Finished Hunt for Justice Elena

Sun gleamed as though thousands of diamonds reflected the precise hue of buttercup flowers — once belonging in a blooming field, now crushed under the heartless heel of a boot, staining with mud the pristine symbols of youth and innocence.

Navy eyes blinked twice, staring back at idly feet, lazily kicking back and forth in the cold air of november. It had been a few days since she had been waiting, perched on that rock, staring at the sea. Waiting. They had always reunited here, though usually she was the one running towards a frowning brunette, who instantly lit up the moment she screamed his name with that high pitched tone excitement caused, spriting in the sand and waving. Alone on her rock, staring at an ocean, the honeyed haired was waiting. A week later, stormy eyes were veiled with tears, one not knowing if she was wrathful or filled with sadness, the ache of being stood up planting sharp pins underneath her tender skin. She returned to her homeland silently, yet with the fierce determination of pouting him the next time they would see each other.

It never happened. For weeks she returned to their secret place, and for weeks she was the only living creature awaiting another's return. Upon noticing the lively spirit that once ruled her heart slowly exiting their daughter, both Elias and Victoria decided to take her to the imposing mansion her vanished friend lived in, ensuring she will at the least get an explanation for the sudden disappearance. Perhaps he had been punished, confined to the four walls of his room. Hopping towards what her juvenile eyes saw as a true palace, one she had on several occasions visited — laughter as they chased each other in the garden, hide and seek in the numerous rooms it kept secret, giggles of delight upon feeding the stallions —, Elena was filled with a shimmering hope nothing could tarnish. Surely he would apologize, explain everything, and they could play tag once mo-

Mountains of ladders and structures were tightly wrapped around the entire batiment, white tissue draped over large parts, tools abandoned and buckets of paints left unopen. More importantly, a silence. One in which you could hear your own ragged breath, one in which the frenzied beatings of your heart could be distinctly heard accelerate, as you step closer and wrap tiny hands around the gigantic bars of the portal. Seconds, maybe minutes passed and she was standing here, clinging to the iron, staring, praying that if she shut her eyes long enough and reopened them, confettis would explode from somewhere as a loud 'SURPRISE' would be heard. Nothing. Her parents gently nudged her, it was time to come home, and they could try to find them after a good night sleep, and if not then she would always make new acquaintances.

Wise words that entered one ear and went out through the other, as she had spotten a moving figure amongst the tall trees framing the residence. "EXCUSEZ MOI !" she had yelled, not caring if her parents attempted to pull her away. "S'IL VOUS PLAIT," she continued, voice turning into a plea as she watched the figure walk away, "JE CHERCHE CAMILLE, no PLEASE-... come back..." Her sentenced ended in a sniffled whisper, little hands reaching between bars, waving as wide as she could. And it worked. One glance told her it was the family's gardener, and soon hope flared like thousands of sun within her chest, sparking her brightest smile. Until a sword was driven right through it.

"They, euh- déménager. Not ici anymore." A wobbly english, and yet each word struck her won as though the world itself had crumbled on her shoulders. "What-" A whine, that of a wounded animal. Surely it was a mistake, he would have said something, warned her, give her an address. Camille, her Camille would have never, couldn't have— "Savez-vous s'ils reviendront ?" Her mother intervened in a perfect french, hand brushing her daughter's curls in a poor attempt at appeasing her. The gardner shook his head, waving at the infrastructure in renovation behind him. "Aucune idée, ma p'tite dame. J'ai cru entendre qu'ils allaient la vendre." Sell? No, they couldn't- they wouldn't- they loved this house, Camille had said so himself, he had to come back, he had to. Navy eyes shot up, and she clung to the bars once again, tears threatening to fall. The man facing her seemed truly kind, eyes softening upon seeing stars spilling down her cheeks, though his duty forbade him to offer anything more than awkward sympathy. "Avez-vous leur nouvelle adresse? Ou un moyen de les contacter ?" His head shook once more, and her shoulders slumped, before shaking, ugly tears landing on the ground as she made an inhuman attempt at being a brave little girl. After thanking him, they left, her feet dragging on the ground, head looking down, the distinct feeling her heart had been crushed down like flowers remaining in her chest.

The next day, a newfound fervor inhabited her, and she once more waited next to the gates until the same gardner appeared. After a good minute of convincing him, he finally complied and accepted the letters she was handing him, promising her to do his best to carry them to their destination. Each week, each vacation she would return with more and more letters, often bringing a few chocolates, some coffee or other gifts for her new friend, Michel, who turned out to be an absolute sweetheart, with an even cuter canine friend. Their exchanges remained limited by the imposing gate closing the estate to those who did not belong, and yet she found herself enjoying each second. Though this blissful escape from reality was shadowed by the fact she was receiving no response. At first she blamed it on the transport, then the time difference, then his likely busy schedule, but over time she had to accept the evident — she was clinging to something he wanted nothing to do with anymore.

