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Reveries
Reveries
Half the size of a regular tome, this small journal seems as full of scraps of paper and notes as it does pages. It is covered in an old fox pelt. The writing within it is flowing and well practiced. There are doodles in the margins of each entry.
Sunday, 16 July 2017
There are so many seasons to a soul, and so many tastes to each one. This one reminded me of an early spring ice storm, the kind that coats the world in a shimmery shield. It is always a gamble, will the new life in its embrace die, or will it struggle through - strong enough to survive and then thrive from the melting waters? So even as summer sit hot and heavy upon the land I felt this coldness coating me, but also too the life just waiting for the thaw.

I think of my mother often of late, but still do not make my way to see her. She wrote me of my father’s passing some cycles ago, I’d done the dutiful thing and gone. I was surprised at the sorrow I felt inside her, under her own icy exterior - I felt surprise at the lack of sorrow in me. I felt pride, oddly, at the way she transcended that sorrow, focusing instead on holding onto his trade empire and their interests. She said I would understand her one turn, at the time it felt like a curse - but more and more I find myself resorting to her same tactics, the ones she taught so well through example. I doubt I will see her again in this life.

Did she love deeply behind her shield? Was she once as vibrant as I used to be, as passionate. I know now how time can whittle a person down. I know what it is to feel used, betrayed, and abandoned. All lessons collected here and there in the course of this thing we call life. Each lesson added another layer to the shield of ice, even my mannerisms become more like hers. I can feel my mouth forming the same perfect smiles or words. I used to keep the ice at bay with so much fire inside me, but then fire can burn and kill just the same as ice can.

I spend many marcs in the tower I’ve come to think of as mine. I warm myself by Miranda’s hearth, or curl up safe within her furs and pelts. I puzzle over the colored stones and balls in Zeric’s room. I try to move the balls about with my mind. I can’t. I drift for endless marcs in the waters of the argent and have taken over the bronze’s desk as my own. But mostly I lay upon Kane's stage, ears straining for ghosting of his music, desperate for the brush of wind across my face. I wonder at the tower's purpose, did they ever reside here, did anyone? Was it built to be empty? There IS a sense of waiting here. I do not know if we will ever know, I do not even know if it is our right to know.

Other times I spend with the queens, I bring them blossoms when I’ve got them. I wonder at their stories, the lives and lessons given them. It saddens me that only their goodness is immortalized in stone, their flaws - the things that made them human - left out of them. So easy to simplify people, or memories of people, rather. My mind turns often to Balthazar, was he too once convinced he did the right thing for the world? Did his spiral towards evil begin with the best of intentions, with a simple vision of a new and perfect world?

Memories hang heavy in both places, and within me. I dwell too frequently within the last three years. I recall the giggling girl that I can still be on occasion, I remember her dancing in the shadows and spinning stories from the air. I remember the reckless woman, the curious one who braved fire and lost herself in the beyond dark. The one who sought dark enchantments and found visions of bronze instead. Who pulled him through stone, who lured him through sound and sevens. Who worked so endlessly to draw others in. It is easy to hate the ones who took him from me, who kept me from him. Far harder to keep compassion in mind, I am my mother’s daughter after all. Once used, twice shy. But then, I suppose in the end I should be grateful for their greed. It made casting him off so easy. It made hiding my guilt easier still.

More and more though the ice thaws, that fresh green life unfurling once more. Slowly laughter comes again, giggles. I remember those I love, who still love me. I recall each kindness each time someone managed to surprise me with the goodness inside. I find purpose in things once more, and joy, and righteous anger to sustain me. I feel needed once more, the threats to the land building as a new power steps forward to fill the void left with Balthazar's death. My theories and ideas flourish once more. New faces bring the hope and renewal that only they can, my long lost desire to let them within growing. And behind it all I still feel that fire burning, growing to dance within me. I had thought another could save me, that the goodness in him would carry me through my own darkness. It couldn't. Some journeys we must make alone. I can only hope I've arrived at the other side of it, and that in truth a new season has begun.
Viviyana posted @ 23:50 - Link - comments
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