They ignore you. All the women and their serious business- you're a fly to them. They don't even blink as you try to ascertain what's going on, don't give you the courtesy of treating you as an interloper, just go on as though you weren't there, continuing whatever bizarre ritual they're engaging in. The short one talks about memories, the white one talks about the price, and Isopia... Isopia talks about forgetting, and your heart leaps into your throat as denial and disbelief fill your mouth.
How is this a good idea?
But they're all on board, and before you can do anything, before you can speak, can look at her and beg her to reconsider, Isopia is nodding and there's a strange, silent seriousness, a degree of eye contact that cuts you out and leaves you lonely and bewildered, your sunbeam eyes turning to Roskuld for any sort of help. Why? you want to ask, to know. Why would she forget the baby she'd loved, even if it came with pain? What could be worth it- how could it be worth it, to lose a part of herself?
Poor, naive Zero- you know nothing of pain, of endurance, of the weight it can place on a soul. Who are you to judge Isopia, when everything you lose inevitably comes back? How can you judge, when the most you've endured is a couple of scratches and a season of heartbreak? Some nightmares of teeth and tongues in the dark? You can't- and you know this, so you hunker down and bite your tongue, waiting for Isopia to escape her reverie, to see what will come of this latest piece of strangeness to fall into your life.
Staring at your hooves, you spot a piece of malachite laying on the ground and bend, unthinking, to pick it up. You reach back and grab a strip of titanium from your silver side- if you cannot stop this, maybe you can remember for her, be the keeper of your loved ones' secrets when they become too great for your friends to bear.
Zèklè
Sigh no more, no more
One foot in sea, one on shore
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