"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
There is a weight that seems to have settled permanently into the pit of her stomach. A weight so heavy she often imagines it will keep her grounded. It never does, and yet the heaviness never lifts either. Even in the dew-damp morning light, when the world is hushed and she can break apart with no witness, she doesn’t feel the weightlessness the sky had once brought her. What had once been a simple joy has become her only escape, but even that doesn’t feel like it anymore.
There are too many memories. Everywhere she turns, she is forced to shove them aside in order to continue pretending she is not a shattered thing inside.
She had thought time would ease the ache in her chest, yet time has done little to heal her. So she tries to find what time has failed to provide. With her pale wings stretched wide, she drifts slowly across the cool morning sky, feeling as empty as the cloudless blue. It takes her a moment to recognize the changing foliage far below her, and another for it to register that she had reached her destination.
Slowly, she angles downwards until she reaches the earth and settles with a soft thump. There is little finesse in her landing. Any care she had once had for such things (never much to begin with) had fled with the splintered pieces of her heart. Her rumpled wings settle haphazardly against her ribs, as dull as her dark eyes.
Lifting her head, she allows her gaze to drag slowly around. If her mother was not nearby, she isn’t entirely certain what she would do. Perhaps the heaviness would fade and she would finally float away with the breeze as she had feared for so long. One could dream, she supposes, even if those dreams had once been nightmares.
She had never claimed to be a good mother; for a lengthy portion of her life it could even be said that she was a bad mother. When every thread of herself was being pulled in multiple directions, when she did not have a foundation strong enough for even herself to stand on, it had often been her children that got lost in the chaos of it all.
She loved them—all of them, no matter how fractured her heart might have been at the time—but she knew that sometimes love alone was not enough. The ways that she had failed so many of them haunted her, cobwebs that remained in the corners of her mind that she could never quite get rid of. She thought of them—Evenstar, Cassian and Casimira, Echis, Noel, Este and Sela, and everyone in between—and of all the ways she had failed to be the mother she should have been. How she should have been the one thing in this world they could depend on and instead she had slipped away like sand, flimsy and impossible to hold onto without losing a thousand little pieces in the process.
And so it never changes, the way her heart clenches in her chest at the sight of one of them. Her eyes find the familiar shape of Noel and all at once she is overcome with pride and joy, but also that pricking of guilt that never quite fades.
“Noel,” she says with a quiet, sad sort of smile as she makes her way towards her. The shadows of heartache have settled into the lines of her daughter’s face, and though perhaps not obvious to anyone else, they stand out in a stark contrast to her. She does not need to use her empathy to understand what she is feeling, having found herself different kinds of broken countless times before. Instead, she only reaches for her, pulling her into an embrace. “My lovely girl,” she murmurs into her mane, holding her tight as if doing so might put her broken pieces back together.
She steps back, then, watching her with a look of concern, but she says nothing. She does not ask her how she has been, because she knows—or knows enough, at least. And she knows, too, that Noel will tell her what she needs from her, when she is ready.
AND IT WAS REAL ENOUGH TO GET ME THROUGH — BUT I SWEAR YOU WERE THERE
Her hollow wish has been answered in the familiar sight of her mother drawing closer. There is something almost like relief in the pit of her abdomen as she watches her, though it is a bare echo in the shadow of her grief. Still, it is enough to tear at the fragile threads holding her precariously together, for the moment Ryatah draws her into her embrace, silent tears begin to slip down her cheeks.
She has been holding them back for far too long and they would not be stemmed any longer.
Noel does not shudder or wail as another might. In fact, if one weren’t looking, they might not even notice her heartbreak tracking liquid lines down her pale face. She doesn’t even try to blink them away though. Not here, not anymore. For the first time since her world had been shattered inside a soft, misty glen, she allows herself to be vulnerable. There is no one here she must remain strong for.
When her mother releases her, Noel draws an unsteady breath, eyes pulling tightly closed as she tries to steady herself. Ryatah does not press her, and for that she finds herself inordinately grateful. Once she is able to trust her voice enough to speak, she opens watery brown eyes and looks at her mother’s comforting features.
“How did you do it?” she asks, hopelessness shadowing the pits of her face. She cannot stop the new wave of tears that track fresh paths down her cheeks. “How did you… carry on?”
