#ikcrus

       “Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is WEAKER  than man.”

         A month was what she promised, forced to leave her side once more to help her country, and who was Angela to stop the goddess from fulfilling her duties? A month. It didn't sound so bad then. She'd waited for far longer for Fareeha before and so, with a saddened smile on her lips, Angela watched as Fareeha left; breath held in, an ache in her chest the moment Fareeha uttered those three words she's been hoping to hear before disappearing.

The ache never really left, though sometimes the reason behind it would change as days went by. Sometimes it ached for she misses Horus, the silence filling her house slowly becoming more and more suffocating. Other times it ached as she thought back to the I love you she was left with, facing the mirror in her home, practicing an answer for when the goddess would return. Recently, however, it ached from worry as she looked out through the window, hoping to catch sight of the Horus, hoping that she would finally return.

Once, she had even rushed out of her home upon hearing a falcon’s cry, looking up at the skies, searching for the woman she'd been waiting for only to find her nowhere.

A month had already passed, had it not?

A month of waiting, of hoping, of worrying. And then came another month. Another month of waiting, another month of hoping, another month of nothing until months turned into years, and years turned into decades.

Time had always been a funny thing for the witch. She lived long enough to not care about it anymore, only making sure that she was up when the sun was up, and to get ready for sleep once the moon has taken its place in the sky. Hours used to be but a trivial matter to her and so were the idea of days, weeks and months but now --- as she turned her head to the window, seasons having passed until the forest was finally carpeted with snow --- she felt herself growing more and more conscious of time. Of the days, and of the years that had passed since Fareeha left.

         A century and a half. It took her at least a century and a half to finally convince herself that she's had enough of waiting and once again, the world had changed: wars came and went, yet conflict and bloodshed continued to haunt the people. 

Angela joined in the smaller wars as a medic, having completely abandoned the role and title of witch, thinking about how Fareeha left her to fight for her country. And although she doubted that it was still because of another god, she was sure that she was still there --- somewhere --- fighting for justice.

Another decade had passed. A decade of her searching for the goddess, a decade of her living among humans as Angela Ziegler, the medic from Zürich and she was close, so close to giving up now. Perhaps Fareeha had abandoned her for good, she would think to herself at nights. Perhaps the I love you was just that. An empty confession. Something she shouldn’t hold so dearly in her heart. A century had already passed after all. Two, almost. 

Perhaps it was time to give up.

But see... Angela froze as she held a record in her hand, waiting for the soldier to walk into the tent for their mandatory check-up... fate simply seemed to love playing with her --- with them, and suddenly breathing had become difficult, her chest squeezing all too tightly, her sight now blurred with tears as she read the name over and over again. Fareeha. Fareeha Amari. 

Her head turned upwards the moment she heard the tent’s door flap open, the record unremembered as her grip loosened until it fell, all the words she’d practiced in front of the mirror for years long forgotten now that she stood before her, unable to speak, unable to say anything else other than a quiet whisper --- a quiet question, 

     Fareeha is silent at first, watching the other carefully. “You’re going to help me,” she finally says, “whether you like it or not.” It wasn’t a beg for help, but rather a command. Perhaps this woman was her only shot, and she was more than willing to risk it. Even then, if it was too high of a risk she would find another way.

She deserved death. Or so the wizards who have finally captured her after centuries of hunting said. Pure anger in their eyes, the stench of nothing but the want for revenge filling the air. Were she to tell Horus the truth, she’d answer that yes. She, too, thought that she had finally met her end. That she needn’t run away anymore for death was only just a few steps away.

Her body ached everywhere. Blood trickling from her head where one of the men had hit her with wood, spitting hateful words at her, words that she so deserved for having taken away their family from them, calling her murder. Preaching that what they were doing was justice for their families and although the witch knew she had all power in her to save herself and command all of the trees that surrounded them to take away the lives of the men hurting her, she resigned to the pain instead. Thinking instead about the same justice Horus often talked to her about.

Fighting for what was right. Doing everything to correct what was done wrong.

And if her death was what they believed was right, who was she to stop them from doing that?

Yet here Horus knelt beside her upon finding her helpless on the grass; the goddess of protection, a soldier for justice, saving her from what the witch had already supposed was her faith, distraught and guilt in her eyes—out of breath from having rushed to save her, wounds all over her skin and oh how Angela wanted to apologize for them. For having hurt her, when it was the wizards who had uttered spells after spells in hope of stopping the goddess, for making her worry when worry was something she did not deserve.

idk what i was expecting but it definitely was not That

I don’t want you to get hurt, was what she truly wanted to say to the goddess. Instead, she spoke in a heightened voice, hands balled into fists as she looked straight into Horus’s eyes with her own filled with rage. “Will you stop being so reckless for once?!” She yelled. Upset to hear about her having to leave once more to fight for her country. 

More often than not, Fareeha always returned with a new wound. New scars. Looking a lot more tired than she already did upon her departure, wishing for nothing but rest for hours end and true she may have the ability to heal herself but still... Every time Horus left her abode, every time she’d rush off claiming she needed to protect her home and its people, the witch couldn’t help but grow anxious. 

What if she’d gotten herself hurt? What if they had shot her wings? What if she was gone? 

“Why do you insist on protecting the same people who would one day turn their back on you, Horus? Humans are traitors---it is in their blood. Their nature. Abandon them before they abandon you.”