How to Make a Sinner Sleep

109 | metamorphosis; yearning for home

There were things no physical barrier could contain—the sense of calmness that penetrated the plane dividing the two. Along the damp and filthy floors, Noah propped one knee up as his back pressed against the cold wall. The chill permeated his always cold skin, tingling along his spine.

His fingers curled lightly, knuckles tapping a rhythm against the wall. Every three of his, and a single tap would come from the other side.

As if reassuring that the other person was there, listening.

What thoughts filled that fool's head, alone in that dark space?

What had he thought back when he was merely a child with no ability to defend himself?

Through Noah's half-lidded gaze, the illusion of a small, bony, and malnourished child with a pale disposition flickered before him. Protruding knees curled helplessly to his chest, trapped in the darkness and crying soundless tears that nobody answered.

The air prickled around him, thick and cloying as his anger infused with the oxygen filling his lungs. All he felt was rage; pure and blinding fury.

Had he been there, he would've ripped them to shreds. Without mercy, without care, he would've made them learn that child's suffering tenfold.

The next tap of his knuckles was violent, scraping the skin of his fingers lightly. He paused, eyes dropping to the drops of red appearing through his black-inked hands. He exhaled, closing his eyes.

He tried to focus on the vague sounds from behind the wall. Kaden thought it was Noah who calmed him, eased his delusions, and kept him sane. He thought it was Kaden who needed Noah.

When in truth, it was Noah that needed Kaden.

Kaden, the manifestation of ease, the sound of life that calmed Noah's trembling rage, soothing the danger of his own spiraling thoughts.

The voice that spoke from behind the wall was frighteningly hoarse and broken.

"I'm sorry, Bellamy."

Noah jerked his body, pressing his shoulder blades against the wall as if sheer pressure could help him sink through and pass into the other side. He couldn't. His blessing was praised to be unique and powerful but what use did it have if it could do nothing for the one he wanted to save?

Noah breathed and wondered softly, "What for?"

Kaden fell silent, his back pressed against the wall. He thought, if he closed his eyes, he could feel the heat of the dragon's back pressing behind him. Of course, that was merely an illusion, a fleeting dream.

Their silence had been ongoing for a day, perhaps longer. The guards were forbidden from venturing to the basement—Kaden's blessing on this evening would dangerously impact regular people.

Noah had easily concluded, judging from the time of the year, that the night of the Blood Moon approached.

His thumb brushed past the scrapped skin on his knuckles, pure and unwavering darkness simmering around him. He never liked talking; it wasn't that Noah was particularly quiet, but that he never felt the necessity of speaking.

To be accurate, people were less interested in his words and more interested in his identity that was speaking. They would pretend to listen, playing faithful and genuine people, without really listening.

It was all a pointless game.

He stood across a trembling bridge, eons away from all those around him. He'd accepted that solitude.

Hearing the silence and the unsteady breath that quietened and then rose, Noah participated in a rebellion against all that he knew and believed. The life that he lived, the values he lived by, were all ruined by the mere shaking breath of a fool.