House Of Legions (The Angel Descendants book 1) novel Chapter 54

A loud siren was what sprung her up, almost falling off the bed. Clare woke up to a familiar place, but not familiar enough. It wasn’t London, it definitely wasn’t the holiday apartment she and her mother had stayed a few nights ago. This was spacious, way too colourful compared to her mother’s white obsession, and unreal, but it was no stranger to her eyes.

The soft cushions underneath her body were confusing as she was unaware of how she has gotten into the king-size bed when she couldn’t recall leaving the floor.

The room was dimmed with rays of sunlight shining in through the slits of the red velvet curtains, concealing wide stretched windows. She estimated their height of more than fifteen meters. The room itself was bigger than her entire house in Cambridge.

Her gaze darted around the expanse, as she wriggled herself to the right side of the bed. Closing her eyes, she prayed, “Please, let this be a really bad dream, please, I swear I’ll behave.”

Part of her knew what she’d find once she opened her eyes, so she didn’t need reality to sink in before she flung the blankets off. Padding her way across the room she opened the curtains.

The siren stopped, but her ears still rang with the noise. Standing in front of a glass mirrored door that led to a balcony, she stared at her reflection. Recognizing herself, the same messed up teenager, just more messed up than before, because now she was motherless as well, but wait not orphaned, because just before she lost her mother, she had found her father, what a happy story.

Hatred crept up into her veins at the ridicule of it. It all sounded like the perfect happily ever after, but the reality of it sucked.

Why was she being punished, or was she?

She felt torn, because parts of her felt betrayed, lied to. Even now, things were kept from her, but there were also the other parts, which never felt more alive, parts which craved to be like them, the Lightwatcher’s.

Still wearing the jeans and t-shirt from yesterday, her hair tangled in a mass of knots, she looked like shit, she felt worse. But she still opened the door and stepped onto the high balcony.

Whilst the suns heat penetrated her skin, there was not much warmth to work with, but it did the job. Straight ahead, and directly opposite her, was a view of a tall grey stone mountain, solid rock but smooth-surfaced like it had been sandpapered. Scattering her eyes around Khiron was the only thing that seemed normal, the vision before she was anything but. The castles stood proud and tall and glistened in the sun. She saw some people walk with laptops and others run past.

The grass and trees still moved, but there weren’t many people downstairs. She expected it to bustle with people, but it seemed oddly deserted instead. Clare remembered that not many people lived there.

She inhaled the scent of musk mixed with something sweet, she couldn’t make out what it was, but it didn’t stop her eyes from burning with the need to cry. Her body yearned for a seed of relief from the horrifying image that held her mind prisoner when she thought of her mother.

The sights of Khiron was beautiful but tainted in her mind because she would always remember the loss that had brought her here, the pain she felt when she lost her only love, her mother, the woman who didn't love her back.

She willed herself, “Don’t cry, you have to be strong.”

The more she convinced herself, the harder it became to understand the reason to hold on, the reason to be calm. It was one day after her mother’s death, and she felt frustrated, angry, sad, hurt, confused, it was mixed up, all there, she needed to burst, or an outlet.

From the corner of her eye she spotted a vase on the balcony, she picked the flowery pot up and threw it against the mirror door.