And here he was, standing in front of her with a moronic smile, acting like she had no spent weeks mourning their friendship, staring out the window with absent eyes, hoping this would all be a bad dream if she could simply fall asleep. Perhaps learning he had written her, and carelessly forgot to bring those words to her, was even more painful that him admitting he truly didn't care. This meant he didn't care enough about her, about what they had shared, to make the mere effort of posting a few pages of paper. Her gaze hardened, hurt, and her entire body leaned away, hands clenching into fists as her eyes set themselves on a chipped tile of the stone cold floor, anything but staring through his eyes and seeing she had cared a lot more than he had — yet again. Worst is, he couldn't even see how his actions were so wrong, as he actually was asking her what she wanted to hear. I want you to feel sorry, not to beg for forgiveness. Biting her lower lip as hard as she could to fight the veil of tears threatening to fall, she kept a resolute gaze on the floor, making miserable attempts at getting a god forsaken grip on her emotions.

“You never tried to reach me either, even though you knew my old address. We never sold it, so what is your excuse?”

What? Her head shot up as she dove incredulous eyes straight into his deceiving brown pools, hand shaking lightly before she erupted. "I beg your pardon ? Stepping closer yet again, she pointed a finger at his chest, aggressively poking at each step she took. "I waited days for you to show up, I spent weeks going back to your house and hoping this time the windows would be lit, I wrote you hundreds of letters and you never bothered to reply to a single one!" The last piece of her sentence made her voice break, rising higher until she was on the verge of yelling, before finally landing — buttercups crushed under the polished heel of his boot.

Hazel eyes bore straight into hers, carrying the weight of unpronounced feelings threatening to overbalance the fragile thread remaining between the two of them. Though justified, her anger soared through her veins like a raging fire, something too hot and too bright to be digested, feelings she did not wish to harbor towards someone she had missed so dearly. Unresolved tensions lingered, unspoken words sent towards the other moons ago, though from the action of a particularly vile man none were received.

"I- I did, I just-" Of course she did not believe him capable of willingly hurt her, but what does a small girl wounded by past friendships know? Head filled with the sole worry of losing someone she loved so dearly, she waited weeks for him to return, only to conclude he must have gotten sick of her. Or, at the least, he had not cared enough to try anything and everything to keep her by his side. "I thought you had grown weary of me." Her voice grew quieter, as she looked at the cracked tiles beneath her feet.

It hurt, seeing both of them standing here, in the midst of a land between blissful, carefree childhood and the harsh reality of the adult world. Upon squinting hard enough, one could almost see the past versions of themselves, running in circles around their immobile figures. A small brunette, a serious expression clashing with the pure sunlike joy contained within his eyes, lips twitching as though on the verge to break into a smile, and a tiny blonde, honey-like hair glistening under the sun, laugh echoing like chiming bells along the cold walls of the corridor. Her heart clenched in pain, and the dreadful, unbearable feeling of longing for something lost between the claws of time washed over her like a tsunami, like those immeasurably tall waves they used to run into.

In their childhood language, in the beautiful tongue they both adored, 'I miss you' turned into 'you are missing from me'. And oh how his smile was missing from her heart, how his soul had taken a part of hers at his disappearance. How sorry they looked, an imperious aristocrat who had carved his feelings away from his heart, only bitter remarks and harsh words remaining, and an exhausted daughter of a forgotten world, plagued by nightmares she could not rid herself of. Wounded by the world, scars engrained too deep within their flesh to pretend they remained the ignorant children running along the tumultuous ocean of french beaches. How she wish they could return to that time.

Tu me manques.

Tears veiled her gaze, a sob shook her entire frame, and suddenly she could not hold it any longer, running towards him and crashing into his arms, clutching him tighter until all but fragrances of jasmine, amber wood and saffron. He was taller, bigger — different. And yet her head found the crook of his neck like they were nine again, running into each other's arms simply to say hello. "I missed you." she whispered, speaking for her younger self, before pulling away and looking once more into hazel eyes. "I miss you."

What an odd pair these two formed. A boy raised in lies, who learned to build barricades around his soul, covering them with false truths and apparences ; and a girl forced to hide beneath shards of broken mirror. Two beings who saw straight through each other's facade, and yet two beings who couldn't find the words to utter what mattered most to each. Two idiots, really. Chained by a past too heavy to bear, left staring at each other on opposing sides of a cliff, the ocean raging below.

Will you jump with me?

The children they once were had already been swallowed by the waves, innocence crashed onto the rocks of the shore. Here, they were strangers, facing each other. And yet. And yet how her chin found the curve of the crook of his neck, how his perched itself atop of her honeyed curls — how naturally they merged into each other could not have been a mere coincidence. The sea had erased the names traced in the dampened sand of French beaches, the wind had carried away their laughter, the sun had hidden itself from their skies, and yet. Here they stood, hand in hand, at the edge of the shore.

Lifting a hesitant hand to brush away a tear threatening to escape the grasp of his eyelashes, she smiled, head tilting to the side. "Perhaps we could start again, then." Pieces of who they were had been scattered away by the ocean, but some remained tightly clung to their hearts, and she could not bear the thoughts of losing him once more. Letters never sent perhaps could be finally be splintered, carrying away resentment and allowing them to begin anew.

"Though you are not changing dorms. Get used to it."