It was crippling.
I was ashamed of how I felt. The weight that never lifted from my shoulders. The darkness that plagued my mind, my thoughts. It clouded my judgment, and the bright look that once lit my features and blue eyes was dulled, a living corpse.
The day is drab. The land had begun to warm, yet it was still chilly, and instead of snow, it rained. It was steady, and soon soaked my sulking form. the thick tresses hung heavily from the moisture, slowly tangling as time went on. I had let myself go, a matted mane and tail, and my blaze was dirtied. I had spent so much time in the wet rain, that small patches of rain rot had begun to appear on my neck and withers. And I didn't care.
Kvasir continued to grow. I loved him, but my love for him refused to fill me up. Instead I felt empty. A shell of the bright filly I had been. I approached the Edge, looking out over the cliff. There was nothing to sea. The ocean roared below, yet the cloud and fog covered it completely. It was gray, almost like the day reflected upon me. Upon my life. As I looked out into the gray mass, I thought of my child hood. I remembered the first time I had met my father. The amount of joy, the conversation we had. He had walked me back to the entrance of the Aurora Basin. I remember telling him that beauty was nothing but a lie. Did that make him a lie? He was beautiful. Beautifully tragic. He held sadness better than I did. But then again, maybe he didn't. Images of his ragged appearance that last time I had seen him flooded my memory. It was that day. That horrid day. He had pink skin showing, and he looked awful. But it was all fuzzy. Everything was fuzzy, and he was too.
In only moments my throat began to close, and I tried desperately to flush the memories from my mind. I couldn't think of it directly. It brought it all back and it was to raw. To painful. It stayed in the back of my mind. Itching at me. The feeling of my heart shattering forever. His un-moving body. His breathless body.
"Stop..."
The word is guttural, soaked in sorrow and pain. It's begging also. From a broken woman. A plea for it all to end, for the pain to go away, to forget it, to forget losing him. And even then I know my living child needed me, I couldn't bring myself out. I couldn't drag myself out of this. Not this time. All I could do was wait for it to be over. To be free of this.
But I knew deep down, that unless by divine intervention, I would always carry this with me. This would always be my burden, and I would never escape it. I would never out run it. I would never be innocent, naive. I would never be Rhoa's girl on the steppe again. I would never be the girl curiously asking the boy what he was doing to the sentinels. I would never be the child my father met and took home again. I was gone, changed. Broken.
And slowly my body lurched forward towards the edge.
"talk talk talk talk "
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