Chapter 14

Teal places a paintbrush in my hand, smiling at me. “Did you decide on what you would try to paint yet?”

“A cobra.” I reply, twirling the paintbrush in my hand, studying its aspects. “A blue one.”

“Why blue?”

“Blue symbolizes trust, loyalty, wisdom, confidence, intelligence, faith, truth and heaven. I wanted to paint a cobra that symbolized something so I chose that color to give it a hidden meaning.”

“How do you know blue symbolizes trust, loyalty, wisdom, confidence, intelligence, faith, truth and heaven? Did you read about it?”

“There was a dolphin that swam in the ocean and told me that they shapeshift, and during one of their days in their human form, they found out what each of the colors symbolize and when they saw me, they sparked up a conversation and told me. I found it interesting, maybe because I never looked at color with a meaning behind it, and remembered it when deciding on what I wanted to draw.”

“Why did you choose a cobra to draw then?”

I look at Teal and shrug. “Why not? It seemed easy to draw.”

“Then I feel honored to have my kind drawn by you, Grace.”

“You feel honored before I even began to paint, how amusing.” I dip the brush into the paint, before instinctively moving my wrist to drag the brush across the canvas, imagining the picture of a cobra in my mind as I did.

When I finish the painting, it doesn’t look as epitome as I wanted it to but it looks better than I expected. Surprisingly, the snake ― er ― Teal doesn't mind the way it came out and smiles. Saying a low, “Nice job,” before leaving the room, taking the painting with him without another word.

I don’t question his reason for taking it while it was still wet, and, instead, clean the area to the way it was before, sighing once I finish, feeling my earlier tiredness spike through me.

I stride out of the room, avoiding making any noise on the way to mine, and when I stand in front of my door, feeling grateful that no one spoke to me on the way here, I feel a chill run down my spine when an ear-piercing sound occurs in the garden, replicating thunder that sounds like it reached a falsetto.

My eyes instinctively refuse to look in the direction of the sound, but my body freezes in paralyzation, hearing the faint sound of voices talking animatedly in whispers inside of the garden. They sound incomprehensible but I can vaguely apprehend a few intelligible words from the conversation. Albeit I’m not able to figure out who’s talking, from already meeting Teal and the Chimera, I can cross their names off the list of possibilities of who can be in the garden, talking suspiciously low.

It’s as if they know someone can hear them. Someone like me.

“Huh?” Someone shrieks from the garden, scaring me enough to finally slip into my room and close the door behind me.

Who was that?

I walk to my bed and collapse on it.

I don’t want to think anymore and the feeling of being watched only increased the pain in my head.

I need sleep.

Sleep succumbs me after a while and when the dream comes, it resembles the daydream of me with the stranger dancing in the ballroom;

I’m dressed in a sleeveless victorian-like rococo dress, again, dancing slowly to the seraphic music that plays in the background, a bit louder than last time, with the person that I still can’t identify. Instead of the ghastly mask, they’re wearing a blindfold to cover their eyes, complimenting it with an ironed button shirt that is as flawless as the suit, still not a single wrinkle in sight.

They hold my hand in theirs with a tighter grip than before, guiding me around the dark, inhabited meadow that’s lit by the moon that’s partially hidden behind clouds, illuminating our features in the little light it provided.

Again, the obvious fact that I’m unable to dance doesn’t seem to hinder the stranger as they continue to show me the way with wary sways and idle twirls, their breathtaking gaze not looking away from mine ― even when the music slows to a stop for a moment to change to the next song. They don’t stop moving and refuse to halt their movements. They still look as if they don’t want to stop dancing with me, not for a second.

The gleam in their eyes still reflects sadness and sorrow, making my mouth go dry in pity but, again as in the other dream, strangely, my stomach didn’t settle that view easily. It coils in distressed knots of loss and detachment. I feel a stinging pain in my chest again once their thumb caresses the back of my hand, sending waves of emotion that I know too well ― hopelessness. They are nonverbally begging me to stay, to not go. They cling to me with despondency raking their obvious misery. Pitiful misery.

They twirl me gracefully and pull me closer in their broad arms, swallowing thickly as the moonlight begins to gradually get dimmer.

The suspense is once again killing me. I want to know what’s to come from this unexpected event with this mournful stranger whose presence feels eminently familiar. And as soon as the moonlight grows dimmer, the realization of the outcome of this second event aches in my heart that causes my eyes to gloss over in dejection, reminding me that this dance isn’t meant to be beautiful and memorable. It’s meant to be adieu.

Our feet carry us around the meadow again, passing a few flowers that begin to wilt. My lips press together to fight the cry that threatens to leave my throat like in the daydream.

The music, that’s beginning to sound like white noise to me, plays in a soft lilt as it fades to its end. This time I don’t whisper the last words, instead, I whisper my thoughts to the mysterious stranger. I can’t hear myself say the words like before, but, subsequently, those imperceptible locutions affect the stranger in a way that makes my mind reel in relief instead of confusion as their eyes glint in melancholy as before.

The stranger leans down to my ear and whispers into it, their voice is still disappointingly distorted and unrecognizable. “I wish things were different so I can be with you longer.”

My bottom lip quivers at the thought of them leaving me again. Yet, in spite of my confusion with everything, still not knowing why we’re both nearly in tears, my hand trembles in theirs, trying to find the strength to respond, while I’m cursing the dream in my mind. “I wish… we could’ve been fated partners, not mournful lovers.”

The stranger, this time with a soft chuckle, listlessly helps me do another turn, briefly dipping me with a hesitant look in their eyes before standing me up to lift me in their arms. I land on my feet and glance to see that the moonlight is almost gone. In fear, I stare at it, watching the light slowly begin to disappear until the stranger decides to let go of my hands to back up to the moonlight, clenching his hand on his shirt where his heart is. They let out a shaky breath as they do a bow without stopping.

“Wait ― !” I try to stop them, but, just like before, they already left my side. The moonlight fully dissipates and everything freezes again.

My arms fall to my sides and I let the tears fall from my eyes with my head hanging low.

I hate being like this. I hate seeing them sad whenever we dance. And I hate how much they stare at me pitifully with a clear desire to stay longer, but in the end, they leave with a bow.

The only difference is that one dance was more graceful than the other.

The person must’ve practiced for the adieu dance and that dance must’ve been to show the early results.

Who are they? And do they feel so emotionally close to me?

Why does my heart feel so attached to them?

Just… why?