the Ocean’s Light

She’s a hopeless mess; her entire world (both literally and figuratively) is crumbling to pieces, haunted by a monster and its choking darkness, and she can do nothing to stop it. Never before has she felt this utterly helpless. Only in nightmares has she ever been preyed upon by her incapacity to do anything—left to only stand and watch while the world around her falls to pieces. Now it is their reality. Every breath is a struggle against the tightness in her chest, every beat of her heart is painful, and she feels weak as her muscles tremble beneath her satin skin.

The ocean mare doesn’t notice Wessex’s absence at first. Comforted by the Puppeteer’s gentle embrace, she leans into him, weeping quietly into the curve of his neck. He is stronger than her, especially at a time like this, when her fragile mind can hardly comprehend this abominable disaster as real life, and she calls upon him now for relief (for sanity).

Suddenly there is the shrill shattering of glass, startling the Ocean’s Light as she turns her watery eyes behind her. There lies a large shard of reflective glass, a piece of the Mirror of the Haruspex. The blue Lady moves (her legs carrying her woodenly to the object, her head lowering haltingly to gaze into its surface). And it is empty. All at once, she is overwhelmed—by the fact that their god, with no amount of warning, has left them to fend for themselves, by the despair of her own weakness, and frustration at the injustice of it all—in that single fragment, she sees all of it.

Sapphire lips part in a cry of misery and anger and grief, her head thrown to the sky while a cloven hoof lashes out. The glass abruptly shatters across the stones and grass, shattering like their world, their lives.

“If being forsaken is not enough to warrant tears, then what is?” Tiamat cries brokenly, blinking away fresh moisture that blurs her vision. Pearly eyes are cast briefly to Wessex, brimming with sorrow, and pleading silently for her not to answer.

Sniffing uselessly, her attention falls back to the shards at her feet. As much as she wants to blame the Time God for all of his mistakes, for his abandonment, she knows that he (along with the other gods) intends to protect the whole of Helovia, no matter where borders lie. She has to believe that. Carefully, she picks up a small piece of the Haruspex Mirror with her lips, and tucks it into her scarf for safekeeping. “This is home,” she whispers hoarsely, glancing around at their mountain valley, at the only place in the world that has ever rivaled the sea for her heart.

Eventually she turns her eyes slowly to Rikyn. “But you are right—you all are right. We need to protect our people; I will not allow a monster to tear apart what we have worked so hard for. We have built more than a herd—we are a family,” Tiamat tries to piece together a smile, tries to remind herself of what she has always known, “We have each other.” Still, her voice breaks, and as the others fall away to their duties, Tiamat turns to Wessex. Leaning against the larger mare, she buries her face in her neck, breathing in the warrior’s presence because it has always meant safety. “We need to stick together,” Tiamat whimpers against her skin.


“Speech.”

Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high

there’s a land that I heard of once

in a lullaby.