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06-28-2017, 11:33 AM
There was little to do but feel… disappointed. It was a strange feeling, for Maude, to have her hope all but staunched in the onslaught of badness that life had become. First, her mother had vanished, which, of course, had done little to deter her breezy heart. She’ll come home, the darling assured herself, as she had before, because the world always brought the ones you loved back to you. But then her Aunt had broken a rift between her brothers, and in the wake of it all, her father had decided to leave on a quest, and her Uncle had fallen into the mists, becoming all but a memory. Aelfwine had not come back to visit, and neither had Ultima. Her mother still had not come home. And now? Now, it seemed as if the world was ending (if the way the adults were all acting was any clue), and Maude was all but alone for this clamorous era. The thought was oppressive, intrusive, and even though she wandered the wood seeking solace, the forest offered her no reprieve, but for the soft sound of its branches being ushered about by the chilly wind. At least, she thinks to herself, I still have my cloak, and am not cold. How curious that such a thought would arrive to her mind as she rounds a wooded bend to find one who was always cold standing in the treeless clearing, staring absently at the mists. At first, Maude is wary that she is being deceived by some illusion of loneliness, for the figure caught in the ebb of mist is one she has not seen in some time. Feeling a curious rush of excitement and trepidation, the girl pauses, her antlered crown lifting so allow her pale, green eyes to fasten themselves upon the apparition of her friend, every facet of the ginger and cream maiden unsure of the moment as she tentatively lifts her tender voice to the breezy air. “Erthë?” she questions, she prays, her heart hollowing out as the syllables reach forward to either draw the woman’s pale eyes to her, or to chase the cruel ghost away; already, wetness brims along the milky lashes of her bottom lid, unbidden and restrained by an emotional force that is unused to the strain of how very sad this world can be, at times, “i-is that really you?” that I will see the Light |
Hold onto this lullaby, even when the music's gone.
