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There was a delicacy in the air now, ethereal, fragile, tangible – like a piece of snarled thread, and given the right tug, the right pull, it’d be broken in their stead. She simply watched and waited as he toiled amongst himself, as he battered wayward winds and strange masses, as he listened to her words, as he seemed to honor them with thought instead of barbarity. She didn’t know what to expect from him, had never been able to predict or regard the set of his actions (why did you disappear so many seasons ago - how did you come from a mirror when the world seemed cracked and splitting - why do you always seem so haunted, burdened, and sad each time she glanced upon his figure). But the weight was across his shoulders now, sinking into the snow, gliding along rime and glacial expanse, and the nymph felt a sigh roll past her lips, because she didn’t know what else she could do for him. She didn’t know how many spells and incantations he’d woven across his own throat, she didn’t know how many nooses or snags kept him tied and tethered to demons, she didn’t know what was to become of him, of them, of anyone at all.
Or why he still remained here, taking in her proclamations, her questions, her statements and truths, when years before, he simply would have disappeared.
Her eyes shifted, not downcast, not gloomy, but bright sparks of strength and renewal, of inner warmth and vivid clarity, staring at the gloom, at the gloaming, at the notions of apologies strung from his breath. Perhaps he’d grown in all that time, ruling his World’s Edge again, content with the fog and the mist, with their poignant failures no longer so vivid, no longer so entrancing. Perhaps sovereignty had done him some good, kindled an old spirit, an old tenacity, and stuck it in between his ribs and heart, spiraling ghosts and phantoms away; she wished she could be rid of hers so easily.
You were a star, you know, like the gold at rainbow’s end…
How wonderful it would’ve been, if she could truly be a star, dancing across the heavens, outlined by beauty, by midnight veils, by endurance and fortitude – never forlorn, never desolate, never forgotten. Maybe the notion was too late now; she’d done too many savage, sinister things, she’d committed too many atrocious actions, to ever believe she’d be brought to Elysium. But she still smiled, still let a grin fold back over her lips, her mouth, so she didn’t seem so broken and chipped away, segmented and carried off into the Stygian abyss. “I doubt I shine as brightly,” and here she laughed, allowed him to embrace the notion that he’d been forgiven, that all was right, that she wouldn’t fall apart in front of him. She shook her crown, and while no stardust scattered from her mane, she maintained her luminescence, her earnest boldness. “It doesn’t hurt to think before you speak.” The femme winked, smiled again, and sparked, kindled, an opportunity to right all these strange, ridiculous wrongs. She yearned to break the cycle of their discourse, of the snapped, slivered things always managing to coil back onto their discussions. There was more to their livelihoods, to their thoughts, to their sentiments and feelings than making one another bitter and cracked. “What have you been up to, Mauja?”
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[O] .. och jag såg dig springa över skaren
