writing_shadows

I was trying so hard to be good, to give hope where it was so desperately needed. I wanted to do my duty and give everyone a reason to go on. I thought I was doing okay. I thought I was happy.

Seeing Sam happy, seeing Sam like he was, not at the end, but while he was Sam - when we were family, and he was happy with Witte, and neither of us had suffered so much loss…

So much loss.

I don’t even remember it all; I remember my sobbing hug with Nyght Star (I was meant to be caring for her, and there I was, adding to her burdens on the same night I twisted her desires), and I remember everyone shouting at Snaggle (when his words – when his truths – were the only ones that were any solace to me), and I remember Nemoa weeping and not being sure why.

I remember needing a drink. The rest of that night is lost except in flashes.

It was Snaggle’s words that got me through on Saturday. I had faith in him; we’re friends, and he always tells me the truth.

Their concern (how kind Adrianne was, when I’ve treated her so badly!) was compassionate but uncomfortable; it pressed against me, chafing the (not physical, of course; not like Astraea’s) wound – still left from the day before, from being buffeted by the chaos of all the people – until I couldn’t stand there anymore, hand pressed against the cool glass of the window that stood between me and another sweet lie.

I thought they would be gone by the time I went out into the inky night, to look at the animals. It was dark and quiet, and I thought they were gone. But they weren’t. I ran – nearly literally – into Lorica.

It wasn’t my love. I knew it wasn’t. But for those few minutes the lie overtook me and I let myself believe I was reunited with him. Just for a little while.

But when he asked me to go with him, I said no. I didn’t belong to Lorica anymore, and I didn’t belong to this lie in his shape.

I belong to the Free.

I will never see Lorica again.

Not even in dreams.