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Adaine would be there any minute now. She’d walk in through the door any moment. She was always trying to get into her business— of course she’d be there soon.
Aelwyn couldn’t entirely remember when she’d first started telling herself that. She was having trouble remembering much at all. The world outside of the magical orb around her had become something of a mystery.
But Adaine would be there soon. Maybe she could apologize then, though it was difficult to remember what she was apologizing for. The line between what was real and what she’d imagined had become blurrier and blurrier until she couldn’t make the distinction at all. She hadn’t been good to her, she knew that.
Adaine probably wasn’t going to come.
If she did, it was difficult to see any reason she might have to free her from the tower.
Aelwyn opened her eyes, turning her gaze once again to the stone walls that surrounded the room. She must have counted them hundreds of times, but she couldn’t recall how many there’d been. She started once again— when she’d first arrived, it’d been an attempt at keeping her mind sharp. She wasn’t sure what her reasoning for it was now.
Perhaps this all was deserved.
The facts, as she could recall them, didn’t exactly make her seem like someone who deserved any saving.
She had been cruel. She was mostly certain of that. The details were less clear. She’d done something— or perhaps it was something she hadn’t done— either way, it’d been terrible, whatever she’d done.
Adaine, surely, wouldn’t come to her aid. They were sisters, but Aelwyn had hardly acted the part.
It was a bitter realization. Sobering. Adaine wouldn’t come, and neither would anyone else. Not Adaine, not Penelope, not Kalina, and not Mother.
At once, she felt the weight of being alone again settle on her shoulders. It was a realization she must have had dozens of times by then.
She moved ever forward, but stayed exactly in the same spot. Her forearms were covered in dark bruises. Every muscle in her body screamed and begged for her to stop, but there’d be no reprieve, no rest.
Aelwyn didn’t want to know what she looked like at that moment. Surely, it’d only been a week, or maybe two, but she was aware of how pathetic the whole scene must’ve seemed to an onlooker.
It was too difficult to count days— there was a small window, though she crawled away from it. She didn’t dare to look too often. If she tried to keep track of the passing days, she feared her mind would play tricks on her again, and she’d soon forget that she’d started counting at all. It was a meaningless endeavor.
She was alone, she’d no idea how long it’d been, and she’d been terrible.
As she put the three together in her head, she came to another realization, another fact of her existence.
She was a terrible, terrible coward.
She’d been afraid of Mother and Father before, but she’d had places to hide.
Now, there was nothing to mask herself behind. She couldn’t find any bravado left within herself, no arrogance, no spite.
There was little left that didn’t terrify her anymore.
Adaine would be there soon to help her.
The thought was contradicted by logic and by reason. Her sister had no reason to lift a finger for her. She had been horrible. She was horrible. Undeserving. Irredeemable.
And yet.
Despite reason and despite logic, she repeated that thought to herself. Adaine would be there any minute now. She could apologize. She could sleep. And then everything would be alright in a way she wasn’t sure things ever had been.
She knew it wasn’t true, and she’d never been one for pretending.
Between hoping for the impossible and accepting oblivion, one thought was far more comforting.
Aelwyn shut her eyes again. Her surroundings were unchanging. There was no need to look around.
Besides, Adaine would be there any minute now.
She had to believe that she would.