Descendants of Mother Nature

dark room

The room inside was darker than the rest of the cottage. The moonlight didn’t quite reach it only the faintest sliver slid in through a high, vine-curtained window, painting a single line of silver across the dusty floorboards.

I stepped inside, slow and careful, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

I couldn’t make out much. The shape of a bed. A dresser, maybe. Something round in the corner that could’ve been a chair or just a stack of forgotten things.

Everything smelled faintly of lavender and old wood.

I took a few more steps, feet barely making a sound on the worn floor. I ran my fingers along the edge of the bedframe, and dust clung to my skin. There was no blanket, no pillow just the carved bones of a place meant for rest.

My body ached. My legs were heavy, my arms weak from everything I’d done and everything I hadn’t yet understood.

I thought I might explore more, that I’d keep going, keep searching, but… I couldn’t.

The adrenaline that had carried me through shattered porcelain and wild forest paths had drained out of me completely.

I slid down beside the bed, my back against the wooden frame, my limbs folding in on themselves like I was trying to disappear into the floor.

The boards were cold beneath me. Not cruel. Just real.

I curled up on my side, arms wrapped around my ribs, eyes barely open.

There was no blanket. No fire.

But I felt something wrap around me anyway not warmth, exactly.

Just… a sense of being allowed to rest.

For once.

I stared at the crack of moonlight across the room until it blurred, until the dark wrapped around me like a story half-told.

And then…

I slept