The Deepest Cut

When Caedes began to dream, his consciousness drifted into a realm where the past mingled seamlessly with the present. It was easy, falling into this vivid place, like he was truly there and yet his senses were limited to only the space within his den. And his den. Exactly as it was before the devastation he had wrought in the wake of Aurelia's death. Everything was the same, and he didn’t know whether he hated it or appreciated his dream for offering him some semblance of mercy in light of what was looking more and more like a nightmare.

The familiar aromas of crushed herbs, the warmth of a fire, the place he had worked hard to make comfortable yet efficient. He moved through the space with his usual grace, his heart pounding as he approached the spot that should have been stained with her blood. But instead of the horrifying scene he expected, Aurelia stood there, her scent vibrant and her fur pristine. Why had he been blind to her presence until now?

Caedes froze, his breath catching in his throat. His gaze locked onto her, disbelieving. She was alive, her markings shimmering in the dim lighting; not like the macabre dullness while his cousin wore her fur like a grotesque cape.

“Aurelia?” He whispered, his voice trembling with a mixture of hope and sorrow. He moved to her to investigate, reaching out, as if to confirm she was real, his emotions swirling in a tempest of grief, regret, and somehow something much more longing. The sight of her standing there, whole and unblemished, struck him to his core, shattering the barrier he had built around his heart after coming to terms with that night and his own self hatred. He felt the torment anew.

In that moment, the den seemed to breathe with him, the splashing of the spring mirroring the beating of his heart as it grew more intense. The lighting flickered, shadows casting in strange ways, like they were mimicking the blood spatter on the floor as memory flashed to life within his mind. The illusion of her was so perfect, so achingly real, that he felt the weight of his guilt and sorrow lift, if only for a fleeting instant. Even if this conjured up image of her were to curse him and blame him, he’d be at peace with it. He wanted it. This dream, this vision, this cruel reminder of the friend he had lost. It was all he could do to stare at her, emeralds so intense, so searching, as his paw came up to brush fingers against the azure of her cheek.