Isn't it lovely, all alone?
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone
I
am well acquainted with love. The kind that twists you up inside and leaves you bruised. Powerful and dangerous, it feels as if your very life is at risk of shattering into a million pieces. And, yet, when I was with him - he made everything whole. Glorious pain was how I would describe my brief stint with love. In all my inexperience, he took me to places I'd never known to exist. All without a single touch, kiss, or embrace. Was my naivety truly so blinding? One thousand times I should have walked away, turned my back on him, and my infatuation. Yet, I didn't. I allowed myself to be shaped and made into a version of myself I had desperately longed for. Perhaps my husband's death had been mercy. Truly, only death itself could be powerful enough to wake me from my dream. With eyes wide open, I knew now of things I had pushed violently away. The love I'd wanted, would never be - not in that life or any other. You should be dead, my thoughts remind me. Yes, I agree - I should be dead. The cold breath of fear billows at the back of my neck. The prospect of my execution had not frightened me during my extended stay in The Tower. Rather, in various moments of absolute clarity, I was granted a surreal peace. While my many other sister-wives wept and begged for mercy, I had remained perfectly quiet. Leaves crunched beneath my hooves, cutting into my thoughts. Pausing, I lifted a cloven hoof to study the brittle piece of nature destroyed by my carelessness. Brown and dead I tilted my head as if to see it better. It could have been there with me, I think. Strewn from one corner of the unswept floor to the other - mixed with torn pieces of parchment with faded writing on its surface. I would have read it, or attempted to. Hungrily devouring each word as if it held the secret to my escape. It never would, though its reminder of life comforted as a mother's lullaby might. Novus was my home now, it seemed. Leaf forgotten I lowered my hoof back down and continued down the path. I was uncertain as to where it would lead, but it didn't matter. Luvena had seen me safely delivered to civilization - however different that might seem to me. With nowhere else to go, I had followed the sickly mare to a place she fondly named Swamp. Just as much as the ice and snow had been a novelty, so did this place prove to be. I couldn't say which I preferred. It was warmer here, I noted - and I was no longer alone. Both points an improvement to my previous situation. Rounding a corner, I found myself stopped by the unhospitable edges of a watery bank. Everything here is painted in tones of earthly brown and muddied green. Dusk, Luvena had tried to explain. Though it continued to be a somewhat complicated concept, I felt as if I was beginning to understand. Terrastella, as she'd also called it, was a massive place with land that changed more frequently than one might be able to recall. There was a great love for it, that much I could tell - but I was not yet certain if I belonged. Everywhere I'd ever been had a purpose and a plan. My body not my own, I'd never been given the chance to decide whether I liked one place or the next. This time, there was no other influence but my own to consider. Freedom was both an exciting and frightening concept. Regularly I reminded myself that Luvena was no more than a temporary guardian. She had no interest in controlling me or telling me which path I should take. I was free to come and go as I pleased. Venturing closer to the water's edge I peered down at my reflection. The mare that stared back at me was as unfamiliar a face as any. Too mature - too tired, and lacking in the innocence that should have lingered in her young face. The finery that clung to her seemed as out of place there as I felt. Gold riches and useless trinkets. I would trade them all in if I could. Exhaling long and slow, I peeled away from the bank and settled under the shelter of a mangrove. Hopeless, I was completely hopeless.
f the colors seem duller, the sounds more muted, she does her best to not notice. If she feels more edge, her anger more ready to rise to the occasion, she chalks it up to the hormones so soon after birth. It is only at night when she lets the memory of him slink past her defenses. It is only when sleep is just around the corner that she remembers the feel of his head pressed against her neck, his lips against her throat. It should be things she is forgetting, she should not try to reach back into her mind, remembering them. Elena is able to throw them into the box, but she stands there hand shaking with the key, unable to lock it.
You seek beauty but forget you already are. Tir had told her. But, right now, Elena feels anything but beautiful. She wears a look of exhaustion, the same one all new mother’s wear, but there is something different in her eyes, the lingering heartbreak she had experienced in the late fall and early winter. Elena avoids mirrors now, terrified of the face she sees staring back at her, terrified that one day she will be so taken aback at home much she has changed since the little girl who stared at her reflection in a glistening lake that she may just smash it. Shards of glass everywhere, sending sharp points bury into her skin, into her chest, into her heart. It would be easy, too easy.
If it were not for Elliana.
She can have all her light.
Every time she sees her daughter, every time Elliana paints her something new, Elena feels like her heart may burst from her chest. Those blue eyes, those blue forget me not eyes, they break her in the best way possible and build her up all over again. Maybe it is selfish of her, to rely on her daughter so much to determine her happiness, but Elena cannot help herself.
