And Then She Broke

Jenna stands on the riverbank, watching Felix cling desperately onto that wooden post. He looks so small and helpless amidst the river's current. Jenna can feel the rain soaking through her dress, can feel the warm tears streaming down her cheeks. She knows it's only a matter of time until the elders' Psynergy is used up and she knows it's only a matter of time until everything is taken away from her.

She watches her brother cling desperately onto the wooden post, watches her family reach helplessly out to him. She, too, reaches toward him, but she knows it's useless. It's always useless.


Jenna hears the whispers all around her.

"Her whole family died."

"Poor girl…"

"You know, there were no casualties during that storm except for her family and Isaac's dad."

"It's unfortunate about Isaac's dad, but at least he still has his mother. For her… I mean… To have your whole family taken away…"

"Yeah. And it was only hers."

"I'd call that cursed if there ever was such a thing."

Jenna sits in the plaza in front of the Psynergy stone and pretends she doesn't hear them. The whispers won't bring them back anyway. Nothing will.


Jenna had cast off her cloak a long time ago. She doesn't care if the rain soaks her to her very bones. She has to run as fast as she can if there is any hope of finding someone to save her brother before he… Jenna still can't bring herself to say it.

Life is cruel, the girl thinks. She runs harder and faster than she had ever run before, but she knows it's not enough. It's never enough.


When Garet sees her she has the darkest bags under her eyes and she looks more tired than a sloth and way older than Kraden, even though she's only fourteen.

"You look like you haven't slept in days!" Garet exclaims, worried.

"I haven't." She replies simply and sits on the inn's bed, staring off into empty space, even though one of her best friends is by her side.

Garet blinks and frowns. "That's not good."

She ignores him.

"How long has it been since you last slept?"

"Eight days."


She finally found someone who can help Felix and they run as fast as the wind back to the river. And this is the worst part because she can't help but feel that shimmer of hope blossoming in her chest. She can't help but feel that slight feeling of relief as they get ready to help her brother.

But her hopes are crushed when she realizes it's too late. The boulder is falling now, heading straight for the people she loves most, and there's nothing she can do.


"I don't want it."

"Jenna, you have to eat some time."

"I don't want it."

The inn cook sighs in frustration. "Jenna. Why not?"

"Because they can't eat. They can't ever eat. Not again."

The chef is silent. Jenna is not surprised because there's not much you can say in the face of truth.


"Mom! Dad! Felix!" she screams their names with all of her might. Until her voice grows hoarse and her throat is ripped apart. "No!"

This tends to be Jenna's favorite part. The pain in her throat is nothing compared to the pain in her chest, but at least it provides some type of distraction for what will come next.

Jenna's throat feels like it's bleeding now as she screams and screams and the boulder falls and falls.


No one understands her. No one, except Isaac. But Isaac still has his mom and the two of them find comfort and strength in each other. Her strength was torn away from her the moment that boulder peaked over the waterfall.

Isaac and Dora tell her that she's welcome to join them for dinner. Isaac holds his hand out to her with a sad smile and a warm gaze.

But Jenna can't feel that warmth. She hasn't felt warmth for a long time now. So she stays cold. As cold as the rain that had soaked her clothes that day. She refuses their offer and his hand.

Isaac will never be Felix and Dora will never be her mom, so there's really no point.


It happens in a second. One moment, her family is there on the dock and Felix is there on the post. The next moment, they're gone. Just like that.

Jenna marvels at how, in a single instant, her whole world can change.


"I haven't seen her cry. Not once."

"I haven't either! You'd think she'd cry at the funeral, but she never did."

"Yeah. Just stood there like a statue, watching those empty caskets get buried."

"And not a single tear."

"Nope. Not one."

That's a lie, Jenna thinks. She's cried many times, at night at least, alone on her bed. It's a better alternative than going to sleep, after all. Because sleep means dreams. And dreams mean reliving memories that she'd much rather forget.


Jenna wakes up and she is on her bed in the inn. She looks around and her family isn't there. The absence of her loved ones is so tangible that she can feel it literally tearing her heart apart. And the tears Jenna cries don't do anything to help.


Isaac finds Jenna on the riverbank, staring at the now peaceful river, at the wooden post and the broken dock. He wonders if she sees things that aren't there.

