Andarin: The Mountains: viđrar vel til loftárása; --

“Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it? That's what it is to be a slave.”
- Blade Runner

It’s in times like this when I wish the world would just leave me the #### alone.

I don’t even know why. It’s a day like any other. Blue sky – well, beyond my winter anyway – dark shadows everywhere. My beloved shadows. Yet, here I stand, detached from them – it’s midday – in the observation point of always (where I stood with Stelios that one day back in the dark ages, when he was just Byronic Hero #1837 and I wasn’t landlocked like a, gasp, loyalist) and that nervous energy won’t go away.

That sense that something is about to happen. Something momentous and not entirely good – not entirely bad, either.

I almost wish Jörmungandr was here, so I could stop worrying. Or you, auntie. Drug me into infinity; make me forget. Force me to relax, because I cannot, not by myself.

Andarin spreads under me like a whore’s discarded shawl. The land under my care, pale white through the folds of my winter. May it reign until the sun swallows the earth!

I hate it still. Just in case you’ve forgotten.

You’ve always hated it, babylove.

I know.

I need a heir, I tell everything and nothing whatsoever.

You have heirs. Talkative, my winds. Sometimes I wonder if it’s like a second personality, so inextricably linked to mine that we’re almost the same, but no quite. You have heirs, but they are not good enough. Oh, they are good in all kinds of ways, but let’s face it – you’d never damn them to your own damnation.

Well, I’m not Saphira. I ain’t making more babies.

Ah well.

Age puts some things in perspective, I suppose.

It’s then…

Then, just like that, I know what I need to do.

The urge to jump just won’t go away, correct?

Who am I to deny my own urges?

No one, that’s who.

(You live for yourself.

Always.)

So I jump.

fenrisulfr
some there be that shadows kiss,
such have but a shadow’s bliss