Juicebox

—

I have lived a long life, longer than most ever dream of; Over three hundred years, I had not once seen the sun nor the moon. We only crawled to the surface on moonless nights, safe from the danger the moonlight wrought. Or so I thought. The surface – it was more alive than anything in the Underdark. It all flowed together in a fragile balance, so easily disrupted and capable of great destruction. In my homeland, it was kill or be killed, no care for any balance except the scales owned by Mother Matrons. The only fauna spawned from corpses, mushrooms. A reminder that nothing can be saved from decomposition. No matter the deeds done in life, we all return to the same ground. Cold, wet, and unforgiving.

At night, the moon whispers to me in a foreign tongue. I know she beckons me closer. I ignore her. The moon is for the failed concubine I share my camp with. When my gaze catches his, I see the same fear on his face that I once had when I looked at my mother. He only shares his words with the elf, oddly enough. She is gentler than the rest of us, though she has seen the same monsters. I have never understood how a woman can be so kind when the world wants nothing more than for her to fall. Perhaps she is naive, or she sees something I do not. What can she see that my old eyes can’t?

“You’re brooding.” A large hand gently placed itself on my shoulder. I turn my head slightly, eyes locking onto the younger woman’s. Her black hair, wild as ever, flowed behind her muscular back. In her face, I saw a temporary home, as much as I wanted it to be permanent. Those hazel orbs shone down on me with the utmost love and affection. It made me so sick. “Hm.” Was the best response I had.

“T’riss.” While her tone hardened, it was still laced with softness. I closed my eyes, hoping that in this very moment, it would all vanish. That’d I’d open my eyes to a black void where nothing can dare get close. As always, when they opened, the world still lay before my eyes. Quiet, warm, inviting. “I miss my home.” My voice came out higher than I meant to. Home didn’t exist anymore and I knew it. It hadn’t for a long time. The home I spoke of was not a place, but a feeling– people. My sister. I missed my sister.

“We both know that’s not the truth.” She sat next to me on the damp ground. I wish so badly she’d go away. This sickness is for me, not her. But I know that the moment she left, I’d wish I had never said for her to go. It always happened like that. Every time she came back, loyal as a hound. I don’t deserve the devotion. Her soul warmed my own, and sometimes I’d forget the monster I am. Never for long. Memory eats away at me, reminding me of the inevitable: this was not forever. Do not get comfortable. Comfort is a foreign belief, something I’d once said many years ago, that still rings true today.

“I don’t know, it’s all very loud. I can’t make sense of it.”

“Can’t or won’t?”

I just stared at her, rubbing my thumb over my pointer finger.

“Must you always dissect me?” My tone grew low with agitation, my gaze hardened. Just like my mother, always wanting to know why.

“I want to know why the woman I love has grown so cold.” She, too, had noticed by withdrawal.

“I was cold when you met me. Why are you surprised now? Is it because I no longer warm your bed at night, give my body freely? Is that what you seek?”

She pulled her hand back, the cold nipping at my once warm shoulder. “That is not at all what I speak of. You know it. It was never about sex.”