Something is Wrong

Everything seemed so pleasant, he’d avoided all his siblings and  father for half the day, even at lunch the duo of his elder brothers were gone, sparing him the pain of perceiving them, and the only other member of the family present was his mother. She’d greeted him as was usual, offering a welcoming hug to her youngest son before quietly working on her vegetable soup and thumbing through a new novel. One he was sure he’d find in Elene’s hand in a few days. She seemed just as excited, eying the book title between working on a plate of steak and vegetables.

The day was shaping up as a fine one, so far, and with the record he’d expect the remainder to do as well, however he’d paused during lunch as a sharp pain twinged in his head, near the scar of his left temple. Perhaps the start of a later migraine, though the other strange feelings, tingling or other oddities precluding it had yet to occur. The pain came with a strange vision, of cobble streets, mist, dark orbs just out of view, floating slowly, unclear and distant. The sight of golden strands spread around him had him reaching instinctively to thread them through his fingers- That was Elene’s hair. He’d awoken to face-fulls of it before, most anytime she’d spend the night cuddled up to him, yet it seemed they were both on the ground, some dirty street, not in the comforts of a down bed and warm covers. He felt sick, and yet as he blinked again, the table and dining hall filled his sight. Elene was still across from him, happy as ever, and to his left, his mother at the end of the table still moving through the pages of her book at speed. Neither noticed his grimace and he’d look to the ground, as if the stones of that street would be underfoot, his feet mired in mud, to see if Elene was there... It was merely waxed wood flooring, shiny and well maintained, hardly any scratches.

“Uh-” He’d mutter, a feeling of confusion washing over him. Normally he’d keep his mutterings to himself, but it was disorienting to see two completely different scenes so quickly in succession. One possibly of his beloved injured or otherwise, worse dead, and another where she was well and happy across from him. Despite the quietness of his noise, he’d drawn both the women’s attention and his mother would speak up with some concern audible. She never missed a thing.

“What’s the matter, dear?”

“Nothing, apologies.” He’d quickly answer, hoping that was enough. As soon as he could, then he could be on his way to think.

“No need-” she’d start as he shook his head, offering her a smile. She’d not finished her words, but he assumed it was to tell him to not worry or hide his own thoughts, she wouldn’t hurt him or dare tell anyone who was not already present.

“I’m fine, mother. Thank you. I was just thinking of things. Elene, would you meet me in the garden, by the fountain once you are finished?” He’d get a nod in agreement from her, before she went back to dining, though his mother would still watch him with some knowing look.

As he went to pass by she’d gently take his arm, her hand as light as a feather, minding his bandages as she smiled kindly at him. Normally she’d give a reassuring squeeze, but she knew her son was injured and recovering. “If you’d like to ever talk, anytime, you know I’ll listen.” Her words were a reminder of how much she cared for him, and he’d feel a bit of sadness thinking of his plot to take over, would it include ending the life of even his loving mother?  

“Yes. Thank you, mother.” Yorro leaned over to kiss her cheek, avoiding the thought of how forced his words were. In that moment he was held, feeling her hand at the back of his neck to brush through his hair, gentle as ever. He longed to stay there, to feel comforted, yet he couldn’t. She’d smooth out a strand which worked itself loose and then she’d let him go.

With no time wasted he’d swiftly walk to the foyer, to the entry doors, opened once again with no prompt from him by two servants, and then, taking a few steps at a time, he’d descend the steps and be on his way to the garden fountain. Something wasn’t right, yet at the time it was... Why hadn’t he seen or even heard a peep from Eozon or Konnwyn, or from his father? No servant to request his immediate presence in his father’s gloomy study? No word if they were even out of the house, at some party? Nothing to startle him or bring him worry aside from his own pervasive thoughts of impending danger and dread. What worried him more was that vision. He didn’t have those, not when he wasn’t using magic and thinking of his own dark things to inflict on someone. 

At the same time he hardly did that, as the effects of his own torments on others left him shaken for days on end, plaguing him with uncomfortable nightmares, guilty and dreary thoughts. It was far too difficult to be cruel, despite his desire to hold himself over others, to be perceived as someone to follow, someone powerful, he always found a way to show kindness even in the most serious of situations. His father always called him soft and spineless, but he suspected at least that trait had him pinned. Imagining his soon-to-be wife unconscious or dead on the street wasn’t a normal occurrence or even anything he’d entertain on a sane day. He’d never once wish her harm or pain, and while sometimes he’d shove hurtful words her way, or think something mean-spirited, he’d never truly meant them. She knew he could be a jerk for appearances and he’d promised to make up for his shortcomings when things sat more firmly in his control, though it never made it right. He always felt bad afterwards, ashamed for his cruelty.

Yorro found himself at the fountain in a blink, not realizing he’d walked the entire way lost in thought and not remembering the path despite moving with his eyes open. It was troubling to say the least. With a sigh, he’d fish  instinctively through his pockets for a cigarette, finding only one crumpled in a sad state and his silver lighter in another. He’d light it with a quick flick of the flint and then bring the poor thing to his lips. Where it would bring some relief in his wandering mind, he’d feel the smoke fill his lungs and then he’d close his eyes. They’d open to that same damned scene, this time with more control.

He wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but he’d grab a handful of Elene’s long hair, gravel and mud scraping under his nails, leaving them stinging as he felt whether it was real. Despite the sting it was strangely distant, detached, like it wasn’t his hand, but another’s. Her hair was damp and as he moved to sit he found her form collapse over his. His other hand over her stomach to shield her fall. He didn’t remember this, and with some adjustments, he’d move her to a more comfortable position in his arms. She was heavy, he was tired, and with a groan he’d lay his head back against the hard stone street, feeling the dampness he wasn’t  entirely sure belonged to mud clinging to his hair.

He’d wanted to try sitting up again, but a hand on his shoulders had him jumping sharply, arms tensed and the tinges of stinging pain lingering in his bandaged arm from the Scourge battle, shrapnel that would stay with him until the grave. With a swift turn he’d see Elene again, this time standing behind him with a rose flower in her hand and the other held close, free of his shoulder by his turn.

“YORRO~” she’d start, sounding amused, “Poor darling, did I scare you?”

He’d stare at her in disbelief for a moment, scanning around for those streets and mud, instead it was the manor gardens and the pleasant warmth of the sun.

“What is going on-” He’d voice, getting a look of concern in response.

“What do you mean?”

“-I…” He’d place a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it harshly, to which she grimaced and slapped it, rose thorns from the stem she held scraping across the back of his hand. She felt real, she felt there, and a red line of a welt formed where the thorns traced. Elene wouldn’t ever be someone to be hurt by anyone physically. Not to let it happen, on purpose or not, and her reaction of slapping his hand also seemed genuine, as well as the slight sting.

“Don’t, that hurts.” Her words came with a warning, but that seemed the extent of it. She was too focused on what he had to say, watching his face for some sign of admission or explanation.

Without so much as an apology, Yorro retracted his hand, reaching for the cigarette in his mouth. Before he could claim it, Elene shot out her own free hand to snatch it from his lips, tossing it to the ground and stomping it out. He was fortunate she didn’t bring  her hand with the rose close to scratch him.

“You’re not supposed to be smoking! Is that why you’re being jumpy?” She’d consider him with a stern look, coming to conclusions that he’d been hiding taking a smoke from her and now trying to act odd to confuse or distract. Crafty as he was. They’d discussed how smoking was likely bad for the child and both their health, especially his with all the smoke blackening his lungs. Yet here he was. Acting like a fool.

“Wait- no. No. Not that, sorry- but-” He couldn’t find the right words, making him look all the more guilty.

She’d slap his shoulder lightly and start off among one of the many paths between the hedges. The end of any rebuttal or excuse he had. With a groan he’d look at the crushed remains of the smoke, smothered in the dampness of the fountain’s ground. No saving it.

Elene had made some distance in her angry walk, though he suspected it wouldn’t last long or sour any of her insinuations earlier. She rarely stayed mad or irritable and anything now was likely from the baby affecting her. Yorro would quickly catch up, breaking the silence with a little hop behind her, the stones echoing slightly and his amused face waiting for her to turn. She’d spin around to look at him with a frown, but like he knew her, she’d toss it away and press a hand to his chest, “Stop, you’re so bad!”

“Sorry, it was the last one!” He’d at least kept his promise on not buying more, even with the headaches and stress. His hands were also held high, showing he held no more. He'd have turned all his pockets out if she requested.

“Better be, you scallion.”

“That’s a plant ain’t it?”

“Onion.”

“Oh- I’m an onion?”

“One with a tiny bulb and a long stalk.”

He’d try to imagine what that was referenced to, but she'd lost him with her plant knowledge and instead of being potentially offended she’d find herself trapped in his arms. Elene never seemed to mind being pressed against his chest, and unlike when they wrestled, intended or not, she  permitted his playful hug. She’d take it as his apology.

“I thought we were going to bed first?” Anything to distract from his imaginations. Whether it was hallucinations or his magic seeping into his thoughts. He hadn’t corrupted any from what he knew of mages. No strange changes to mark the occasion of stepping a foot closer to meeting his monster self. To become something to kill. Closer to losing everything.

“No, to your rooms- to talk about the book- then a walk.” She’d lift her face from the front of his jacket, squinting up at him, perhaps to get a breath of air that wasn’t smelling like him, salt and whatever flowery soap he used.  “The doctors’ recommendation, we’re just changing it up I suppose. Don’t tell me you forgot your request for my presence not five minutes ago?”

“AH- not at all.” He had. With a sheepish smile he’d continue, “Or we could have some fun in the garden. The servants are never here around now, it’s a nice day, birds and bees are out.”

He had half a brain cell left to imagine she’d not take his blatant uncreative innuendos as funny, her initially lightening look quickly darkening to a once more serious countenance. She was already pregnant, what did he want but selfish things.