I'd lingered in the Marsh quietly, living a life full of harsh, choking sobs and absolute silence, lurking through muck and grime, sifting past weightless bodies that slip through my grasp— they melt at my touch, meld with the crystalline surface that shatters as I walk through, amber settled on just how clean it all is, horrified by the unfamiliarity. My soiled body has contaminated the waters, leaves lingering black pools of soot and grime as I wade through it, soaking in the cool water with gnarled roots reaching up to grasp at my thin legs, neck held low and throat shut tight.

I have haunted the Marsh since I caught wind of it's reappearance, crawled my way to the familiar treacherous figures of mangled trees and dark auras lingering over the rotting corpses that flicker and dissipate, threatening to return en mass before my very eyes— I am not weary as I wander, do not feel uneasy or unsettled in the company of the Marsh's horrors, and most have receded with the welcoming of a new god made of scattered bones and lost souls, filled with wicked intentions and chaos. A catalyst, looming over this land with his daunting presence and towering black altar that stands ominously, a centerpiece in a clearing filled with hopelessness and despair, a place I dare not wander. I fear that it will be all too destructive, will tear me apart before I can get any closer, before my hoof can fall cautiously upon the damp soil that spots the clearing, before my body sinks into the muddied water before the altar. I would become a sacrifice, an unnecessary key to a puzzle I never had a hand in, an extra piece that can be pushed aside and forgotten, a mistake that stumbled so foolishly into a sacred space.

I remember too clearly the days spent living within the Marsh, back when all you could smell was the stench of waterlogged corpses drifting past, when the rot could overwhelm you if you let it, when the black shadows lingered at the edges of your vision, teasing and taunting ('look at me!'), beckoning for your attention. I remember the Asylum meetings, summoned by Seele when she actually had a cause to work for, when she was not trapped leading a herd of scattered remnants of a group she once cared so deeply for— I remember each meeting like it had happened only a moment ago, filled with horses of every background, each one of us unique in some way, seeking refuge from a world too harsh to live in, a world that turned its back on all of us ("everyone hates me!"). Seele took us in, governed us with a fair heart and gentle hand, she gave me a family when I didn't have one, treated me as though I had been a child from her womb, the cursed fruit of her loins, the product of her sins. I had needed that, without her love I wouldn't have made it so far, wouldn't have made it a moment in the real world.

She was not the only one to keep me company in harsh times, when my world was just rubble and sorrow, full of despair and desolate silence when it had only just begun. Sia had been there too, had somehow found her way into my heart early on, when we were foolish children clinging to one another in desperate times. We formed a close connection so quickly, devoting ourselves to a rather energetic friendship filled with adventure and excitement, laced with sorrow no child should ever deal with. It ended bitterly right here, when the world was falling apart around us and in her concern, Sia came running for me, where we were consumed by a darkness that I cannot remember. I have spent hours reaching out for the memory of what happened, of what went wrong, reaching and reaching, feeling it right there before me, brushing it but never quite taking hold. It hurts, the dismal abyss in my memory, scattered holes that have rooted into my mind from when I spent time as someone else, as I watched catastrophe after catastrophe from afar, watched myself run rampant through Helovia with a sick smile and melting flesh. And I hurt her then, possessed by raw hatred and disease, I terrorized a frightened Sikeax, I ruined her— and I couldn't remember it, not wholly. In fragments it may rain down, ("I'm a monster!"(("It's all your fault!")("Look at me!") but never the full story.

A head rises hesitantly to gaze out upon the twisted trees, to sweep through the Marsh, expecting a familiar brown body to be lingering before me, wearing a sadistic grin and mocking aureate eyes. But there, instead, were the snippets of amber champagne through the dark trees, observant amber flickering with interest as I creep forward, sloshing through thick mud, tripping, stumbling, gasping. I'm choking before I even reach her, throat welling before I'm even in her sights, a million apologies ("I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry... I never meant for it to be like this.") caught between my teeth, hanging off of my lips as I push through the much to see her completely. My mind brushes off where she stands, beside the sinister black altar and it's soft glowing blue symbols that make no sense to my scrambled conscious, it's too focused on Sia as I race for her.

But what do I say? It hits me as I madly dash to her side, to be the object of her attention yet again, slowing suddenly as I realize that a flood of apologies is no greeting, that talking at all has never been my strong suit, that my sentences never string together the way I want them to ("Che stupido sei,""du bist schwach.""). Instead I linger there, watching the blue stained queen from a distance, with her broken crown and fragile heart, cast aside by a kingdom she could not keep. And I am frozen, marble skin cold and cracked as I look her over, as the dark, heavy mood that lingers over her like a veil creeps towards me. I can feel the sorrow in the air, the salt of tears and the lingering pain that comes with them, my stone joints are stiff and stationary, allowing only for observation. I yearn to get closer, to speak, but my lips are sealed and I can only stare from afar.

I am fractured and crumbling as I inch closer, silent and alert, shaking nervously as I look at her as though it was she who placed each and every star in the sky, as if she was far more radiant than the sun or the moon, even if she could never look at me the same way. It's some sick, twisted feeling that I have, some clump of emotion that I can't shake off, something that haunts me, tortures me, because I know no one will ever feel the same about me. Certainly not Sia, who I have ruined with my blackened hands and unsteady heart, with my chaotic mind and unpredictability ("She'll never forgive you.")("Give up now, turn back before it's too late.")("Run!").

"Sia..." The name burns a hole in my throat, gets caught halfway, sliding out like a sticky mass, something dripping with melancholy and agony, falling from my lips gracelessly as I look to her, the Sea Soul, the silenced, the one I have destroyed with my cataclysmic touch. I'm sorry.