The North Star

6

I woke up in an unfamiliar room, once again.

Sometimes, I dreamed that I was still stuck on the mirror. It was a good thing, or a bad thing, I just felt stuck.

Life would've been a lot easier if I had just been left behind. Or murdered alongside my mother. 

Maybe not for me, but certainly for the rest of my family.

Rhys had scrubbed me from existence. They all did.

I wondered how long is room for them to pack up my room, my books, and every portrait that showed me.

I didn't want to see anyone, not after the fit I had just thrown.

Rhysand had commanded me, (through Cassian and Azriel, mind you) to stay in the Town House, so the news of my existence wouldn't spread.

It was for my safety, he argued. It was a lie.

It was damage control.

I was trapped within the house.

It's not like I could fly anyway. Sometimes, walking was easy, until I remembered I had wings. It threw me off balance for the rest of the day.

When I had them, I could make them disappear like Rhysand, but the Spring Court poisoned me, robbing me of any magic to hide or defend myself.

Now, my enemy was boredom.

I didn't want to do magic. It reminded me of all the bad things that happened in my life. Magic always had a price.

Books bored me.

I hadn't dared to touch the music room, with the piano and instruments.

I wondered if my music had been shoved deep into the closet, or burned since Rhysand could not bear it.

To get there, I would have to pass the kitchen and the living rooms, where someone would be.

257 years in a mirror, not seeing another kind soul, and I wanted to be alone. The irony.

It had felt like seconds and minutes, but time was cruel.

I had even looked exactly the same before the mirror.

I wasn't even pale from the lack of sun.

I hadn't even lost muscle.

I had been frozen in time, and yet, I was a shell of myself.

I wondered if I could winnow, if I could still break minds, if my shields were weak now.

The door opens, and I wonder who has broken through my feeble locking spell.

Morrigan.

Of course it was her, all the others would knock. But when Mor puts her mind to something, it becomes her sole focus.

"Carina." She greets.

"Morrigan." I repeat her welcome.

I sit at the desk, and then I turn myself to face her, as she settles on the edge of my bed.

Her mouth opens again, "Are you okay?"

I want to snort at her question, but her eyes bore at me, picking every piece of me part so she can study it.

I could tell the truth. No.

I could lie. Yes.

Neither sounded like a good option, so I shrugged.

She sighed, and I know that I didn't give her the what she wanted. Morrigan softly states, "This is not the Carina I know. That the world knows."

I know. I know that I am broken.