, head dipped low meekly and eyes pressed to the floor. Nova shifts on her toes, wiping her face down once again, fully aware it was evident she woke up in hysterics.

"Alpha Romaeus encouraged you to wake; he would like to spend time with you before dinner. He also requested I pass you this," passing her an item of clothing covered in a protective sheath, with some other garments. Nova only nods, throat dry and constricted.

The woman leaves as quickly as she arrived, Nova's fingers closing the door behind her. Her long legs are slow as she returns to the foot of the bed, eyes and fingers examining the material of what she had been given.

Her mouth purses, tugging at the white shirt that was rising above her thighs. She draws open the thick curtains, exposing the soft blue of the evening sky and the briskness of the air arriving with it. A glass of water is poured from the jug sitting on the bedside, easing the ache in the hollow of her throat. She ducks down to the material of her sweats, which had been draped over a back of a cushioned chair, fumbling through the pockets.

Her phone is eventually revealed, pressing it to her ear. Rocco had been nice enough to get her a SIM card, presenting it to her in their journey from the airport. It rings through several times, but it's to no avail – the blonde doesn't pick up.