She walks her to school, planting a kiss on her head. “Learn something wonderful today,” she says before watching her go into the building where her tutors await. Elena heads off to the hospital to check on her patients, a pit stop is made to the swamp, as always. She traverses through the swampy land easily, avoiding the pockets she knows well, sticking to the driest areas to find some of her herbs. She finds Sweetflag and Red Baneberry, and just spots a batch of Green Dragon before noticing something else in the swamp. It was common to see other medics here, but this woman, Elena doesn't recognize as china blue eyes look at her, staring at her reflection in the water.
It is then she feels it. The empath melts beneath such a tiredness and such a hopelessness that it makes her skin grows chilled and she almost feels her legs give out before she manages to push the emotions away with some effort. She doesn't want to feel that way, not anymore than she already does, she doesn't want to go to her, but Elena is Elena and she cannot change what sits there in her soul, the need to heal others, inside and out.
“Hello,” she approaches her quietly. “You seem contemplative, or lost, or maybe both,” she adds with a trying smile. “I am happy to help you if you need.”
Always, always happy to help, anyone but herself most days it would seem.
Isn't it lovely, all alone?
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone
I
am trapped. The sensation is one that should be familiar to me. I've always been a prisoner to my circumstances. Shackled by the ambitions of everyone around me I should be able to welcome the sensation of confinement with warmth. Instead, for the first time in my life, I felt myself fighting against it. Stranded amongst the waves of my own mind, I fought fervently to make sense of everything that had transpired. Swimming desperately against the current that sought to pull me beneath its swell. Too late, I remember that I can't swim. The recollection is odd in light of the ripples that dance upon the face of my reflection. I'd never had use for such knowledge. Born and raised amidst the dry and heartless land of the desert, most of the water we had came from deep underground. Now, however, I find myself gasping. Pawing at the surface of my memories, wishing for them to evaporate. Unbroken, my gaze remains set firmly upon the bog's edge. There are no signs of life to be seen beneath the murky brown surface. My senses are dancing. The thick scent of mud and algae mix together with the sweet, green aroma of the surrounding foliage. My body is present in that place, though my mind is not. Faded and glassy, the rich emerald of my eyes has faded. One thousand lifetimes I have spent within the confines of my own mind - dreaming of something beyond the walls erected to cage me. Poised and tense, my new reality is as foreign to me as the surrounding swamp. Wet and cold, a shiver travels up the length of my spine. I am no longer alone. Consumed by my thoughts, I realize all too late that another has stumbled onto my chosen spot of reflection. Eyes drawn back to the present, I roll them to my rear to watch the approaching palomino mare. From a distance, her intrusion is not immediately alarming, and I watch with mounting curiosity as she seems to pick her path with the utmost care. Occasionally she stops only to stoop low to retrieve some unseen treasure from the ground. My ears prick forward, my cranium now turned to better consider her. Yet another new face to add to my growing collection. The sense of unfamiliarity that blankets me is new to me, and I'm unsure if I like it or not. For years my life had been completely confined to the same walls belonging to the Emperor's palace. The faces there became my family, each of their names equally important to me. Guards, servants, concubines, wives, and their foals - I'd memorized them all. My heart ached to recall their fates. After the Emperor's death, their very existence became a threat to the Prince - and so, they couldn't be allowed to continue. It was difficult to imagine the stallion that I'd loved ending such innocent lives. Swallowing hard I swatted away the darkness of my thoughts, focusing instead on the palomino as she spotted me. My leonine tail flickered in anticipation of her greeting. Maternal energy surrounds her and she carries with her the tired air often found amongst new mothers. Yet, there was no knobby kneed foal struggling to keep pace with her. Did all mares in this realm misplace their children? An involuntary snort slips past my calm disposition and my ears swivel to catch the questions thrown in my direction. The stranger wants to know the meaning behind my forlorn expression. How to answer when I myself do not know. "I am not lost," I answer contemplatively. Ounces of truth cling to my vocals, the hints of uncertainty buried beneath my civility. Terrastella was still a land as new to me as it was vast. Beyond the swamp, I had not yet found the opportunity to explore its many other reaches. Even so, I felt that I might have some physical bearing on my whereabouts. Luvena had done her best to educate me so that I might not find myself so completely and hopelessly lost. Mentally, however, I continued to grapple with the many changes I'd been forced to endure. Many more questions danced within my mind than I could find answers for, and I hated the sensation it pressed upon me. None of this I cared to express to the golden-hued stranger before me. Evasively I shifted my stance, my shoulder leaning towards the direction I'd come. "Do you live here?" I asked, more than willing to shift the attention off of myself. "In the swamp?" In the warmer months, I imagined this place had some hidden appeal. Wet and tepid, even in the midst of winter, nature seemed to thrive. Nearer to the water's edge I could feel a chill wafting up from it - wrapping itself around me like an unwanted embrace. Nothing, however, compared to the cold I'd endured upon my initial arrival. For my deliverance of that, I had Luvena to thank. Though bleak and an assault to my senses, the swamp was warm and far more ideal. Far different than any other place I'd lived, it rescued me from haunting familiarity. The very thought of returning to the desert filled me with inexplicable dread. Stealing a moment, I glanced about myself. I could find contentment there. The mossy canopy provided the illusion of concealment, a comfort given my newfound vulnerability. "This is a strange place," I murmured absently to myself. In the past no one had ever cared to hear my thoughts, I didn't expect that now would be any different.
