05-17-2024, 03:04 PM
yes i know that love is like ghosts,
few have seen it but everybody talks —
few have seen it but everybody talks —
He says that death had been easier, but her experience with the dead has created a bias that is difficult for her to overcome. The only dead that she has encountered have been restless and desperate, haunting her mind and her visions, but now she finds herself wondering what kind of death he had experienced. “How so? The only dead that I meet seem so…unhappy.” But is that so different from living, she thinks? It is unlikely that anyone has ever crossed her path and left the encounter in lighter spirits. Perhaps she is just as much of an emotional weight to the living as the dead are to her.
When he tells her that he once had magic, too, there is the smallest frown that shadows her face, her mind spinning. Maybe having magic and losing it is a more common occurrence than she realized. Before she can stop herself her mind has run off on her, trying to piece together how she could get it back, who she would need to speak to, and then quickly stopping when she realizes if he hadn’t reclaimed his magic then it was likely not possible. She doesn’t know him well but he seems wiser and far more competent than she is, and if he is still powerless then there is little hope for her.
And she realizes, too, that it isn’t even the magic itself she cares about.
She knows that to so many it is one of the most coveted, sought after powers; a kind of status symbol that not even a crown can replace.
But all she has ever wanted is quiet.
“Maybe,” she says, contemplating his question. She remembers years ago the man she had met in the forest — she never learned his name — had used his magic to quiet the voices. That had been the first time she had ever experienced peace, but he took that peace with him when he left. After that, everything somehow felt worse. The voices came back louder, more incessant, filling in the short-lived silence as if they knew someone had tried to keep them out. “Someone tried, once, but it didn’t last. But maybe his magic wasn’t strong enough. Or maybe it was only ever meant to be temporary.”
Or maybe it had been just another cruel trick, to show her the tranquility that she would never have.
“What was it like when you had magic?” she asks him, almost wistfully; she knows that he cannot fix her, but her dreamer-mind can’t help but wonder what it would be like if he could. “Was it the kind that could make ghosts go away?”
When he tells her that he once had magic, too, there is the smallest frown that shadows her face, her mind spinning. Maybe having magic and losing it is a more common occurrence than she realized. Before she can stop herself her mind has run off on her, trying to piece together how she could get it back, who she would need to speak to, and then quickly stopping when she realizes if he hadn’t reclaimed his magic then it was likely not possible. She doesn’t know him well but he seems wiser and far more competent than she is, and if he is still powerless then there is little hope for her.
And she realizes, too, that it isn’t even the magic itself she cares about.
She knows that to so many it is one of the most coveted, sought after powers; a kind of status symbol that not even a crown can replace.
But all she has ever wanted is quiet.
“Maybe,” she says, contemplating his question. She remembers years ago the man she had met in the forest — she never learned his name — had used his magic to quiet the voices. That had been the first time she had ever experienced peace, but he took that peace with him when he left. After that, everything somehow felt worse. The voices came back louder, more incessant, filling in the short-lived silence as if they knew someone had tried to keep them out. “Someone tried, once, but it didn’t last. But maybe his magic wasn’t strong enough. Or maybe it was only ever meant to be temporary.”
Or maybe it had been just another cruel trick, to show her the tranquility that she would never have.
“What was it like when you had magic?” she asks him, almost wistfully; she knows that he cannot fix her, but her dreamer-mind can’t help but wonder what it would be like if he could. “Was it the kind that could make ghosts go away?”
Narya
— spirits follow everywhere i go,
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night
they sing all day and they haunt me in the night
@cancer