When I arrive in the cave, I barely make it two steps before I’m screaming in fury. My wrath repeats back to me in hollow echoes. I scream again, trying to release the pent-up frustration of the last few hours, the last few months, my entire life. There’s so much buried inside of me, so much hurt and longing and need, that I feel like I’m going to explode. I scream and scream into the void, desperately seeking relief. When that doesn’t help, I collapse in anguish, all the emotions and fears I’d been pushing down for so long leaking out of me. My pulse races, my breathing quickens. I try to maintain control of the aether coursing through my blood, but it demands to be released. With a roar, I unleash myself.

Energy erupts in arcs from my body, shaking the cave. Rocks crash down around me, but a shield of light I instinctively wrap around myself protects me from the falling debris. Moss expands and covers an entire wall, then the ceiling. Water droplets gather into massive orbs before falling to the ground with splashes that soak everything around me. A wind whips through the cavern, churning up dust and rocks that orbit my light shield. I think I glimpse lightning forking across the tall ceiling but am so absorbed by my pain and grief that I can’t say for sure. Like so many times before, my magic feels heavy, like if I make the wrong move, it will completely consume me. I walk the precipice of madness, one heartbeat away from letting Laurel disappear. I’m not sure who would take her place behind my eyes.

I exist in that liminal state. Time doesn’t pass. There will be no beginning or end to my desperation. Tears stream out of my eyes before collapsing on the ground in a puddle.

Eventually, I burn myself out. The magic falters, then stops altogether. I lie down on my side, curl in on myself, and stare out at the darkness that surrounds me, wishing that I could just disappear.

Hawthorne

The origin of the myth of fae mates is unknown. Most scholars agree it is unlikely there is one singular origin story that inspires this longstanding legend. Like most fables, it is an amalgamation of several tales that over time converged into one story. The nuances of each tale are, unfortunately, lost to history.

The Legends of the Fae, Volume III

She left. She left, and I don’t know how to find her. My mate left. My Mate. Mate.