ou killed him! You murdered my father and yet you still stand,’ she had seethed. ‘You don’t deserve to stand there.’ Lilli had stood behind her and Elena, so young, so small, still so lost in the world had stood in front of Frostbane, confronting her father’s killer, her father’s murderer. He had found her, of course he would find her.
Elena still has nightmares of this day, wonders if one day his icy clutches may may its way to Novus, if he will find her, a debt to still be collected, a debt still owed to him. Would be try to take her? Benjamin’s first born daughter. Would he still take her? Who would take care of Elliana? Her heart would freeze in her chest as it would sink the darkest places of her thoughts. Thoughts that if the first born daughter were no longer a worthy price, if there was something else he were after, moved on—the first born granddaughter.
Elliana.
No, the golden girl would never allow it. Could never allow it. She understand why her father had been so willing, how the decision had been so easy to make to put his life down for his daughter because Elena would do the same for her own, like she would for so many of her family, but for Elliana, the difference is, she would take the entire world down with her if it meant her daughter, with the summer sky in her eyes, could continue on, if she could keep smiling. Elliana has made her selfish in an entirely different way, in a way she never knew possible. And she would never regret it.
She is thinking, Elena can feel the way her thoughts tip backwards, the contemplation. Elena thinks she can find confusion there too, wriggling like some undesired pest. She understands what it is like to be confused but not lost, she feels it every day. She knows the path of motherhood, knows what happens, but as she leads Elliana down it, she thinks this trail is much more complicated than she could have ever imagined.
“In Terrastella, yes,” Elena responds. “But not here in the swamp. I live just off the capital, by the ocean,” she says. Oh her seaside cottage, adorned with flowers inside, kept warm by a small fire. The place was quaint, but Elena could not manage anything larger, she was done with empty space, she wanted somewhere where every square inch was covered only in love. “What are you doing out in the swamp?” She asks. There were shamans here, healers often came here to do as she does, collect, but there were not so many who lived here, who were not born in its grasp. Elena takes a couple steps towards. “Are you sure you do not need any help?” She asks, casting the line, she waits with patient hands ready to pull her in if she would allow her to. “I am Elena.” And, as always, as she has with so many—Elena smiles.
Isn't it lovely, all alone?
Heart made of glass, my mind of stone
B
efore I had been carted off to live in the capital, I had enjoyed a carefree existence. The youngest child born to my father there was little that I had ever been forced to go without. Unlike my brothers, I was treated as if I had been crafted from porcelain. Too fragile and cherished to be allowed the things most children were able to enjoy. While my brothers were shipped off to oversee the productions of the quarries littering our father’s territory, I was kept home. Not a day’s work would threaten to intrude upon my purity. Though I did not understand it at first, I was my father’s final hope to leave behind the desert he’d been cursed to reside. The death of my mother, and his mate, ensured that weight would forever be mine. The slightest of smiles peeked out from behind a guarded exterior. Things had felt so simple then. Regularly I would find joy in teasing my father about finding another mate. There had been many fine mares scattered throughout the territory – many of great beauty. Some would even find their way into our home, sneaking out in the early hours of the morning. Papa never knew that I saw them all. Although countless, none of them proved worthy of becoming permanent fixtures in our lives. Then I had not understood the complexity of the male mind. Now, a mare that had been married, I knew more than I had ever cared to. Father’s guests were never meant for my entertainment. As fleeting as a winter’s wind, I would continue to be forced to find my own fun. Locked away from the outside world, I was a spectator to life – never experiencing it fully. The only other foals I encountered close to my own age were the ones I had never been intended to learn about. Skinny and sickly, they were the beggars that crowded around the servants’ gates – their eyes wide and sad and pleading. Father had no patience for them, but I - I would often sneak them loaves of stale bread not suited for our own table. It was odd how, the moment it was announced that I was to be married and moved to the capital, my first thoughts belonged to them. Without me there, who would care enough to sneak them scraps from the kitchen? My oldest brother named regent. I would be accompanied by my father. All I could do was pray that my siblings were kinder than the man that had raised them. Looking at me now, not a soul would be able to guess the intricacies of my past. Hooves caked in mud and frost gathered on my hide, I hardly gave a clue. Novus was not like the place where I had