He sits beside her and takes a good look at her. She looks awful. She's thin and scrawny and there are bags under her lifeless eyes. Suddenly, impulsively, Isaac remembers a time when Jenna's smile was warmer than the sun and she bounced with energy and confidence. But now, Isaac looks at her and thinks she might waste away into dust. There's a lump in his throat at the thought of it and Isaac feels tears stinging his eyes.

"Jenna, have you eaten?"

"No."

Isaac bites his lip. "Have you slept?"

"No."

This isn't Jenna. She's not monotonous. She's not depressed. She's not like a statue waiting to be worn away by time and nature. She's supposed to be fierce and bright, full of life and warmth like the element she inherited. Isaac swallows against the ever-growing lump in his throat.

"Why?" he asks and his voice breaks a little.

She doesn't answer. He whispers her name, but she still doesn't answer. Her silence pierces through his chest like a knife and he feels like he's losing her. He's losing her and he's losing everything she once was, everything he once had.

"You need to eat. You need to sleep." His throat is burning against that lump and his eyes are stinging from the fight against his tears. He can barely talk to her without his voice quaking.

"I don't want to."

It's such a simple phrase. Jenna's said it so many times throughout their childhood. But her voice is lifeless and broken now and her soul is shattered into pieces. It shatters Isaac's soul into pieces, too. It breaks him apart and all he wants is to have his friend back.

"Gods, Jenna. Don't do this to yourself." And he bursts into tears and pulls her into his arms. "Please, don't do this to yourself."

"Why not? There's no point anymore."

And she sounds so utterly broken that Isaac just holds her close, whispers pleas into her ear, tries to convey warmth through his embrace.

She lays there, unmoving in his arms and Isaac's heart breaks a little further. Where was the fiery girl who threatened them with fireballs? Where was the lively female with a quick wit and a quicker temper? Isaac can't be expected to believe that this broken shell is Jenna. It's not the girl who occupied his childhood, who played with him and Garet, whose laughter rings so strongly in his ears. Isaac wraps his arms around her thin body, buries his hand in her hair, pulls her to his chest. A few tears escape his eyes and lands in her disheveled hair.

"Why would you say that?" Isaac sobs against her hair. "Of course there's a point. There's always a point."

The point is he wants her back. He doesn't want a hollow shell anymore. And he might be selfish, but then Garet is selfish, too and so is his mother and the rest of Vale. They all want her back. They want her in all her pink hair and fiery attitude and quick wit. They want her bright smile and they want her boundless energy. And he holds her, even though a simple embrace won't heal her broken heart.

"They wouldn't want you to be like this. They'd want to see you smile." Isaac says these words because he knows they're true. He whispers those words against her hair because he wants to see her smile, too.

She lies there limply in his arms, but after awhile, she lifts her arms and places her hands on his back and a small, tiny voice whispers against his chest.

"I miss them."

And soon, she begins to shake, begins to quiver in his arms. She clutches at his shirt, fists her hands against his body and pulls him closer, closer. She sobs against his chest, cries onto his shirt, screams and rages and weeps. Isaac simply holds her and cries with her.

This is the first time, Jenna thinks. This is the first time she hasn't cried alone.


Isaac invites her to eat dinner with him and his mother. She accepts. Dora cooks soup because Jenna hasn't eaten real food in weeks and it's best not to upset her stomach.

She stays in their home for the night and she sleeps for the first time in days. She wakes up screaming, the boulder flashing before her eyes, but Isaac's there in an instant and he holds her close and Dora embraces them both.

'Th-the boulder," Jenna squeaks from against Isaac's shoulder. She and Isaac are both shaking.

"It's gone now," Dora whispers comfortingly. And her arms are wide, wider than them both and she envelops them and surrounds them, and Jenna just weeps for the thousandth time since that day.

But this time, she's not alone. And this time her tears actually console her.


The next day, Jenna goes to Garet's house and Jenna doesn't see it, but Isaac and Garet share a determined nod. The large red-head tries extra hard that day and, eventually he is awarded. It's like a moment of pure magic, like shooting stars and wishes and miracles. Even though it's small and a little half-baked, with a tint of sorrow and a hint of despair, it exists. Jenna's smile exists and when they see it, the boys had never known a deeper relief.

Isaac takes one hand and Garet takes the other. They go at the pace she sets and while Garet may be a little clumsy and Isaac may be a little broken, they don't leave her side. And slowly, Jenna learns to live again.