|
Cast away, back into the earth to live as virtue, to conspire and twist into blossoms, into petals, into spring’s whimsical caress, into rays of sun and reverence, her heart was left strangled and bleeding at the image of days before war, days before strife. Mauja remained, real and tangible, corporeal and solid, a manifestation of times spent near cliffs and the wailing shore, where mists blanketed the scenes and gentle, rain-hued mares laughed, where gilded ponies stuck out their stalwart chests, where little dotted daughters wrinkled their petulant noses. She didn’t know what she missed the most – the pieces of her soul that hadn’t been mottled and stained and savaged by the desolation and chaos of invasions and cataclysms, or the pretense, the notion, that she’d ever been innocent.
It was all so long ago now.
Her ears caught his happiness, the chime of her name, and she wanted to ask why he was delighted to see her, the little Mender who stoked and tried and never seemed capable of delivering on her ambitions and determination. Her friends disappeared. She attacked Gods. She healed monsters. She became one of them, another mass of the malevolent multitude, beckoning and rummaging across the horizon, forgetting how she’d begun and how she’d always wanted to rise above the crowd, above the hate, above the vehemence.
He bounded, closer and closer still, and she hung between the rigid stare of the sentinels and the drifting snow, eyes widening, bewildered at the kindled faith in her compassion. Imogen drew a thin line along her lips, perhaps disappointed in her, disappointed in him, or disappointed by the sad, serene situation. A smile was almost conjured along the nymph’s lips, though, as if remembering a piece of heaven, a fragment of reverence, of rhapsody-
I chased falling stars and I found you - the meaning was lost on her, and the grin fell apart. The fairy’s heart lurched and her eyes fell to the ground, missing the triumph of his mischief, of the happiness exuded through his voice, because she realized he knew just how far she’d fallen. Maybe she’d been dazzling, captivating, and beguiling once – lost on a glimmer of constellations and heartfelt, singsong words, maybe she’d stroked and stoked the fine caliber of tenderness and generosity, stretched her lissome grace to the tallest cretins and the finest beasts, wished them good fortune, healed and hummed their fiendish wounds. And maybe she’d simply become naught in the aftermath, tossed and shoved and forgotten too many times.
But he knew she was a mess, and that sentiment hurt even more.
Something pulled around her eyes, tears maybe, tugging and inching along and she wished, willed, them away, blinking rapidly and gazing forlorn at the snow, struggling to come up with anything to say in response. I’m sorry all you found was me? Imogen cut through her senses, shaking her head, her tails, but nothing seemed to help.
Would they ever understand one another?
“Why-,” her gentle voice murmured, beckoned with a sad, quiet song, and was ultimately interrupted by the sound of one more gliding along the ice. Her head turned, disrupting the closeness, the shadows, the frail bout of tranquility fostered between once friends, stare fixating on the darkened form of Mortuus Nox arriving.
She wasn’t sure what to say to him either as he seemed to take up the mantle of a blackguard, suspicious of Mauja, gesturing to her with compliments, flaring the spotted Lord’s animosity for some reason. It was all so foolish, so silly, so trivial, and she wanted to tell them, wanted to flare and speak up and admonish whatever ridiculous regard seemed to be spreading over the snow. Her eyes peeked towards Mauja’s, but all she saw was inquiry – and she wasn’t certain about the layers in his voice, about all the things left unsaid in the murky quiet.
The Songbird managed a brief sigh, but no tune came out, a painted-on smile extending towards Nox. “Good evening. I trust you’re well?” The melody was soothing, pacifying, intending for the eerie predilections to go no further – but she sensed sanctity had been rotted and ruined, left in pieces and slivers, just as it had always been.
|
.svg/2000px-Google_Chrome_icon_(2011).svg.png){kind=icon}
⇒
[O] .. och jag såg dig springa över skaren
