11-17-2018, 04:50 PM
 i wanted darkness— i wanted him. Existence is a fickle thing. She blinked out of it, for awhile, after bearing her son. When she tries to think back, it’s only an endless blackness, a crackle of static. She does not push for this lost time, or question the new scars on her skin whose origins she cannot recall. (He scarred her so often, but had always restored her, after, save for the brand, His one mark.) She was in a wasteland when she first woke up and realize she could recall what had happened the day prior. She walked for hours or days and went to sleep again and woke up again with the memories from the previous two days. And so she built upon it, her life segmented in a strange new way – Before, Void, and Now. She doesn’t question this, because her life has been strange enough that there are a lot of questionable things that don’t perturb her. She finds her way back to Beqanna, eventually. She always does. Her son was born here, though she has no idea what happened to him. Carnage has been here too, and quite recently – she hears talk, of visions, of a sickness, and His name is peppered in those conversations, as a cause, an orchestrator. She isn’t surprised. Also, though – She has tried not to think of her too often, because those memories carry a certain kind of hurt, a deeper ache, and she does not want to explore too deeply the cause for such an ache. It suggests things she isn’t so sure of, so she ignores, or buries them. The meadow is familiar and not familiar all at once, flavored now with sickness (she doesn’t fear the disease, a life as a magician’s plaything has left her largely unaware of her own mortality). She walks, taking it in, and when she first lays eyes on the fractured woman before her she thinks it a trick of the light. She stops, stilled in her tracks, and stares. The woman remains the same. Remains her. She comes closer, breathless. “Joscelin?” she asks. She knows it’s her, but she still asks the question. ------------------------------cordis x spyndle |