Echoes Beneath the Leaves

Celestine Addington sank into her chair, clutching her head in her hands. Her cheeks were damp, and she could feel her heart thudding, heavy and frantic as if she were standing at the edge of a cliff. But she wasn’t afraid—no, this was someone else’s dread pouring through her, an icy fear that had been clinging to her since she stepped into St. Elias Church that morning.

The emotions had hit her like a tidal wave in that pew, sweeping over her again and again. First, there was the grief, sharp as broken glass, from a woman at the front, her shoulders shaking silently. Then, anger simmering nearby, potent and bitter, from someone who looked on with narrowed eyes and clenched fists. And finally, sorrow—a quiet, unyielding sorrow so deep it left her breathless. Each feeling wrapped itself around her until she lost track of where her emotions ended and others’ began.

"Was it a gift, or a curse?" Celestine whispered to herself, staring at the blank page on her desk.

She had asked herself this a thousand times since her gift had first awakened. It happened everywhere—on quiet streets and crowded squares, in Littlecra Bay’s bustling harbor or the stillness of the forest paths. Feelings seeped from others into her bones, running through her like a current she couldn’t switch off. 

Taking a shaky breath, she closed her eyes and let herself sense the world outside her small cottage. Just beyond her window, Littlecra Bay pulsed with life, and life pulsed with emotion.

A baby was crying a few streets away. She could feel it, sharp and needy, like a gnawing ache in her belly. The feeling pulled at her, and despite the lunch she’d just eaten, hunger bloomed in her stomach, twisting into a hollow pang. The poor thing wanted to be held, to be comforted. She wondered if its mother was too busy to pick it up, or too tired to understand the depth of its need.

Not far from the baby, an old man sat on a bench outside the post office, a familiar sight in his gray cap and worn coat. His mind drifted, wandering somewhere far away, perhaps into a memory too painful to visit without longing. His loneliness swept through her, a hollow ache like the one left by the baby’s hunger, but deeper, more lasting. Celestine swallowed against the wave of emotion, pressing her hands into her lap. She wanted to go to him, to place a hand on his shoulder and offer him comfort, but experience had taught her that not all people were ready to have their hearts laid bare by a stranger’s kindness.

There were times when Celestine wished she could close her mind, shut herself off from the ceaseless murmur of other people’s emotions. She had tried once or twice—blocking the sensations with charms or potions—but it never worked for long. She’d grown up hearing stories of witches with powers beyond understanding, but nothing had prepared her for the weight of feeling everyone’s joys and sorrows as if they were her own.

Just yesterday, as she’d walked along the docks, she’d passed a sailor newly returned from a long voyage. His joy was bright and piercing, and as Celestine walked by, she felt it rush into her, so intense it brought her to tears. She had watched him run into the arms of a woman waiting by the water’s edge, their embrace warm and fervent. Celestine’s heart ached in the most beautiful way as she felt their love surround her, a blissful balm to all the sorrow she carried.

Now, though, as she sat alone in her cottage, the memories settled around her like quiet ghosts. She brushed away a tear and opened her notebook, the page waiting for her thoughts. She often found herself writing when emotions became too overwhelming, channeling them into words, giving them a place to rest.

"To feel what others feel," she wrote slowly, her hand steady, "is to carry pieces of every soul I encounter. I am at once alone and never alone, a thousand hearts woven into my own."

Celestine’s pen stopped. A fresh wave of sadness washed over her, warm and heavy. She knew without looking that it was from the little boy who lived two houses down, the one who played alone in his yard. She could sense his yearning for friendship, the loneliness that echoed like a hollow drumbeat. She wanted to go to him, to kneel down and show him that he wasn’t alone, that someone felt his sorrow and understood it. But such things weren’t so simple, not when she could feel the ache in his mother’s heart too—a weariness that held her back from reaching out to her own son.

And so, Celestine simply sat, breathing in the sadness, letting it settle in her until it eased. Sometimes, that was all she could do. She couldn’t fix everyone, couldn’t mend their broken hearts or fill their empty spaces, but she could bear witness to their pain, carry a piece of it with her, so they might feel a little less alone in their suffering.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Celestine closed her notebook, feeling the weight of the town settle into silence around her. Night was always easier; people’s emotions softened, like a gentle hum instead of a cacophony. She stepped out onto her porch, letting the evening air wash over her, grounding her.

A flicker of hope stirred in her heart, a small, steady flame amidst the echoes of sadness and longing. She didn’t know whose hope it was—it could have been the sailor’s wife, waiting by the window for his return, or perhaps the little boy, dreaming of a friend. But as the hope filled her, Celestine felt herself breathe a little easier.

---

As the stars began to puncture the evening sky, Celestine felt her mind quiet. Twilight brought a certain clarity, as though the world’s emotions settled into a deep breath, and she could finally find her own. She stepped down from her porch, her bare feet touching the cool grass as she made her way to the small, unkempt garden behind her cottage. 

Gardening had become a rare solace for her—a time to ground herself, her hands buried in earth and roots rather than emotions and pain. She had planted lavender, rosemary, and sage in tidy rows, though now they sprawled wildly, overtaking each other with tangled branches and fragrant blooms. They needed pruning, but Celestine didn’t mind their untamed growth. Tonight, she knelt beside the lavender, fingers brushing the soft, gray-green leaves. As she plucked a sprig, her fingers began to tremble, and she realized that a memory was surfacing—her own, not borrowed from another soul.

When she was a child, her mother had been the only person in her life who truly understood her gift. “It’s our family’s blessing, Celestine,” her mother would whisper, brushing her hair from her face. “Our duty to walk with others through their darkest moments, to feel their pain so they don’t have to feel it alone.”

