Belle’s health and recovery improved with each passing day until she began to feel like her old self_before she got pregnant and carried the heavy weight of her son in her womb. She felt lighter now, and the roundness in her stomach, which she had believed would never go away, had flattened, returning her natural figure and gifting her with even more mature, sharpened curves, curves that a certain soone admired at every opportunity.
But with her recovery ca other subtle, unsettling problems that troubled her deeply. Apart from the fact that ever since Rohan had told her they would be leaving the cottage and returning to Nightbrook, to their reality, she had been consud with worry every second of the day, even though she tried not to show it, there were also strange things happening to her, and to the cottage, that she couldn’t ignore.
Ever since she had been pregnant with Angel, she hadn’t experienced anything bizarre, except that one nightmare in Bimrville about the graveyard. But now, lately, whenever she moved through the cottage and her fingers grazed the surfaces, be it the walls or the floors, mories that did not belong to her began to flood her mind. mories of people who had lived in the house before them.
She saw a happy couple. Married, deeply in love, and content with life, despite having very little. She saw a young woman laughing freely with her husband, their life together simple and peaceful, until death tore it apart by taking the man. Then sorrow settled into the once joyful ho.
Belle saw his death. She witnessed it as if she were truly there, watching as the reaper ca to take his soul from his thin, sick body lying helplessly in bed. He had died of illness. And Belle hadn’t even realized she was crying while witnessing the heartbreaking mory in her mind’s eye, until a small, chubby hand gently touched her damp cheek.
Angel.
She looked down to find her son in her arms, his large, dark eyes fixed on her face with a frown and a little tilt of his head, as if questioning what was making her sad. His soft fingers moved along her cheeks again, and he made a quiet baby sound, his frown deepening at the sight of her tears.
She had one arm securely wrapped around him, holding him close, while her other hand was still brushing along the surface of the chamber wall, searching for mories. It had beco a habit of hers ever since she had discovered she could see them by touching the walls.
Walls carry mories.
She recovered from the pain that the walls held and had transferred into her soul just to assure her little Angel Max.
Angel’s growth was happening too fast, too fast for her to keep up with, and certainly too fast for her peace of mind. He was only two months old, yet he looked like an eight-month-old human baby.
He was the most adorable, handso baby she had ever seen, and his intelligence was far beyond what should be possible for a child his age. His rapid growth worried her deeply, because she feared she might not get the chance to fully pamper and enjoy him in the tender state of his infancy before he outgrew it.
Rohan had assured her that once Angel reached a certain developntal stage, his growth would slow down and remain steady for a long while, and that she shouldn’t be surprised or anxious about how quickly things were progressing now.
"Max is not going to outgrow your affections," Rohan had said gently, as he liked to call the baby "Max"—and only "Angel" when the boy was being especially good.
Angel could already tell when she was sad or happy. He could sense when sothing wasn’t right between his parents and they were worried. He could crawl now and move around on the floor with impressive confidence. He had a way of expressing what he wanted without words, using small actions and gestures that made his intentions clear.
After seeing how emotional she had beco from simply touching the surface of the wall, the boy glanced at that sa wall with darkened eyes, then looked back at his mother, his gaze softening, the unspoken question still shimring in his large, black orbs.
With quivering lips and tears welling in her eyes, Belle reached out and wrapped her fingers around his chubby wrist, then brought his little hand to her lips and kissed his palm.
"The walls didn’t hurt , Angel," she whispered to him softly. "I could read the pain they hold. I could see the mories of death. It’s heavy in this cottage. Soone loved here... and soone died. That’s what makes emotional. I can’t imagine being the woman who lost her husband."
Angel watched her as if he understood every word.
And in spite of herself, Belle smiled through her tears.
"You are one little bundle of smartness and adorableness," she whispered, tickling his cheeks.
He giggled and shrieked with joy, his laughter chasing away her sadness like sand carried off by the wind.
After touching more objects in the cottage and seeing both pleasant and painful mories, Belle decided she needed to be cautious of what she touched. The house was filled with bittersweet remnants of lives once lived, and she didn’t want to spend their remaining ti here dwelling on others pain. She didn’t want to keep seeking the lives of others when it only dampened her spirit and weighed down her heart.
She wanted to rember their final days in this cottage with warmth, to look back on them with a smile, not sorrow. The mories she saw were not hers, and she didn’t want to carry the grief of a woman she hadn’t known or mourn a death she hadn’t caused.
Whenever she saw the death, she always, for so reason, felt a deep sense of remorse, like there was sothing she could do to stop the man’s soul from being taken, to sohow allow him to keep on living with his wife. She constantly had to fight the urge to scream at the reaper who, without feeling or rcy, was pulling away the unwilling soul.
Later, when Rohan returned from feeding, she told him about the mories she had seen. He listened in silence, his expression unreadable.
They sat on the bed, backs resting against the headboard. He held Angel on his thigh, feeding him blood from a makeshift mug with a nipple-like top, while she sat close beside him, her head gently leaning against his shoulder as she spoke.
"No wonder she looked so sad when I first saw her," Rohan finally said, referring to the widow who had lived there before. "She barely had food in the house and looked thin, yet she refused to leave the place. That was why I believed giving her the money and compelling her to forget the life she had here was the best. And truthfully, sothing in her eyes, even while I was compelling her, already seed to long to forget."
Belle pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Hmm... if I were her, I would’ve wanted to keep the mories of the man I loved and the life we shared. Death is not always the final stop on the journey of life. The dead still hold feelings. They live on in a realm far beyond the reach of the living. They still carry love and emotions. Sotis, their souls wander and watch over their loved ones if they fail to cross over the river of souls.
"I can’t imagine wandering around my beloved and seeing they had forgotten , having no mories left to cherish of the life we had together. That’s not sothing I would ever want. Yes, the living should move on, but they shouldn’t forget. If I die, I would like—"
Her words were abruptly cut off by Rohan’s sudden, intense movent. His fierce eyes locked on hers as he turned swiftly and grabbed her waist, catching her completely off guard. She gasped, startled by his dark scowl of displeasure, his gaze looking like an endless abyss as it bore into her with searing intensity.
"Never," he growled, leaning toward her until their foreheads touched and their breaths mingled, "think about dying while I still live. Do you understand?"
Recovering from the shock of his swift movent, Belle relaxed, her hand rising to gently touch and caress his clenched, tense jaw. She was tempted to tell him that death was inevitable for every human, but she knew those words would only upset him more. It wasn’t that she wanted to die and leave behind this wonderful, loving family, it was just her way of making a point.
So instead, she smiled softly. "I was just speaking. I’m not thinking about it, hubby. We were just talking about the woman... and death." She brushed her lips lightly against his to soothe him, and slowly, she saw him begin to relax.
At Angel’s displeased noise from being disturbed during his feeding, Rohan leaned back against the headboard again and adjusted the baby on his thigh. He fitted the rubber nipple back into Angel’s mouth, and the baby resud sucking the blood greedily, utterly unaffected by their conversation and mood.
"How do you suddenly seem to know so much about death?" Rohan tilted his head to the side, studying his wife a little suspiciously. She was watching Angel, gently wiping a finger along the side of the boy’s mouth.
She stilled at his question. He heard her heart leap, then steady. After a brief pause, she raised her eyes to him and smiled.
"The knowledge just ca to ," she said softly. "And from what I’ve seen in the land of the dead, I truly believe that’s how it works. Death is not the end of life."
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