Craft;

[craft]

I was in the darkness, so darkness I became;

She has begun the terrible journey of acceptance – the knowledge that the deserts is gone. That she was gone, too, for more years than she can comprehend. She knows now the Beqanna she is in is altogether different, recognizable only in a few features, the way animals split and evolve and eventually change into another species.
And she, Craft, is an anachronism here. She is filled with old, useless knowledge and the craving for a kingdom that is gone. Her children are gone.
(She doesn’t know that one of them – the prodigal son – exists, cursed in immortality.)

Another split – she does not know there was a timeline where she was saved. A dozen timelines. She doesn’t know what took place on the mountain.
And so when this creature approaches her, she holds no recognition. She draws herself high, muscles tight. She sees his eyes then – the one orange one, blazing – and air hisses between her teeth. She is not so stupid as to attack him – she is smaller, physically weaker – but the reaction is instinctual.
And then!
He knows her name, speaks it. She doesn’t know how. She is still so lost. He asks a question and she doesn’t know how to answer – doesn’t want to answer, truth be told.
“Who?” she asks. She looks again at that orange eye. She knows, in her gut. But she won’t answer, not until she understands who this man is, what it is he wants from her.

Craft