but somewhere here in between the city walls of dyin' dreams

There were memories buried in the snows here—like shards of silver covered by ash and snow, just a few odd and ends poking up and washed bright by autumn rains long since frozen. He had lived here, beyond the dark gates of the snow-capped mountains, in the safety of the sentinel's shadow. So much had happened here.. all of it revolving around a black shadow. His 'brows furrowed. His heart ached.

He didn't like life moving forward.

He wanted it to freeze over. He wanted to be trapped in the world he had lived in as a two and a half year old, when there hadn't been so much behind him, and not so much in front of him. He didn't want to be half a world away, mired in bitter regret, haunted by loss, plagued by doubt and worry, lost in the blizzard raging in his heart.

He remembered each place he had been. He remembered each part of his life like an era, inevitably left behind; buried, dull silver beneath the ground. And no matter how terrible, no matter how misguided, he wished he could go back, to any of those times, hide in the comfort and safety of the familiarity, and stay there.

So it was with a thin darkness clouding his eyes that his gaze flicked back to Lena, teeth pressed down hard to hold back the tide of oh god things have changed too much, too fast, and some things will never come again—. “I doubt I shine as brightly,” she said with a laughter, and Mauja merely smiled in response. His dark lips curved, a small, soft smile, but it felt empty inside, as if the torrent of thoughts, the storm brewing, was converting everything into anxiety (—a soft kind of fear thundering beneath his skin).

No, he thought to say, but the words didn't come out of the mess of his heart, afraid they would fall like dead, cold weight between them, sunder what tentative amends were being made, brighter.

But it all died in his mind, unsaid. “It doesn’t hurt to think before you speak.” His eyes glittered, seeming to stay alive as he withered below its protective ice; if he took those words too close to heart, he would never speak again. He would get lost in the winding pathways of his mind, never find the perfect words, and if one thought too hard about anything, what was the point of saying it at all? It would be redundant, or useless, or insulting, or wrong, or he would start doubting himself, his emotions, his thoughts, his logic, his right. See? Already he was second-guessing coming here, talking, answering, existing. Might as well go throw myself off a cliff.

“What have you been up to, Mauja?”

Fighting hostile gods, losing my best friend, and burying my daughter.

He opened his mouth, but no words came out at first. Then, "Not much, lately. I .. stepped down after the last god battle." There was no reason to include his silent death-wishes, his attempting to offer it to Roskuld, the crowding or friends and herd members... He blinked. Once. Twice. Many times. The thickness built in his throat, and he looked away, scrunching up his face and trying not to cry. "Snö died."

[ @Lena || Sorry for the wait, struggling pretty bad with muse/writing... :/ ]

Mauja

the white queen