Kiera let his light yellow eyes lose themselves in the dim fire that had made its existence in the fireplace. The library’s heavy carpet and crowded books made for a safe haven even his room upstairs could not offer. It brought back memories of how it was before his life had all but ended. His mother would sit in front of the fireplace at night, with moonlight shining through the arched window. She would read from a book, one she randomly selected, pulling Kiera close so he could listen. He was the youngest of them all, and while his older siblings would be elsewhere, in the garden or roaming the forest, or locked in their room, he would sit contentedly with that beautiful woman he was proud to call a mother, one who was ageless, with a fait face, oddly purple eyes, curly black hair with the faintest hint of violent to the sheen. Her smile was always the kindest of the family.

Sitting there, alone, listening to the thunder fading away, Kiera could almost hear her singsong voice reading from her books, lulling him to a sense of security, letting him fall into a deep sleep. And he would hear her voice even then, from far away, an echoing sound that would let him know she was near, that he would be left alone by his siblings. But as he stared at the fire, which had started to fade away, his mind was wrenched back to the night he refused to help them. Her voice was not calm that night, not happy and content. It was screaming his name, begging him to come help them, save what was left of their family. Her purple eyes were wide and frantic, hands reaching out as she was carried over the shoulder of Dmitri to her doom. And he stood there, behind one of the support columns by the wall, watching and shivering. His savior from the world, the one who had always cared for him, had always loved him, had been dragged to her death, and he had not done a thing to stop it.

Kiera started with the explosion of thunder from far off. Sitting up in his chair, he sighed shakily, reaching up and wiping the tears from his eyes, shaking away the weakness he felt. The past had him by the throat, he knew it, and he knew he would never let it go. The guilt he had would follow him forever. The child within, the child outside his outward younger form, could not let it go. He could not hold it as well as the adult Kiera could. He was looking toward the far wall when he saw a flash of light, something dimmer than lightning and near the road. He nearly fell over his own feet stumbling to the window, crouching down. The road outside the wrought-iron gate was rarely, if ever, traveled, but as night fell, a dark green car was rattling down the mud-slicked surface, slowing as it approached.

Kiera gasped, falling back, returning to his child form. His bones snapped into place as they shortened, joints rearranging very slightly. Without bothering to roll up his pants legs or sleeves, he hurried toward the door, but didn’t unlock it. He hoped the car would just pass, but he worried.