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“Honestly, it was only after I lashed out at Ithuriel that he sat me down and had the same conversation with me that I am about to have with you. We both lost so many we loved during that war, and I was so wrapped up in my own pain that I forgothe suffered too. But he handled it much better than I did. I pretended everything was fine, went on living my life, burying myself in task after task, never giving myself time to think or to reallyfeelwhat happened. Until I snapped after a small disagreement that should have been nothing.”
Holy shit, Zuriel was describing exactly what was happening to me.
“That was when Ithuriel forced me to be still, to talk about what happened and how I felt about it. And not in the ‘recite what happened to me’ way that you did when we first met. But to truly open myself to the depths of my pain and process it in a way that made the memories less acute.”
My throat thickened, and I tried to swallow down the emotions knotted there. “Did it help?”
My cousin nodded slowly. “It did, eventually. It was fucking hard at first, to feel it while I was speaking of it rather than detach myself from what had happened. But in order to heal, the full integration of mind, body, and soul is necessary.”
I watched my breath fog the air in front of me as I exhaled long and slow. “Then I want to do it. Can you help me?”
“I can do my best. Ithuriel was gifted with a different mind magic than you or I that lent itself better to these types of situations, but his instructions still live on, even though he does not.” Zuriel offered a sad smile as we spoke of my father, his uncle, who had been like a father to him.
“When can we start?” I asked. If this method could help me let go, figure out the right choice, and empower me, I did not want to wait.
“Do you feel comfortable doing it out here?” He gestured to the nearly barren landscape around us. There were no Fae in sight, and only the sounds of the horses and other farm animals reached our ears.
“Yes,” I confirmed, striding to a few misshapen rocks large enough to sit on and clearing them of snow. Zuriel joined me, settling himself cross-legged before taking a deep breath.
“First, we need to establish some rules. Number one is that I will not share anything you say to anyone unless you specifically ask me to. Number two is that you must tell me if you need to stop at any time.”
“I will,” I promised him.
“Good. You need a few grounding phrases, too. I know you already have a few that you prefer, so say them aloud for me now,” he instructed.
Nodding, I said, “I am safe. I am an insidious bloom. I am strong. I am powerful. I will not be afraid.”
“The first is what we shall work on today. Safety,” he began, “is essential to healing. Until you feel safe in your skin, in your environment, in your relationships, nothing else will change, no matter how hard you work to change it.”
“But I am safe, technically,” I frowned.
“But yourbodydoes not feel safe. That is where the holistic integration comes in. In your mind, you know you are safe. But in your body, in your soul, do you truly feel safe?” he queried.
I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me off with a shake of his head. “Tune into your body. Think of being in danger, and see where you feel it.”
Nodding, I closed my eyes, scanning like I would to find my magic. I bypassed the well, instead thinking to myself ‘I am not safe.’ A flare of tension in my low belly immediately caught my attention, but the sensation did not stop there; it grew throughout my torso, wrapping my chest in a vice and tensing my neck and shoulders as if I were prepared to fight for my life. I sucked in a sharp breath.
“Good, Izidora,” Zuriel murmured, “focus on the feeling. What comes to your mind first?”
Whips.
Chains.
Cold.
Fetid meat.
Blood.
“So much,” I croaked, panic clawing its way up my throat.
“Cross your arms over your chest, resting a hand on each shoulder. Then tap one side, then the other,” Zuriel said, and I did as he instructed. The tapping back and forth was rapid and desperate, and even more flashes of memory started to appear.
Tears overflowed freely, and I didn’t bother trying to stop them, not when it felt like I had turned on a faucet and the pressure of the water departing me felt freeing in the strangest way.
“You can speak your memories out loud, or keep them to yourself, the choice is yours,” Zuriel murmured. “Keep focusing on the feeling in your body, either way.”
I managed to nod, then a vivid yet hidden memory burst unbidden from me. “I was young, so young… I had a caretaker, she was so kind and loving. And then one day, they dragged her away from me. The guards pinned me to the wall, locking the iron manacles I always wore around my wrists and ankles to heavy chains attached to the stone wall of my room. I-I heard them tell her I had become defiant in her care, and that they needed to break me now. She begged them for a second chance, and even over my own sobs, I heard them say no. Then there was a scream, and then nothing. They-they killed her.”
