Neva lies on her back, one smoothed hand resting over the other on the white duvet that covers her up to the stomach.
She stares at the ceiling, hollow eyes letting rivers of tears trickle down her temples, soaking the white pillow.
She woke up in the middle of the night, and now she can barely catch a wink, tossing and turning through the night.
It's now six in the morning, and she's been up, frozen in this posture, for two hours.
Thoughts race through her mind. Doubts thrash her reason. Angst claws at her grasp on rationality.
Who—or what—should she believe?
Is it the man she's known and loved for as long as she can remember?
Or is she just a newborn bird, imprinting on the first living being she sees—even if he isn't kindred to her?
Yet the belief that his love is her truth remains unfaltering.
And then there's this man—who showed up out of nowhere, invading her thoughts, forcing his way into her heart and soul.
Or has he always been a part of her?
His unwavering gaze and consistent actions speak of his truism. Also, the strange occurrences and the people here leave little swithering in her mind.
She holds her forehead. She doesn't know anymore.
Sitting up, she wipes away her tears. Pulling the blanket aside, she rises to her feet.
She turns to face the door. Could she find a phone and call Ishmael?
She chews her lower lip in dilemma.
Even if she gets out, she couldn't possibly find her way back home without his help.
She has no money, no passport, and she's never really traveled alone.
All she knows is that she's in Erriador—but what if Rhett is lying?
Her stomach growls. Neva places a hand over her belly.
She sighs. She had refused dinner, and now she's starving.
Whatever her plan ends up being, it'll have to wait—she needs to eat first. Maybe she can find something in the kitchen.
Neva grips the doorknob and pushes the door open.
She glances right down the hallway, then left. No one in sight.
She pads through the doorway and into the living room. Opposite her, an open kitchen stretches out, a long dining table lined along the north wall. Indoor plants sit in the corners, and moss-green couches are arranged around a coffee table on the west side, beneath a wall adorned with paintings.
But instead of heading to the kitchen, Neva drifts toward the curtained, glazed window on the south wall.
She peels the curtains open and slides them aside. Birds chirp outside, and nature is sussurant with the breeze blowing softly.
Beyond the window, a balcony comes into view.
Overhead, a gloomy sky looms, dark clouds gathering in warning of a brewing storm.
A flash of white lightning streaks through the clouds, followed moments later by a crack of thunder.
She slides the glass door open and steps out onto the balcony. A chill of wind rushes last, fluttering her hair and dress, making her shiver in the thin white garment she wears.
Neva leans on the railing, smoothing her folded arms along the handrail.
The lightning, the thunder, the wind-swayed trees—none of it unsettles her. Instead, it serenades her with a strange, calming peace. She relaxes, resting one elbow on the rail, her hand cupping her cheek, head tilted slightly.
There's green everywhere, as far as her eyes can see—an endless sprawl of nature.
For a fleeting moment, everything feels just right. No thoughts storm her mind.
It's just her and the earth.
She closes her eyes and draws in a deep breath, exhaling slowly with a sigh.
Solitude allows her to love herself better.
The gusts of wind prick her bare skin, her tousled bed hair swirling around her face.
She lifts her left hand and stares at the gold band wrapped around her fourth finger.
Has he been looking for her?
Are the twins fine? She's never been away from them this long.
She lowers her hand and resumes her earlier posture, smoothing her arms over the railing.
Strangely, she feels... fairish, at least for now.
Even though she's far from home.
But where is home, really?
The sting of tears rises again.
Suddenly, nowhere feels like home.
What does her soul truly long for?
"Angel?"
Neva turns to see Rhett standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing out here? It's going to rain," he asks softly.
Neva doesn't respond and instead turns around. Here's the polished continuation, maintaining tone and present tense:
---
"What are you doing out here? It's going to rain," he asks softly.
Neva doesn't respond. Instead, she turns around, her eyes meeting his for a fleeting moment before drifting away.
She hears his footsteps approaching, and soon he's standing beside her, just to her right.
"Aren't you cold?" he asks again, eyes fixed on her profile with quiet admiration.
"I want to be alone," she says flatly.
Rhett falls silent.
She thinks he might finally leave—but he doesn't.
He stays.
So she ignores him, letting herself dissolve into the presence of the wind and trees.
A drop of rain falls onto her hair, and Neva looks up at the mourning sky—a veil of black clouds shunning the sun.
