But the worst part?
I wanted to.
In that moment—just before the lightning—Iwantedher lips on mine more than I’ve ever wanted to bloom, or burn, or breathe.
And that terrifies me.
Because I am not meant to want.
I’m meant toendure.
I rise, pacing again. The moss recoils under my feet like it knows I’m splintering.
I haven’t felt this hollow since the druids vanished.
Since they left me behind to guard silence and rot.
But Clara is not silence.
She is life.
Wild and soft and too full of questions. She walks like she’s afraid of stepping too hard, and yet—she’s louder than thunder in this place.
She makes the Grove bloom.
She makesmefeel like I was more than just a mistake carved from old soil and duty.
And yet I cannot allow this.
Because one day she’ll leave—whether by choice or by age or by fate. And I’ll still be here.
Bound. Buried.
Waiting for the next storm.
I dig my fingers into the earth, claws of bark curling around loose soil.
She didn’t ask for this.
And I shouldn’t have let it begin.
I stay hidden.
Not just from her but from the Grove itself.
I retreat deep into the root caverns beneath the heart tree, where no light filters, where even the vines don’t reach unless summoned. The silence here is total. Heavy. Like being buried alive while still breathing.
It’s safer this way.
Forher.
I don’t know how long I’ve been here—time bends in the roots. The forest still moves without me. The vines still bloom when the sun hits them right. But I don’t rise. I don’t speak.
Because if I let myself love her…
If I let myself hope…
She’ll suffer for it.
