𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄
— 𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒷𝓇𝑜𝓀𝑒𝓃 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓈 —

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐃 𝐈𝐒𝐍'𝐓 enough to deprive Paul Lahote of his irrevocable thoughts. Though it tugs endlessly at his sleeves, begging for any other action, he ignores the pleads from the sky above. This is his punishment for the days to come — closely watching the relentless tide as it crashes upon the jagged shore of La Push beach, all the while sinking into the crumbling rocks and allowing his mind to think of the very thing he wished he couldn't. Hours into the day have nearly proved his doom, and as he rubs his palms against his exhausted features, the boy finds that there will never be any solace in staring at a function that will never cease. The only hope for soothing his conscious is the thing that will be his downfall; finding the eyes of his imprint again, taking her gentle face between his hands, and promising her that these intentions were of purity, and not of destruction. But never again would he have the opportunity to marvel at her pulchritude, nor to hear her mellifluous laughter as his brothers attempt to impress her.

He realizes, though, as he closes his eyes for a brief second, that he deserves nothing less than this personal version of hell.

Paul runs his fingers over a smooth, desiccating stone that lies next to him, and takes it into his grasp. There are footsteps nearing him, but he focuses on examining its edges, the colors imbedded within, before his fingers fold. And then he's throwing the stone, as far as he can manage, while using his pent-up anger to fuel the movements.

"I think that rock deserved better than that."

Laythe finally steps from the lush greenery, his exposed chest glistening with sweat. Paul expected nothing less than the company of his imprint's cousin — this moment was inevitable.

"You're right," Paul admits in agreement, the two no longer referencing the stone that now sinks within the pelagic water. "It deserves better."

There is a simple silence that settles between the duo as Laythe takes the empty space beside the broken boy, only to release a ladened breath. The inauspicious clouds above them slowly grow dark with rancor, as if predicting the elusive conversation that will unfold. "She refuses to show it," he begins, his voice gentle — perhaps if he speaks too dissonantly, Paul might fall to pieces in front of his very eyes, "but she's hurting, and we see it. It's this thing that we've been so afraid of, and suddenly we have to find a way around it. Avoidance and hindrances won't stop her thought process, and Jacob can't be a distraction from reality forever."

He doesn't dare say her name. Watching such an aesthete person lose a part of herself had already inflicted enough damage to Paul's conscious, and Laythe grasped the concept with ease. But deferment wouldn't heal the wounds that pierced Serenity's heart so deeply, and neither would corrosive attempts to avert her attention. Only the extant who imposed such damage could encourage restoration, and yet that very person was ripping at the seams of his own stitching. Serenity deserved a fairytale of her own crafting, and in order to nurture it, Laythe required the grandiose, interminable assistance of her soulmate. It would take meticulous effort, but in the end, the reuniting of the shapeshifter and his imprint would prove to be a notable and retroactive task that would last a lifetime.

"This isn't easy," Paul tells him, shaking his head. "Do you think I want to hurt her? Of course I don't — I haven't been able to get her out of my head. But this is so different than a situation that you'll find yourself in, Laythe. When you imprint, you won't have to worry about being a threat to your own soulmate."

For an elusive moment, Laythe begins to decipher the situation in which Paul has been trapped within; one where he is the antagonist in his own fairytale. And perhaps, as he reads the inauspicious features of his friend, he concludes that he, all along, hadn't truly understood the complexity of his circumstances. Instead of owning the liberty of a guaranteed partner, he was faced with a constant doubt in his self control, and the inability to be within Serenity's presence without fearing his perfervid temper. And, in his last attempt to maintain his remaining humanity, he had acted in a way that assured Serenity would never wish to see him again. But these actions, as he previously assumed, were anything but selfish . . . these precautions were dedicated to the heart of his cousin.

Laythe releases a ladened breath, his lips parted in concentration. "She will forgive you," he places a hand upon Paul's tense shoulder, "because she is unlike anyone else you will ever meet. I know you think you'll hurt her, but believe me, keeping your distance is inflicting more pain than your anger issues ever could."

"I wish that were true." And he did, desperately, wish that Laythe's words were so; the situation within itself could have been avoided. Serenity would be wrapped in his arms in this very moment, and he wanted nothing more than that simplicity of life. But he was not a normal being, nor would he ever be. "An apology won't mend a broken heart."