Another drop lands on her forehead, and her eyes flutter shut.
"It's beginning to drizzle. Let's go back inside," Rhett says gently, watching her—watching Neva, who seems utterly at peace, fused with the rhythm of nature.
He had gone to check on her in her room, only to find it empty. Panic surged through him until he found her here.
He hadn't slept the entire night, pacing between his room and hers, as if making sure she wouldn't vanish like a dream.
Because to him, that's what she was—
the dream he'd always longed for, every single night.
"I don't want to," Neva replies, her voice quiet but firm.
"You must be hungry. What do you want for breakfast?" he asks, his voice gentle.
No answer.
He takes the silence as his cue, and they are both now silent.
But his eyes never leave her.
Her presence is soul–stirring—each detail of her weaving a thread of warmth through his weathered soul.
She is real.
She is here—with him.
She is all he can hymn, like a prayer song.
The wind howls louder. The sky deepens into a darker shade, lightning cracking across the clouds, thunder growling in response, shaking the earth beneath them.
Silhouettes of birds—carooning across the sky—race toward the woods in search of shelter.
Ripened yellow and red leaves break free from the trees, swirling around with quiet grace, dancing to the wind's amity.
"What if I say I believe you?" Neva finally breaks the comfortable silence.
When he doesn't reply, she glances at him.
She blinks, when he doesn't blink and keeps staring—as though he's trying to read her mind, or hold onto an invisible string threading her to him.
"Do you?" Rhett asks.
Neva pauses for a beat of silence.
Then she shrugs. "Probably. Probably not."
Rhett smiles. She's a spinning puzzle.
"Why would you want to believe me?" he asks.
Neva looks away.
"You see, when I asked Ishmael how I lost my memories, he said I was in an accident. But there wasn't even a scratch on me."
Rhett says nothing, so Neva keeps going.
"He told me we were from an island called Miraeth. That we were orphaned, adopted by a man, and raised together. But then, when I was eight, I suddenly disappeared."
"A couple of years later, when our grandfather was on his deathbed, he told Ishmael it was him who sent me away—for my own safety.
Ishmael was only fifteen or sixteen when he secretly sailed off the island on a merchant ship to find me." Neva sighs and lowers her head. "I don't know how much of him I'm supposed to believe."
"There is no island named Miraeth.
He's lying to you," Rhett says firmly.
Neva shakes her head and meets his gaze.
"Just like the Garden of Eden, it's not on any map. But it's there—somewhere on Earth."
Rhett scoffs, then asks more seriously, "And you believe in the Garden of Eden?"
Neva smiles. "I do. It's good to have a faith that holds us together.
It's a pity—the ones who cannot feel Him."
Rhett smiles back, as if mirroring her soul.
She was never really alone.
"Everything will be fine," he reassures.
"Will it?"
Neva sighs. "You know, I can talk to you so easily. Why is that?"
"Because we are one," Rhett replies.
And the eyes that fasten begin to seal the rifts and melt the penury of the world.
The wind shifts, and rain falls like a waterfall over them.
Neva gasps.
She looks up at the sky, just as the clouds burst open. Sharp, cold droplets tingle against the palms she lifts to her chest, trail through her hair and soothe her scalp, kiss her face, soak her body...
She can hardly breathe—but it only makes her smile wider.
It is soothing.
Her heart, for the first time in a long while, feels completely at ease.
She is serene.
The loud thrumming of rain pulses through the scenery—the flurry of water, the rustling leaves, the distant, throbbing thunder.
The earth is singing a ballad to her.
Then, Neva turns to him.
Her cheeks flush instantly beneath the weight of his heated gaze.
of leaves, the throbbing thunder.
The earth was singing a ballad to her.
Then Neva turned to him.
Her cheeks instantly burning at his heated gaze.
She looks down at herself and immediately crosses her arms over her chest.
The white dress, soaked through, clings to her skin—nearly translucent.
Rhett doesn't look away. Their eyes remain threaded.
"Don't worry," he says softly. "I've already seen—and felt—all of you."
Neva's cheeks darken shades of scarlet, her ears burning hot.
With a gasp, she spins on her heels and hurries inside, rain trailing behind her like a veil.
Her heart pounds loud and wild in her ears.
Rhett stays behind on the balcony.
A look of deep satisfaction settles across his face.
He runs his fingers through strands of drenched hair.
And he smiles—reliving her, relishing her presence like a memory made flesh.