She couldn’t have a been a bigger fool if she’d tried, standing amidst clouds of satin and shrines of deities, afraid she’d become an inconsiderate ogre, a feral friend, a maelstrom of idiocy and ignorance. The maiden was frozen in paralyzing contradictions, and her gaze swiftly churned and swiveled from the floating beams of light to the charades of shadows, wondering how to piece together the remaining shards of her purpose. Too greedy, too avaricious, the Songbird had plunged too far, continuously plucked her feathers, mumbled her arias, fumbled her tunes, until they unraveled in a bestial knot and she asked another to fix it. She stared at her feet and yearned to disappear, but ultimately failed at turning back the hands of time for a silly, noxious situation she’d put herself within, remained an unworthy fiend gesturing for one more benediction, a beggar for alms. The Thief shifted and she thought perhaps that would be the end, the culmination, another bitter, rancorous reproach, a derisive sneer, a title harpooned to her chest (witless child, useless buffoon, disgusting, stupid, pathetic, worthless, worthless, worthless), but naught came. Only a soft tread of footsteps, a foot resting closer in a bed, in a nest, of wildflowers and waving grass, a lingering, concerned stare patiently stoked and confined; she blushed but met the deep set of blue, almost laughed for the sheer nonsense of it all. He held agonizing faith in her, and it hurt the walls of her heart, for she’d been utterly inept and trifling, a capricious, mercurial blend of confounded befuddlement, disappointed in her actions, motivated and stirred into agonizing masses, and she’d forced him to listen to the confusing chords. Where was her bravery? Where was her mettle? Where was the spirit, the perseverance, the persistence kindled and instigated throughout her days, the means of survival she held onto with a firm grasp and an illustrious heart? She’d never been apprehensive, nervous, confined for herself in any token battle, in any merciless strife – she’d eternally reached out her capabilities, her motives, her aspirations, her hopes and dreams and actions, to anyone who had need of them, with little regard for her own safety. Her body, her livelihood, mended others, assuaged patriots, tended to the ailing, the weak, the downtrodden, the beloved, and now that she knew it was her own deeds placing it in harm’s way…her ruminations circled and curled, coiled and distorted, until her brow furrowed and the pluck forever entangled in her being toiled out of the layers of misgivings and doubt.

“I’m scared.” She whispered, muttered, and murmured, crooned out the finality of her fears, pondered over how he’d managed to somehow untangle, unravel, the lingering knots. Blinded by gold, her eyes settled deep into his as she poured the ambrosial sway of her sentiments and passions, as she wove the riddles away into the abyss, stretching out the etchings, the sketches, of her trepidations. “I asked to wield fire, and in return, I must be engulfed in flames.” Imogen pulsed from nearby, a streamlined, ardent cry of safety and guarding, but no matter the zealous display of sanctuary, Lena knew well the results of infernos. Her bravery surely had a peaking point, a pinnacle, a summit, and perhaps it ended here, in the augured gallows, in the haunting, portended catastrophe of her broken body, of her burnt figure, of her fallen form left in the bleak, desolate world – a healer demised, discarded, held no place on earth. What good would she be to her brethren if they lost her abilities, and was that selfish in thought as well, to believe herself worthy of their presence? Features still perplexed, still ripe with disquiet and corporeal unease, her gaze tethered and snared his, held onto it like a desperate lifeline, a safe, secure threshold, free of judgment, liberating and sublime, and her beatific lips uttered a request; charged with one more appeal into the fathomless depths of grasping, mercenary threads. “Would you come with me?”

@[Roland]