LunaElara: Guardian of Spindale

CHAPTER 003

I thought Lena Winters would be my name of freedom. A name with no weight, no pain, no betrayal to be found in the words. I mumbled it to myself in the dark for days, trying to make it real, before I dared say it aloud. And yet when I finally said it to someone else, “Hello, I’m Lena Winters,” it was a hollow thing, a lie that had not yet sunk in.

Years later, I’ve gotten used to hearing it now. That’s what people in Spindale call me, and that’s what I sign my name on library logs and school forms. I’ve so carefully and so quietly woven this life around it, one day at a time, building it, and I’m afraid to yank too hard because this thing, this life, is so fragile; this web that I’ve built could tear.

It's the same as always, the routine this morning. The house still wrapped in shadows, in corners soft and quiet, I’m up before the sun. On the kitchen window, mug in hand, I stand watching the faint light seep through the forest. Still tall and still dark silhouettes of pines stand in the horizon.

From the room my girls share, their breathing is soft and steady still. I love this time, the early hours when the world is still. It’s the only time I get to let my guard down, even a little, and pretend this life I’ve built here is unshakeable.

It’s lukewarm coffee by the time I hear the first stirrings of life behind me. Light, quick footsteps pad down the hall, Sophia’s. Her curls are wild and unbound; her eyes are still heavy with sleep, and she appears in the doorway.

She rubs at her face and mumbles out, “Morning, Mama.” I say.

Her appetite bigger than her curiosity, Sophia is always the first to wake. She gets into her chair, spoon in hand, and eats without saying a word. It’s one of the things I love most about her: how she does everything—breakfast, books, the world—with the same hungry determination.

“Did you sleep well?” I sit across from her and ask.

Her mouth is full, and she nods and gestures vaguely towards the hallway. “Lila’s still out cold. Ember, too.”

I smile. “Good. They need the rest.”

She doesn’t reply, already lost in her thoughts. For a moment I watch her, amazed at how much she’s grown. She’s eight, but there’s a wisdom in her eyes that sometimes makes me think she remembers more of the past than I do.

When Lila and Ember join us, the sun is all the way up and shining gold in the kitchen. Ember slips into her chair; her usual quiet grace, Lila sits quietly with her small hands cupped around her mug of warm milk.

They are so different and, at the same time, so intertwined. Bold and fearless as Sophia, with a spark in her eye that reminds me a kickass of how I was her age. Thoughtful, observant little Lila always notices the small things that the rest of us don’t. My quiet one, Ember, with eyes that seem to see clear through to the centre of what is.

Their voices scatter softly over breakfast, luring me in the familiar twisting of words. I can still feel the unease from yesterday, but underneath the warmth of the moment, Lila’s words echo in my mind: “I think something’s watching us,” she muttered.

I shake the thought away and focus on the here and now.

I walk the girls to school after breakfast. Leaves on the maple trees that line the path through town are just starting to turn a fiery red and orange. In the crisp morning air, you can smell the wood smoke and know autumn is settling in.

It’s already bustling with activity at the schoolyard when we get there. I kneel to hug goodbye to each of the girls, my arms around them for longer than usual.

I brush a stray curl from Ember’s forehead and tell them to “be good.”

They nod their heads; their faces are the innocent gleam of children who still don’t know the weight of the world.

A familiar pang of fear takes a hold of me as I watch them disappear into the building. What if something happens?

What if Caleb finds us?

I try to breathe, to make the fear go away. Spindale is safe. No one knows we’re here.

Arriving at the quiet library, there's a smell of old books wrapped all around like a blanket to keep me warm. I’m here to shelve books, help patrons, and preserve the archives. I’m grateful for the kind of work that keeps my hands busy and my mind quiet.

Thanks, Mrs. Haddock says, and greets me as I walk in.

I say good morning to her and give her a small smile.

She's been the librarian here for decades, and her sharp eyes and no-nonsense demeanour hide a heart of gold. She’s one of the only people in Spindale I’ve allowed myself to get close to, and even with her I keep my past locked away.

By the time I head home that afternoon, that unease from the forest is back. As I step inside the house, it feels different; the shadows are longer, the silence heavier. I go to the window and look out into the tree line.

I feel it, but nothing moves…

Ember pulls wide, thoughtful eyes up at me as I tuck the girls into bed that night.

She whispers her voice hesitantly, “Mama.” “We never talk about Daddy.”

The question hits me like a sharp jab to the chest. My hand hovers over the edge of her blanket; I froze.

I try to smile and lean down to kiss her forehead. “I say softly, because we have everything we need right here.” Ember nods, but her eyes don’t leave me as if she can tell I’m hiding something.

The next day, everything is different. While I do errands around town, my eyes fall on someone across the street.

His face mostly covered by a baseball cap, he’s standing next to the hardware store. But I know him.

Caleb.

My heart starts to race, and my breath catches. Our eyes meet for a moment, and he smiles, a slow, intentionally slow smile that gives me the shivers.

Then he’s gone, vanishing in the crowd.

My chest starts to panic, and I feel as if I’m drowning. The walls of my meticulously built world are starting to come down, and I don’t know how to stop it.