Written in response to this.
Little china doll, So fragile and small. Breakable and pitiful, In need of her—
A day. That’s all that it was, a day. A day where everything appeared a little bleaker, a little darker, and the weight on her shoulders as a little heavier, a little harder to carry with her because it was all just so hard—but what was hard? Nothing was hard, not truly, because there was no quest tasked to her, no great responsibility that laid before her, nothing that she was sworn to do. Not anymore.
All that remained was guilt and the remnants of what had been her life for a year. More than a year, but she had lost count of the days, the number of times that the sun rose and fell and the hours that passed. It no longer mattered anyhow, not truly, not in a way that made it rely entirely upon her existence. Guilt was simply something that she would have to live with, for the rest of her own eternity, for however long that eternity would last. Infinity was such a fickle thing.
The desire not to be alone was too strong, too heavy, and truly and sincerely she wanted anything but to be alone. So lonely did it feel inside of her body, inside of her empty chest that pumped blood but did not make her feel a thing. Loneliness was a plague, something dark and evil and always lingering, always lurking, waiting for the best moment to latch, to capture, to swallow its victim whole, and in that day she did not what to be its victim. No longer would she allow herself to sink into the deep and dark abyss that was inside of her, inside of her chest, inside of her head, inside of the vat of memories that were not her own—
How ironic.
A memory witch without memories of her own.
Portal blindly opened, steady feet that carried her inside of it, and so quickly did she find herself within the school that she had taken to visiting more and more and more over the days that passed. And he, he was like a beacon that called to her, and it was so easy to find him, so simple that it was as easy as breathing to let her feet lead her there, and she found him sitting. Reading. Always reading, a constant that kept her afloat, and she strode over to him and sat beside him and rested her head on the table and spoke quietly to him, voice soft, frail.
Fabric was placed gently over her shoulders and her shoulders relaxed and she allowed the gentle touch of it and allowed herself to sink into it because it was warm. Without opening her eyes she knew that it was red, and she knew that his touch, a palm to her head, was not one without thought put into it, because just as she, he did not touch without reason. The touch was not frivolous, as his words were not, and when the hand left her head she turned to look at him, peeking out from over her arm before closing her eyes again.
To say that it was okay— To say that she could stay.
The words were empty but so full all at the same time, they meant nothing and everything at once, they made something inside of her chest clench and tremble and something in her mind calm and go frantic, but she accepted them. Those words she took into her and let them fill her, fill that piece of her that was empty and not whole and so, so ominous. Eternal. Always stretching, never able to be ignored.
But it was okay, in that one moment.
"Thank you..."
Thank you, knight in black armor, There may be piece of me lost what would be the cost— Really I just want to rest. With you.
