an ember never falls

Dreams of Colour | calibreus

A V A D A    E M B E R F A L L

And only to the heart that knows of grief, Of desolating fire, of human pain, There comes some purifying sweet belief, Some fellow-feeling beautiful, if brief. And life revives, and blossoms once again

Song 

She wasn’t crazy. 

Aquana was real. The whispers in her head were real. The voices that sang from the flowers potted by her bed were real. The howling of the wolf outside, mournful, was real.

She told them this, when they locked her in a nice room with a window and a plush bed all by herself. The window had bars on it. They told her this when they brought by a parade of doctors and psychologists. The doctors weren’t of any help.

They put her in here, they said, for the protection of the other patients and herself. Talking to herself had become unsettling for everyone.

“We’ll let you out, I promise, we just need to get this little situation figured out.” The doctor, to his benefit, did look genuinely distraught. But he was upset because he thought she was crazy and that he failed her. He patted her knee gently, the good one, not the one that was twisted and gnarled. The one she asked them to cut off. Someone could make her a new one, she knew someone who could make her a new one.

Or at least she thought she did.