Her fae & His fairy

Chapter 2

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Azriel:

The silence is a sound. It is the sound of turning pages quietly, the sound of a hush word, the sound of a child in bed after a long day. It is the sound of contentment.

Silence is a song of a thousand instruments.

That is all there is.

The only sounds in the townhouse are coming from me. It makes me self-conscious of the way I breathe. It is too loud, it should not be this loud. I can hear every time the wind caresses the house, making the wood groan in complaint.

I lift the spoon from the bowl filled with porridge with sugar and cinnamon on top. A special breakfast my mother would make for me. The spoon clunks loudly against the porcelain when I put it back down, and I almost flinch from it. I tried to be careful, but even then, it was so loud in the silence.

I like silence, but this? This is more than silence. It's a monster screaming with its mute voice.

The house is empty.

I am

If you touched a person, you can feel their heartbeat, like a drum beating steadily in the night. It is a sign of life to you.

Silence drips from the walls, clothes, and furniture. It is always there, like a fine mist that outlines the world and turns it grey.

When the silence becomes too loud, it will start whispering. It is something new that has happened after the last war. At first, I could ignore it, and then afterwards, I blamed my shadows until I realised it was my mind. And what began as whispers will now often turn into screams so loud that my surroundings become blurred. All there are are the screams of my victims.

The kitchen window is open, and from outside, I can hear people talk, children laugh, and the wind travels around. The leaves are ruffling.

At least one window is always open to give sound to the house. To help me remember, there are others outside. Alone yet not so lonely.

I tried music and tried various kinds, but it ended up being too much. It is not the sounds that I miss. It's the presence of others.

I sit at the table in the kitchen. I sit in the middle, two empty chairs to both sides. Really, there are only empty chairs around it. The wood of the countertop is filled with small nicks, from the countless dinners that have been held here. There are stains on the top from food, wine, and paint. I don't get a new one. It reminds me that the house used to be filled.

Outside, the wind picks up, and I watch some leaves travel to the ground. It is not yet autumn, but in about a month, nature will turn red and orange. Cassian's favourite season.

I rise from the chair, careful not to make the legs scratch across the floor. I slowly wash the bowl in the sink while looking out of the window. The grass has overgrown and is in desperate need of help. Perhaps Elain will help, and she comes each spring to ready the garden with flowers for summer. She will be coming soon, to ready the garden for winter.

Placing the bowl in the sink, I turn around, walking to the hallway. I take my boots that are lined particularly straight in the cabinet. They are the only ones there.

The pictures Feyre did not bring to the Riverhouse are still lining the walls, but with two-thirds of the painting missing, the hallway becomes as big as the living room. The ones she left were of landscapes, a single one with a leathery wing. No faces, no memories. Perhaps she thought I would not want them. She did leave me two smaller ones, which both hang in the office upstairs.