Chapter 130: The Art of Letting Go
Thelma Zane’s POV
No matter how much we tried to argue or persuade, my father stood firm: Dorothy would not be allowed to take the risk of traveling to the Rocky Mountains, and neither would I. It was a difficult blow, one that left us in low spirits as we departed from the study.
Dorothy’s condition weighed heavily on my mind. Her eyes were deteriorating, growing worse with each passing day. Recently, she had been experiencing dry eyes that seemed to worsen in the wind, her vision blurred by tears that the breeze would whip across her face. Tracy, our trusted healer, had examined her and confirmed that Dorothy’s eyes had already developed some lesions. Though the damage was not severe yet, none of us could say with certainty how much it would progress if left unchecked. The hope that the advanced party’s discovery would bring us closer to a solution was tinged with anxiety.
That night, we sat down for dinner alone, the silence between us thick with unspoken words. Finally, I broke it. “Have you thought about asking your father for help?” I questioned, carefully watching her face for any sign of reaction.
Dorothy’s response was subdued, lacking the resistance she had shown in the past. She didn’t even flinch at the mention of her father’s name. It was as if I had brought up a distant, irrelevant figure, someone she had never known
“I won’t ask him, Thelma,” she said quietly. “It’s not just that I’m a stranger to him. I don’t think it’s necessary.
“Why?” I pressed, confused by her calm acceptance.
Dorothy did not answer me directly. Instead, she shifted the conversation to her collection of books and notes.
“You know that my mother left behind many books and notes, don’t you?” she began, her eyes distant as she spoke. “But it’s not just her work. My father’s contributions were significant as well. I’ve studied them since I was little, but back then, I didn’t understand anything. All I could do was stare at those intricate symbols and pictures, trying to make sense
of them.
“It wasn’t until the werewolf grandmasters began guiding me that I was able to fully grasp those cryptic words and symbols. As I read more, it became clear that my mother was a werewolf grandmaster, though she never made it known to anyone. She studied her craft quietly, away from public eyes. Maybe that was due to my grandmother’s influence, or maybe it was simply her nature.”
Dorothy paused for a moment and took a sip of orange juice, the sweetness contrasting with the weight of her words. “My mother left behind many works, but after so many years of rereading them, I’ve never found a single mention of the Eye of Insight.
Chapter 130. The Art of Letting Go
I listened in silence, processing her words.
“It’s not in my mother’s books,” Dorothy continued, her voice growing softer. “And it’s not in my father’s, either.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy with implication “Do you know what that means?” she asked, eyes fixed on me, searching for an answer
I shook my head, unable to put my thoughts into words.
Dorothy’s lips twitched with a rueful smile. “It means that either they don’t know, or they don’t care, even if they do.”
a
She took another sip of her drink and let out a small, humorless laugh. “If they don’t know about the Eye of Insight, then my father couldn’t possibly have the ability to wield it. And if that’s true, then he doesn’t know how to control it. So, there’s no reason for me to disturb their lives now. We haven’t seen each other for so long that we’ve become strangers. If I were to suddenly reappear, what would it accomplish? Just an awkward recognition, perhaps.”
Her voice dropped, her tone becoming more dejected. “And if they do know and simply don’t care, then there’s even less reason to seek them out. Maybe they never expected me to inherit this rare ability, or perhaps they never cared that it might shorten my life. They forgot about me, so why should I care about them now?”
I opened my mouth to refute her words, to say something, anything that might make her reconsider. But the words stuck in my throat. What could I say? Dorothy had already considered every possibility. No matter how much I wished it to be different, the cruel reality was undeniable. Whether it was because her parents had eloped or because her father was indifferent, he had failed her in the most fundamental way. Dorothy understood that better than anyone, and it left no room for argument.
“You’re a good person, Thelma,” Dorothy said, suddenly smiling at me with a mix of fondness and sadness. “You rush into things and have a temper, but I know that you’re gentle and caring.”
I shifted uncomfortably under her gaze, ashamed at my inability to make things right for her. “I’m sorry, Dorothy,” I whispered, feeling a deep, aching sympathy for her.
Dorothy shook her head, a small, resigned smile on her lips. “There’s no need to apologize, Thelma. It’s been nineteen years. If I still didn’t understand, then I’d be the one in the cell,
not Adele.”
Her words cut deep, revealing the sharp, unyielding edge of her acceptance. “Prophecy is a fair power,” she said, her voice quiet–but resolute. “It lets you see the truth about others, but not about yourself. It’s designed that way so no one can cheat their fate. Even those who read the Book of Destiny cannot alter what’s meant to be.”
She paused, looking away as if lost in thought. “If I could, I’d have seen the end of my path
Chappi 130 The Aut of Letting
and tried to change it. But I didn’t see it, just as I didn’t see the moment when were summoned back.”
my parents
The weight of her words settled over me like a heavy blanket. It was as if she were telling me that I didn’t need to worry about her, that she had already accepted her fate and was at peace with it.
“There’s no need to dwell on it, Thelma,” she said with a faint smile. “It’s all been set from
the beginning. I believe that the goddess won’t abandon her believers, so there’s no need for
concern about my future.”
The finality in her voice was both painful and soothing. The harsh reality she spoke of had been her burden alone for so long that she had learned to bear it with strength and resolve. Letting go was not just an act of acceptance for her; it was a form of release. Yet, it left an emptiness that no one could fill.
At that moment, I felt a deep sadness for this strong girl who had carried so much weight on her own. There was a raw beauty in her resilience, but it was a beauty that came from suffering.
I shifted the topic, steering us away from the pain of her revelations. I knew she would not speak of it again, so I respected her silence. From that day forward, I promised myself that I would be there for her in every way I could, even if she did not ask for it. Because no matter how strong she appeared, there was still a part of her that deserved to be protected.