At the time, Celestine hadn’t understood what that meant. All she knew was that sometimes, when she was close to people, her emotions would swell with strange, foreign feelings. Her mother explained it was like tuning into a silent song, one that only a few could hear. She’d promised that one day, Celestine would learn to manage it.

But her mother had passed away too soon, leaving her alone with a gift she hadn’t fully mastered. Now, after years of learning on her own, Celestine could only wonder if her mother had felt the same burden. Sometimes she longed to ask her questions—to understand if it was ever possible to protect her own heart from the constant ache of others.

Celestine sat in the garden for a long while, watching the moon rise. She leaned back, resting her head against the rough bark of an old oak tree, and tried to let herself drift into a state of quiet, but an insistent feeling was tugging at her—a sharp pang of fear from the edge of town, where the forest met the rocky shore. She knew this feeling well; it was a fear of the unknown, of shadows that seemed to shift and follow.

The townsfolk often spoke of the woods beyond Littlecra Bay with a reverence edged with fear. There were stories, of course—tales of spirits, strange sightings, the kinds of things meant to keep children from wandering too far into the trees. Celestine had never been afraid of the woods, but she had never felt comfortable there, either. There was something restless about the forest, something that stirred a twinge of unease in her heart, as though the trees held memories of their own, ancient and unresolved.

And tonight, that familiar sense of unease was woven with something else—a heartbeat of urgency she couldn’t ignore. She rose, dusting the soil from her skirt, and made her way back to her cottage. She took her walking cloak from the hook by the door, the dark wool lined with a soft velvet that shielded her from the biting sea winds. She hesitated only briefly before stepping into the night, letting the feeling guide her down the narrow path that led to the woods.

As she neared the edge of town, she could sense the presence of another heart—a steady pulse of fear and determination that filled her with an almost electric energy. It was coming from just beyond the treeline, where the shadows were thick, and the path wound into the darkness. She couldn’t explain why, but she knew she was meant to find whoever was there.

Following the pull of the emotions like a compass, Celestine moved silently, her footsteps soft against the mossy ground. She could see the figure of a young woman up ahead, a lantern casting flickering light over her face, her hands trembling as she held it aloft. The woman’s fear was sharp, and Celestine could feel it prickling at the back of her own neck. But there was something else, too—a fierce determination that held her steady.

Celestine stepped forward slowly, not wanting to startle her. “Are you all right?” she called softly.

The woman spun around, eyes wide with a mix of fear and relief. “I… I didn’t think anyone would be out here,” she stammered, her voice laced with an edge of panic.

Celestine offered a small, calming smile, opening herself to the woman’s fear and letting it pass through her. “It’s all right,” she said gently. “I felt… I felt someone needed help.”

The woman’s shoulders slumped, as though releasing a weight she had been carrying. She lowered the lantern, the light revealing a young face shadowed with worry. “My brother,” she whispered. “He disappeared this morning. He likes to wander the woods, but he’s never been gone this long.”

Celestine felt a sudden rush of protectiveness—a powerful desire to find this woman’s lost brother, to bring him back and soothe her fear. She nodded, reaching out a hand. “Come with me. Let’s search together.”

The woman hesitated, looking down at Celestine’s extended hand. There was uncertainty in her eyes, and Celestine sensed a flicker of doubt, but she quickly masked it with a firm nod. They walked in silence, their footsteps muffled by the soft earth. Every now and then, Celestine could feel a pang of fear flare in the woman’s heart, followed by a deep, stubborn resolve. She was clearly used to protecting her family, to carrying the weight of worry for those she loved.

They had walked for nearly an hour when a faint sound reached Celestine’s ears—a rustling in the underbrush, followed by the soft, wavering voice of a child. She turned to the woman, who gasped and lifted the lantern higher, illuminating the path ahead. There, huddled under the shelter of a fallen tree, was a small boy, his face streaked with dirt and his eyes wide with a mix of relief and fear.

“Ben!” the woman cried, rushing forward to wrap her arms around him.

Celestine felt their reunion as a wave of pure, unfiltered joy, the kind that hummed in her chest and brought a lump to her throat. For a moment, she let herself bask in it, allowing their shared relief to fill her. She watched as the woman held her brother close, brushing the dirt from his cheeks and whispering reassurances, her own eyes bright with tears.

When the initial rush of emotion faded, Celestine crouched down beside them, offering the boy a warm smile. “Are you all right?” she asked softly.

He nodded, sniffling. “I just wanted to explore… but then it got dark,” he murmured, his small voice wavering.

Celestine rested a gentle hand on his shoulder. “The woods can be a confusing place, even for grown-ups,” she said, her tone kind. “But you’re safe now. Your sister came looking for you.”

As they made their way back through the trees, Celestine felt a sense of peace settle over her, mingling with the gratitude radiating from the young woman’s heart. She realized, with a pang of clarity, that moments like this—when her gift allowed her to bring comfort, to ease another’s fears—were what her mother had meant when she called it a blessing. It was rare for Celestine to feel so fully understood, but tonight, she did. In the quiet bond that had formed between her and the siblings, she could feel her purpose as clearly as the beat of her own heart.

When they returned to the edge of town, the young woman turned to Celestine, her face lit with a warmth that seemed to chase away all the lingering shadows of the night. “Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t know how you knew to come, but… thank you.”

Celestine merely nodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. As she watched the woman and her brother walk away, a smile softened her features. The quiet ache of others’ pain and the hum of their joy were always with her, but tonight, they felt different—lighter, almost like gifts.