Illidan's Private Journal - The Rhythm of Life
(Fragment, penned in Illidan's hand.)
The villa has its own rhythm, and somehow I have been allowed to step into it.
Lessons with Lucien in the mornings. His hand steady on the parchment, his voice patient where others would scorn. He corrects me as though he expects me to improve, not fail. The shock of that still hasn't worn off.
Evenings with Zoya's bread, Lucien's wine, and the sound of Lytavis's laughter tangled in the rafters with birdsong. They treat me as if I belong at their table, as if my presence is not intrusion but expected.
And between it all—her.
Her hand in mine when we carry baskets from the orchard. Her lips brushing mine in the kitchen shadows. Her breath against my cheek when restraint frays.
Last night she spoke of her training, of laying her palm upon a woman's belly and feeling the quick flutter of a child's heart within. Her eyes shone as though she had touched something sacred. I envied her for that—that she could place her hand upon life itself, while mine seem only to kindle fire, to destroy.
It frightens me, the ease of it. I have fought all my life for scraps of recognition, for a place in the world. Yet here, it is given freely. By a fox who presses her nose against my boots as if I am hers. By a raven who deigns to share my bread. By a family who does not know the sharp edges of my hunger and does not care. By her, most of all.
What have I done to deserve it? Nothing. What will it cost me? Everything.
And still—I cannot stop wanting more