en natt så kall och månen den var klar

He was watching the carefree griffin, and her playful-yet-serious splashing in the brook. The fading sun struck her feathers and fur, and the water; each time it splashed up, it hung like crystals for less than a heartbeat, before falling back in shattered perfection. Merging, seamlessly and scarless, with the water it had come from. He watched, with a detached kind of envy—envy of her oblivious, simply joy, and envy of the water. It healed itself without struggle.

You think too much. Irma, ever so precise. Diego just clobbered him with his agreement.

"It sounds so final."

"It is," he answered quietly. It was, after all, the only truth he knew. Time had not healed his wounds. Nor would it; he needed something else. Something more. Something to truly bring about the change in his soul, to pry his stiff, frozen fingers loose from its desperate grip on everything he held on to—everything painful. Every mistake. Everything he had no control of; everything that had come to pass.

Perhaps, as Ophelia had said, if he obliterated his memories he would wake up happier: different, and he would lose everything he held dear, but all of this would be forgotten. Everything reduced to scars.

But he knew that he couldn't do it.

He looked back at her. His eyes displayed little; maybe the slightest hint of sunshine on the surface, but beneath, they froze into the usual glacial ice, covering up his secrets and his soul. Met her eyes for a moment. He remembered their golden shade, but had they always seemed quite so burdened? She reached out, for what? Salvation? He couldn't help her—he couldn't help anyone. Not even himself. He glanced back at the griffin. Wynter. A fitting name, for she was as pale as her mistress, as pale as the winter itself.

The sound of his name had him looking at Arah again, black-rimmed ears perked forward. She was silent for a moment, eyes down-cast. "I think I'll fight to be happy again. Once I'm on the right path again." What is the right path? he wanted to ask, to drag all the answers from her. But he didn't, just remained silent, until she spoke again. He snorted. "I don't expect anything anymore, Arah. Though, compared to my last conversation, why, this is almost like heavenly light and angels singing their pure songs in my ears." His voice grew sour for a moment, before he sighed, and shook his head. He shouldn't let that witch's words linger and poison his soul, and least of all should he let some of it out on Arah. His eyes softened.

"Don't apologize. I don't think I could have a very upbeat conversation right now, either. I'm just.. sad, that you're unhappy."

You shouldn't waste life like this, he thought, but I don't know any other way to live.

Se dem brinna över verkan se dem dansa framför bål
Se dem mässa inför satan se dem smida sina stål