WHAT THE MOON DOESN’T KNOW
Azaria’s POV
I couldn’t sleep.
When I shut my eyes the word of my dream was scratched all over the back of my eyelids, like silver ink.
Vaeloria.
I copied and copied it in the pages of my journal, and I covered page after page with my round, slow writing. I did not understand what it was at the time, but I could sense it promising me something now, something that I could possibly have recognized as being the truth but that it needed magic and mania to emerge.
It did not seem like a dream.
It felt like a memory.
A forgotten whisper from blood I didn’t understand.
I sat on my bed, knees drawn up, my candle flickering. My hand paused over the last repetition of the word.
What was Vaeloria?
A person? A place?
Or something... worse?
My magic pulsed again, a soft thrum beneath my skin, like it was urging me to move. To seek.
Why are there so many things that were just randomly popping into my life? I never signed up for this, I just wanted to live a normal life a
