L E N A
reaching as I sink down into light

Control and composure, a carefully maintained prowess encompassed her soul; with a vigilant delicacy, it scoured the haunted, hollow eaves of her once transparent void, enshrouding the portal of her ethereal grace with an assiduous armor. When her heart was scorched by the ill tidings of passing contempt, it remembered the warped, tenacious bindings of a ruthless realm, and reclaimed a place, deep within her singsong aria, that could remain tethered, corporeal and tangible, not swept away by the cruel echoes of soot, cinders and grime. This was her pinnacle of strength: perseverance and determination against the thick walls of disdain and derision. She wasn’t fierce, proclaiming barbs of animosity and acrimony against villains, she wasn’t ferocious, gliding ivories upon constant injustices, but, layered amongst her reverent essence was a humble, formidable, and compelling power, drawn, brushed, and traced from the seams of her compassionate resolve. In the face of anger, she was the soothing wind, in the arches of tyranny, she was the slender bird, and in the wake of a terrible memory, a slashing, scalding moment of scorn, she was the elegant, noble, ardent light amongst the heinous, hostile, nefarious waves of darkness. Sometimes she didn’t feel young, but older, so drenched and soiled in the lace of loathing, because she had seen too many things, because she had cried too many times, because she’d sang too many songs that were stolen from her mouth. In another interval, she felt like she was a child again, because she was lost once more, thrown to the searing pinnacles of rubble and ruin. Other days, when she believed their harsh words, she felt like nothing. She watched and witnessed, the refined, dignified, regal Lena, posturing her warm eyes to the child. She dared not look elsewhere, not to the sovereign’s apologetic, confused gaze, not to the luminous beams casting regal shades upon a tense juncture, not to the ground, frozen and reeling in the chambers of beauty and suspense. She didn’t want these other knowing, scrupulous mortals and portals to see anything else, not the possible slip of her veil nor the hurt candor of a forgotten time – the benevolent stare was reserved for the ice scion, for the workings of a resentful, covetous babe. She continued to stand there, her lips poised into a smile, her brow dainty, relaxed, quiet, hushed limbs not breaking the rendered, auspicious chill of silence.

The youth barely relented to her offering, still petulant, still fractious, still immersed in the tender nuances of a daughter unwilling to give away her father’s presence and indulgences, even to a gentle creature that had no urge to take them. She could almost see the child at war with herself, to yield to the whimsical fancies presented, or to continue her sulky storm, in hopes of driving away something she believed foul and unworthy. When the sylph is given the snow babe’s consent, Lena’s gentle grin prospered ever further, a glimpse of relief blooming amongst sienna cheeks and a serene countenance. She doesn’t even comment at the last command of the girl. It’s almost a laughable statement, but Lena remained polite and cordial, only once kindling a daring decree to glance at the mentioned monarch and not chuckle. No, Mauja couldn’t ever bear the resemblance of her own sire, chiseled and cast from the stone of inky shadows – she dwelled and pondered no further than that. Instead, she gently draped her maw over Snö’s head, before tapping the crown once, twice, softly, playfully, with the velvet underside. Vocals were delivered once more along the dulcet croons of an unbroken hymn, sliding along a springing hum. “Hide and seek? Or do you have another suggestion?”