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

Serenity waits on the balcony, her cheeks tinted a pale shade of pink against her ivory skin as she runs her fingertips over the cedar balustrade. The soft wind that brings the sunset tugs at her silk nightgown, and encourages a shiver from the patient girl. She didn't know why she was here — perhaps her conscious, in hopelessness, led her here one last time. And maybe it was finally time to say goodbye to the thing she had been desperately holding onto: the fate the moon wanted for her.
Because all along she had assumed that this destiny was unavoidable, her something within the forest would eventually find her. So why did it feel like she had already lost it? Standing here, watching the sun as it falls just beyond the horizon, she is letting go of the very thing that had entrances her since her parents were stolen from her.

When he emerges from the edge of the woodland with Laythe by his side, she realizes that she had been waiting for him, for this moment in time so she can place her heart before him. His eyes meet hers in an instant, and then they're lost within each other — they could have drown in the oceans of their own hearts if Laythe hadn't given her a simply gesture to join them. Serenity isn't so quick to descend the staircase, she chews on her bottom lip and attempts to control her shaking palms with each newfound step. And when she reaches the bottom and Laythe slides past her with a reassuring smile, she hesitates in the open doorway. But this time, he is watching the sunset, and waiting for her like he was always destined to. The sky is hasty to grow dim, as if the moon is fighting for the chance to at last see the two together . . . but Serenity can only see him.

Despite the weapons in his words that he had once pinned against her, she found that he was a prince. Not one of perfection, he didn't need to be perfect for her; he sheathed no sword, and bore no armor, nor did he wear a gilded, delicate crown upon his head. She imagined that flowers would grow behind him, as if he had a magic that everything in the world ached to touch — and he would take her away from the life that had shown her irrevocable pain and despair. But Serenity was not a character in a fairytale, and the weight of the world rested on her shoulders with every move she made. He was the darkest paradise she had ever known, because there was an indestructible bond she held with him, though they had only once met upon the ladened soil of the Quileute Reservation, which had been tainted by his own cruelty. It merely took seconds in his presence to discern that repleting, but everlasting fact.

"I was awful to you," warm honey drips from his lips as he speaks softly, "why do you still show me kindness?"

"Because the world has not been kind to me," Serenity's feet brush the effervescent grass as she takes to his side, never once removing her attention from the disappearing clouds.

"Apologies will never be enough to express the amount of remorse I feel," he closes his eyes, as if relaying those moments. "I should never have said those things to you, and I can't use excuses to pardon them. All I can do is ask that you give me a chance to redeem myself."

Though their connection — as unusual as it was — brought her nearer to him, her heart begged for her to turn away, and deny the offer. He had broken her, and the girl's conscience reminded her that he had the potential to do it again. But his eyes, brimming with swirls of gold upon cedar, pleaded for her confirmation. And surely, if she refused, she would never forgive herself for dismissing what could have been. And so she placed her cold fingertips upon his muscular bicep, a smile growing on her lips as he stared down at her with admiration and pulchritude, and then she embraced him.

Her silhouette molded perfectly to his, as if they were puzzle pieces united once again. Electricity ignited the pair, and the now apparent moon sang to them with a mellifluous voice in the breeze. Paul thought, perhaps, that the girl within his arms could change him completely — he would battle the temper that doomed him, if only to protect her. Though he had repeatedly reminded himself that moments like this were temporary in the wake of his hidden secrets, he realizes that he wants to be selfish. The Lahote boy feels the rest of the world fade away, melting in comparison to the bright light that radiates from her.

"I forgive you," she murmurs into the cloth of his shirt, welcoming the heat that he offers with the dropping temperature. And as they separate, she finds that the corners of his lips are turning, nearly forming a smile.

"I should get going," he excuses himself, wishing that they could stay here, in these seconds, forever. "But if you'll allow it, I'd like to see you again tomorrow. I have redemption to earn."

"I'll be waiting," she turns, attempting to hide her blush. He can hear the speeding of her heartbeat as she limps back into her home, turning to give him a final smile before closing the door behind her.

He nearly sank to his knees, staring at the stars above — they had granted the wish he had asked of them. And now he would never again question his fate, because he was exactly where he was meant to be.

Inside the Reagan home, Laythe examines the countenance of his cousin, nudging her arm as she stands in the threshold. "I'm assuming all is well."

"I hope you don't mind that I have plans tomorrow," Serenity informs them, a blush rising in her cheeks. "He suggested that we spend time together to make up for what happened."

"I think that's a lovely idea," Marina gives her niece's hand an assuring squeeze. "I'm glad the two of you managed to get past it."

Serenity, too, was ebullient about the future and what it would hold for the two — and though she was unaware, Paul shared her feelings.

He would be damned if her soul wasn't the most beautiful thing he'd ever known.

❝ simple chapter without
cliffhangers :) ❞