Chapter Text
Notebook Entry #1
The howl of the white hounds stirred me into consciousness. It’s the recollection I hold on to after waking up in my mother’s cabin. Other memories from the dream remain blurred and out of reach.
How did I get here?
One moment, I was locked up at the Northern Chapter, destroying furniture in frustration, desperate from the loss of Bree and her unlimited power. The next moment, Erebus was in my cell, bypassing the wards that kept me contained. He didn’t even come through a door, just materialized inches away from my face, grabbing my shoulders before I could react. And then I began to suffocate in the darkness.
When the darkness lifted, I could breathe again. I struggled to get away from Erebus, but stopped when I smelled an intoxicating scent. It was like honey and heartache. Like amber and anguish. I turned to see the source. Bree. The fragrance of her misery was so potent, so delicious, I lunged at her without thinking. I don’t know what I would have done if Erebus hadn’t snatched me back. I was hungry and could almost taste her. She said something to me while I was feral and my anger spiked. And then the darkness returned.
How did I get here?
I was in battle mode when I woke, ready for the hounds to attack. Instead of hounds though, my mother was at my bedside. Alive. Unmoving. Holding her breath and watching me. I’m certain the shock registered on my face, but it was replaced with revulsion, followed closely by rage. I glared at her, saying nothing, listening to her talk.
After days of my continued silence, my mother supplied me with this lined notebook, a cup of sharpened pencils, an assortment of mini highlighters, and a stack of books. I hadn’t planned on using this notebook. I didn’t want her to have access to my thoughts. My new aether is quite strong and if I ward it, I doubt she could break through it without destroying the notebook in the process.
I don’t think she would violate my privacy, but it’s been thirteen years since the last time I’ve seen her. She is a stranger, a ghost of the past. Still, as an extra precaution, I plan to only write in it when she leaves the cabin, to discourage her from being curious about its contents, like now. She’s been gone for about an hour. The five-year-old boy that lives inside of me wonders if she will return.
How did I get here?
If I could draw, I would sketch the two hounds with their red tipped ears. They howled loudly for a long time before they reached me, the volume of it got lower and lower until they were close enough to strike. But they didn’t. They watched with their teeth bared, almost as if they were waiting for a signal. It didn’t feel like a dream, more like a wretched wonderland, an intermediate plane.
How did I get here?