[ Respond | Andarin: The Mountains ]
Posted by nieve on March 18, 2009, 11:18 pm
172.129.141.151
I'm not sure how it happened - how, rather, I came to be here, standing before Nicodemus with my body on fire, with vines wrapped around my feet, with my air cradling me in the futile hope that it will be enough to keep me from breaking -
(which is impossible, because one cannot be kept together when they were never whole in the first place)
and because I cannot find an answer, or even reason in my seeking the Knight out and spilling my guts to him, only that I needed to and that it had to be him who I told, I sigh and close my eyes. I wish this simple action could keep me safe, but it's apparent that Fate is a twisted little b###h and her sister, Reality, is cruel too, and neither seem willing to grant me any reprieve.
This is why I do not sleep, not anymore. Not when I close my eyes and see my Fate sprawled at my feet, bloodsoaked and battered, not when I am forever remembering the feel of him against my side and his laughter in my ear,not when I'm forgetting his face as the days and nights merge into an endless cycle of despair.
And suddenly, quietly examining his face, I know why it was he I came to, because he reminds me of my other half, the one I would never see again.
"Nicodemus," I say quietly, gathering my thoughts with a thousand woman mysteries in my eyes, with traces of despair and grief and loss in the features of my face (I am young, so young, and yet life has never been kind to me, not from the beginning, and not now); and before the words leave my mouth, I chicken out and offer a feeble attempt at a smile.
I forget that he is Scholar, and could read the thoughts I cannot ask, not yet (did you ever lose someone you loved? if you did, how did you continue? what happens when you cannot bear to wake up because your life has no meaning anymore?). "I feel very safe with you," I say instead, and though the words are honest I'm sure he can tell that this isn't what I was originally going to say. "I'm not used to it; it's rare for me to feel that way, because those I felt safe with always left me."
Somehow, I think, he isn't going to be like the rest.
And then, in a lightning change of mood, I go from open and all fuzzy-wuzzy gut-spilling to somber and vaguely prophet-feeling. "Do you feel the darkness in the air? The Seed does; I do, and it scares me. Do you know what it is?"
and barely conscious, you'll say to no one,
"isn't something missing?"
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