don't leave me here alone; cordis

[Cordis]

Fool that she was, there was a moment when she saw light. It wasn’t hope, not exactly. She’s not sure she’d even recognize hope, anymore. But there was a moment of lightness, a brief lifting in their exchange at the notion that someone might bear some of this burden, that she is not so completely, wretchedly alone. A lie, of course. Because she makes her confession, admits a piece of her hurt in words that do the depth of pain no justice, and – I can’t. Of course she can’t. It was never her burden to bear. And so once again it sits on Cordis’s shoulders, and she is an Atlas with shaking knees and a world of hurt and memories, watching a golden back turn. It would have been her chance, then – to go after her. Like she should have gone after Spyndle all those times. But Glassheart is not Spyndle, whatever the memories suggest otherwise. So, she lets her leave. She lets her leave and she drifts, rudderless, and seasons change but she doesn’t, the same miserable silver thing she’s always been, and sometimes she thinks of the girl she met, the one who knew too much, and sometimes she doesn’t. More change comes, and Beqanna falls ill. She fears the illness, because it is partially His doing, as most wicked things are, though she does not fear dying of it, she simply fears falling to anything of His doing again. She is thinking of sickness when she sees her, and she wonders if it’s a hallucination, the onset of a fever. But she breathes, deep, and can catch the scent of her. It would be better, to turn, to not wander this path again. It only hurts, to do this, reopening wounds, memories spilling like pus from them. But she is so used to hurting. So, she steps toward her. There’s no lightning, this time, she is uncaged, bared. “Hello again,” she says. c o r d i s I’ll touch you all and make damn sure that no one touches me