Fated Mate

Opening Up

"Today is going to be hard," Eleanor warned as Emily sank down onto her cushion. "We're going from the second floor down to the basement."

Emily felt her stomach knot with anxiety. "Deeper how?"

"Your power comes from emotion, from things you have hidden in order to survive. To gain full access to your powers, you have to confront what you've been running from." Eleanor's violet gaze was unflinching. "We need to go back to your past."

"I don't want to," Emily said immediately.

"I know. But you must." Eleanor's voice was soft, but authoritative. "Your trauma is not just pain you have endured - it is fuel you have feared to ignite. Until you own it, get it, and get it in you, your power is going to feel like it's out of control."

Arthur, who had been sitting close by whittling, looked up anxiously. "Is this safe?"

Emotionally difficult, but safe," Eleanor told him. "She will need help after it's done."

Emily's hands were shaking. "What do I have to do?"

"Close your eyes. Breathe. And let me steer you."

----

The meditation was beginning like all the rest-breathing, being present timely. But then Eleanor's voice changed, grew more grave.

"Go back to your fifth birthday," Eleanor whispered. "Let the memory come."

Emily's breath caught as images filled her head. She was small again, wearing a new dress her mother made. There was a cake and other children playing. She'd been so happy.

"What do you see now?" Eleanor asked.

"My birthday party, everyone was there for it. I was... I was happy." Emily's voice was far away, trapped in the recollection.

"What happened next?"

The recollection Changed. Chief Priest Brittany had arrived, her face none too cheerful. She'd taken Emily's parents in hand. Emily was reminded of a time she gazed at them, cake long forgotten, as their faces shifted from happiness to terror.

"The prophecy," Emily whispered. "She told them about the prophecy that day."

"What did they do?"

Emily's chest tightened. "My mother was crying. My father-he looked at me like I was diseased. The other children were sent home. My mother took off my new dress and burned it." Tears slipped down Emily's cheeks. "She said it was cursed now. That I was cursed."

"Stay with that moment," Eleanor said. "Feel what you felt then."

"No," Emily gasped. "Please-"

"You must."

She was hit with a wave of feelings-confusion, fear, an overwhelming urge to know why her mother was crying, and why no one would meet her gaze. The realization that she had done something wrong, something terrible, that beginning to dawn though she had no idea what it was she'd done.

"I just wanted her to hold me," Emily cried, "But she wouldn't touch me. She wouldn't even touch me. She wouldn't even look at me! "

Arthur made a motion to go to her, but Eleanor raised a hand to stop him. His jaw tightened, pain large in his eyes.

-----

Eleanor led her on to further memories. They were each like fresh wounds breaking open again.

Emily, a seven-year-old, was trying to play with other kids. They ran away from her, screaming curses and misfortunes. She had pursued them, tears streaming down her face, pleading them to return. They'd only run faster.

She was ten. She was ten again, trying to move for the first time. Her body had spasmed painfully, the metamorphosis half finished. She'd passed out and the other young wolves had laughed.

"Even the moon rejects you!" they'd jeered.

She was fifteen, and could hear her parents talking in the next room. "We should have left her to die in the woods as a baby," her father had said. "She is a disgrace to our family."

Emily unwound herself a little more with each reminiscence. She was openly weeping, shaking with years of bottled-up pain.

Arthur couldn't take it anymore. He stood, coming toward her. "This is too much. She's suffering-"

Eleanor caught his arm. "She's processing. There's a difference."

"She's in pain!"

"Yes. And full of time like that you do? to go through it." Eleanor's eyes were compassionate but firm. "You want to fix this for her. But Arthur, you can't. Nobody can. She has to do this work herself."

"Then what good am I?" Arthur's voice cracked. "Why bother to be here if I can't help her?"

"Being present is helping her." Eleanor let go of his arm. "Your instinct is to rescue, to protect. But occasionally the strongest thing you can do is simply bear witness to someone's suffering. To stay when it gets tough. To not turn away."

She glanced at Emily, who was still ensnared in her meditation. "She has been deserted by all those who ought to have cradled her through hardship. Don't turn your back on her now by trying to make this easier."

Arthur's knuckles went white, but he gave a slow nod. He returned to his seat and sat down, his gaze locked on Emily.

"Now," Eleanor said, her voice cutting through Emily's despair. "I want you to feel where these memories live in your body. Where does it hurt?"

Emily's hands were moving on her chest without a second thought. "Here. It's like fire. Like I'm burning from the inside."

"Good. That fire – that's your power. All that pain, all that rejection, all that rage you've never been able to get out - that's all fuel." Eleanor moved closer. "You've been trying to suppress it, to make yourself smaller and quieter. But fire doesn't operate that way. The fact that you suppress it, the more dangerous it becomes."

"So what do I do?" Emily's voice was hoarse.

"You recognize it. You get mad about how you were treated. You mourn for the kid you should have had." Eleanor's hand rested lightly on Emily's shoulder. "And then you decide what to do with that whole ball of energy."

Emily wakened with tears rolling down her face. "I'm so angry," she whispered. "At them. At myself for letting myself buy into their bullshit. So angry I can't even breathe."

"Then breathe through it. Let it be without letting it eat you up." Eleanor squeezed her shoulder. "Your anger is valid. What you're feeling is real pain. And your source of power is in what you transmute that pain into - whatever you decide."

Closing her eyes once more, Emily concentrated on the burning inside her chest. Rather than suppress it, she allowed herself to experience it fully. The rage, the grief, the betrayal-everything of that nature.

And something happened.

The fires of chaos within her began to evolve, to take shape. It was still profound, still potent, but it no longer seemed as if it were going to kill her. It was like... strength.

"That's it," said Eleanor softly. "You're not suppressing anymore. She's integrating."

When Emily at last raised her eyes, she was tired beyond words, but something had gone deep and true in her. The memories still hurt, but they don't own her anymore.

Arthur immediately was there, cradling her in his arms. She sagged against him, allowing him to support her as the final quakes of feeling racked her body.

"Sorry," he whispered in her hair. "I'm so sorry you had to go through all that."

"It isn't your fault," Emily said, her voice muffled by his chest.

"I know. But if only I could take the pain away."

Emily drew back slightly to regard him. His eyes were puffy and red, and she realized he had been crying as well-crying for her, for what she had suffered.

"You did help," she said. "You stuck around. You did not leave, not even when it was painful to see." She ran her fingers lightly across his cheek. "That's everything."

Eleanor looked upon them with great pleasure. "You've done important work today, Emily. The toughest of work. You need rest now. We'll take this up again tomorrow."

That night Emily laid her head in Arthur's lap and sat at the fire. He tenderly cradled her head and neither of them said anything. There was no need to speak.

"Now I understand," Emily finally muttered. "Why the power was so untamed, why it was so threatening. I was trying to lock away parts of myself, and the power was fighting to be seen."

"And now?" Arthur asked.

"I am not fighting now." Emily looked up at him. "I'm not going to pretend like those things didn't happen or that they didn't hurt. But I am never going to let them dictate who I am anymore."

Arthur smiled, though his eyes were still sad. "You are the bravest woman I've ever met."

"I don't feel brave."

"Brave women rarely do." He bent and kissed her brow. "But you are. And I'm honored to bear witness to it."

Emily closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would continue her training. But tonight she would sleep safe in the knowledge that she was no longer alone.