“Curses,” Yves took off his gloves and rubbed his eyes. He opened and closed them, repeatedly switching to second sight and back, but that did not change anything. It was getting worse much too fast. He stood once again hunched over sheets of his own notes scattered on the table, surrounded by a pile of tomes and artefacts that were essential for deciphering them; a vast sea of knowledge to navigate his research — an unconquerable expanse. He felt utterly lost, treading water, dreading time.
“Curses on all elves,” his harsh voice was but a whisper in the storm’s uproar. The elements raged on with relentless force, the howling wind battering the lighthouse with great fury. Waves crashed against the rocky shore, sending plumes of spray high into the air. Thunder added its voice to the chaos of the night.
Midnight remained unaffected by the battling elements that hurled their forces against the lighthouse. She lay stretched out on the artefact chest with her eyes closed. But Yves, seeing how her ears flicked, knew that she listened.
His gaze drifted from her along his shelves to the corner shelf. Midnight lifted her head. Yves’ eyes darted back to the tomes in front of him. He halted his mutterings and put his gloves back on. “I’m fine.” He was not. He had not been fine for a long time. What he really meant was that he would stop whining and get back to work. He knew that she understood it that way.
Still, Midnight kept staring. And as Yves did neither respond nor look at her, she sat up on the chest, filling the room with her presence, demanding acknowledgement. There was pride in her composure.
Understanding that his harsh tone was unwarranted, Yves straightened up and turned to her. And in that moment, his posture truly conveyed “I will keep my shit together for now,” and his strained eyes said, “Thank you”.
Midnight laid back down, her presence fading and her form once again merging into the shadows on the chest. Yves returned his attention to his tomes.
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