"Why did you leave?"
It is a valid question, one that I've asked myself countless times. How do I explain it? The simplest way is this, and I do not hesitate: “I fell in love.”
It was, of course, more complicated than that. I left because my court was not mine anymore. Maybe that makes me a traitor- maybe someone that truly loved Solterra would never have left it as I did. And I often wonder how things would have been if I had stayed and fought. If I had stayed and become a king- I think I could have done it. I think I could have done it well.
But I didn’t just leave because I was in love. “And I was going to be a father.” When I learned there would be twins- when I put my cheek to Isra’s belly and met them for the first time, I knew there was no force in the world that would have kept me from my daughters.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, the pieces I loved most about Solterra were so quickly gone, or believed to be gone. Seraphina and Bexley and the things we had done together, the progress we made... all of it shattered in an instant, spread to the dry dusty wind where we all will one day follow. And- here’s the kicker- I didn’t blame Raum for it. Is it selfish of me, or arrogant, to place the blame on myself?
I know I don’t need to express this all in words. I could plant it in his mind, share with him directly the complicated mix of love and guilt, loss and shame and fatigue. Bone-deep weariness. But it would be a cruelty to share my burden like that. And it’s personal.
(“I tried.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“I know, but it’s all I have left.” My hands are full of these crumbled efforts. Ragged scraps of paper, castles of sand. Somewhere, someone is laughing. Somewhere there is always gods-damned laughter.)
“Anyway, you must have been there when Raum was sovereign. You know what it was like.” I don’t know for sure he was there at that time- to be honest there’s some instinct telling me he wasn’t. But his age and accent and Solterran mannerisms suggest someone born and raised in the desert. And I know he lives there now. Maybe the statement is a test of sorts. I find myself suddenly a little more alert, a little on edge. I am carefully listening for clues in the tone of his voice and the lean of his body.
(“Clues-- clues!! For what?? Old man’s gone batty again”)
I think it isn’t like me to be underhanded like this, if you can even call it that… I’ve always been a straight shooter. But I don’t feel like I know myself anymore. I’m probably just tired. Maybe I’m bored, too. I could just reach into his mind, as easy as walking into the sea, and be done with it. Questions answered, mysteries solved. But I don’t. I don’t think I care enough.
Most of the time it’s hard to see the point to anything. Now and then it reveals itself, shy and beautiful, but the moment I have it in my grasp it melts away. Unattainable.
“Home… doesn’t much feel like home, lately.”
I find myself smiling, sad and sour. Sometimes I think home is a lie. Or- maybe not a lie. An illusion. The stuff of fairy- and folktales. Something for children to believe in, or idiots. The older I get the less I believe in home. I don’t think this will be a comfort to the pegasus. I try to dig deep within myself for some wisdom age has granted me, some silver lining or guiding light. All I find is shadows and coal, and I sigh.
“Yes, it does that sometimes.” I think of all the places I have ever called home. How, like people, each of them changed over time, sometimes beyond recognition. “Is that why you’re here?”
E I K
the world, a double blossom, opens:
sadness of having come,
joy of being here.
It is a valid question, one that I've asked myself countless times. How do I explain it? The simplest way is this, and I do not hesitate: “I fell in love.”
It was, of course, more complicated than that. I left because my court was not mine anymore. Maybe that makes me a traitor- maybe someone that truly loved Solterra would never have left it as I did. And I often wonder how things would have been if I had stayed and fought. If I had stayed and become a king- I think I could have done it. I think I could have done it well.
But I didn’t just leave because I was in love. “And I was going to be a father.” When I learned there would be twins- when I put my cheek to Isra’s belly and met them for the first time, I knew there was no force in the world that would have kept me from my daughters.
Lastly, and perhaps most importantly, the pieces I loved most about Solterra were so quickly gone, or believed to be gone. Seraphina and Bexley and the things we had done together, the progress we made... all of it shattered in an instant, spread to the dry dusty wind where we all will one day follow. And- here’s the kicker- I didn’t blame Raum for it. Is it selfish of me, or arrogant, to place the blame on myself?
I know I don’t need to express this all in words. I could plant it in his mind, share with him directly the complicated mix of love and guilt, loss and shame and fatigue. Bone-deep weariness. But it would be a cruelty to share my burden like that. And it’s personal.
(“I tried.”
“That’s not good enough.”
“I know, but it’s all I have left.” My hands are full of these crumbled efforts. Ragged scraps of paper, castles of sand. Somewhere, someone is laughing. Somewhere there is always gods-damned laughter.)
“Anyway, you must have been there when Raum was sovereign. You know what it was like.” I don’t know for sure he was there at that time- to be honest there’s some instinct telling me he wasn’t. But his age and accent and Solterran mannerisms suggest someone born and raised in the desert. And I know he lives there now. Maybe the statement is a test of sorts. I find myself suddenly a little more alert, a little on edge. I am carefully listening for clues in the tone of his voice and the lean of his body.
(“Clues-- clues!! For what?? Old man’s gone batty again”)
I think it isn’t like me to be underhanded like this, if you can even call it that… I’ve always been a straight shooter. But I don’t feel like I know myself anymore. I’m probably just tired. Maybe I’m bored, too. I could just reach into his mind, as easy as walking into the sea, and be done with it. Questions answered, mysteries solved. But I don’t. I don’t think I care enough.
Most of the time it’s hard to see the point to anything. Now and then it reveals itself, shy and beautiful, but the moment I have it in my grasp it melts away. Unattainable.
“Home… doesn’t much feel like home, lately.”
I find myself smiling, sad and sour. Sometimes I think home is a lie. Or- maybe not a lie. An illusion. The stuff of fairy- and folktales. Something for children to believe in, or idiots. The older I get the less I believe in home. I don’t think this will be a comfort to the pegasus. I try to dig deep within myself for some wisdom age has granted me, some silver lining or guiding light. All I find is shadows and coal, and I sigh.
“Yes, it does that sometimes.” I think of all the places I have ever called home. How, like people, each of them changed over time, sometimes beyond recognition. “Is that why you’re here?”
the world, a double blossom, opens:
sadness of having come,
joy of being here.
@Zayir <3 ah, Eik may go his way in the next post or two <3
Time makes fools of us all