come. Vast and everchanging, what I had seen of it thus far had been enough to assure me that I was far removed from the life I’d once known. No longer was I Csilla, the Emperor’s newest wife. I was Csilla, the mystery. Somewhere deep in the bog, a frog croaked. Deep and, almost, musical my tail twitched with uncertainty. Not for the first time, I found myself missing the comforts of the Sanctuary. The world created especially for the Emperor’s wives, concubines, and children – it had been a frivolous place not lacking a single luxury. Ironically, it was while I had been hidden away in that kingdom that I had felt my most free. Although there were strict rules to abide, I never once felt imprisoned as I had during my time in my father’s home. Carefully guarded, we were commodities – treated as if we were a treasure to be carefully guarded. Even now, freed from my veils and concealing robes, I felt naked. The loneliness I’d felt growing up was eclipsed by the family I’d become a part of. Constantly surrounded by bodies, it had been the children I’d been closest to. Their vibrancy and joy were able to chase away my greatest pains and loneliness. For hours I could watch them playing in the gardens. Chasing butterflies and splashing in the duck pond. Watching their innocence reminded me that I was not that much older than they were. Yet, I was a bride and I was unfamiliar to the ways of childhood. I was not often given time to grieve the things that were lost to me. Eyes constantly forced to face forward. The reflections of my life thus far haunted me. The mare before me now had an aura of familiarity. That same glimmer of parental exhaustion that often-accompanied new mothers. As the youngest in my harem, it had been my job to tend to those who had only just given birth. It was, at times, a challenging job – but one that I enjoyed. The foals were always their most fragile directly after birth, and I reveled in the innocence that danced within their sleepy eyes. Palomino and kind, I, again, wondered where the mare’s child had gone off to. My voice, timid and afraid, echoed in my ears. There was a moment that I almost didn’t recognize the sound of it, and I silently admonished myself for asking too many questions. Surely this mare did not care for me. No doubt, she was after only what could be gained by my existence. It was what I had grown to expect from strangers, and I struggled to grasp that anyone could be different. When she finally did speak again, my ears flickered to capture her words. By her own admission, she was a citizen of Terrastella. Though the swamp appeared to be the favorite of many, she spoke instead of a cottage by the sea. I’d never seen the sea before. Again, she asked if I needed help and my nostrils twitched. There were many things that I needed, but to put such things in words felt like an impossibility. Elena, she finally supplied. Introductions were easy, I recalled. “My name is Csilla,” I returned with stiff civility. “As for your offer, its very kind of you to ask – but I…” My voice trailed off. Why did it do that? Heart beating faster, I threw my gaze back behind me towards the water’s edge. I did not know this mare, I reminded myself harshly. If I had learned one thing throughout the course of my short life was that every living creature was capable of putting on a show. I could not trust what I was immediately seeing, and my body tensed. “I’m fine,” I finally managed, my voice sounding strained and tired. “I did not mean to disturb you and your…collecting. What was it you were gathering?” For the hate of silence, I found myself inquiring after something that was not my business. Not naturally curious by nature, I almost cringed at how forced my tone and body must seem. Lost was the gentility I had been raised to possess. For a moment, I almost missed the ease of my past life. I always knew what was expected of me then. Now, I was nothing but a lost child desperately grasping at straws.
he remembers when she had thought returning home would be the answer. Though that returning to the place she had been born, had been first loved, would ease the pain. It had not. Because pain does not exist in places, it exists in people, and people show up every where, reminding you of that pain.
Her mother’s death—she sees it in the eyes of her grandmother.
Her father’s murder—it was the snow that fell to the earth.
Leaving Lilli behind—she saw her own guilt painted in the spring tulips.
It is no different now.
She sees Tenebrae leaving her when she looks in the shadows.
Azrael smiles at her in the stars.
Her child sits in the uncertainty of everything.
She knows if she left, it would solve nothing. Some call this growing up, Elena simply says it is accepting her fate. She is not brave for tilting her chin upwards against the blows, merely resilient. The thin aspen bowing and bending against the wild winds. Her heart still breaking a little bit at a time.
The shiver the traveled up her spine, now travels down Elena’s, completing the circle.
And down Elena’s, completing the circle. A frog cries. She lets a smile curl into those delicate cheeks. Even as the empath can feel the girl’s uncertainty, though Elena is no stranger to such emotions. “It is nice to meet you, Csilla.” Her words fall from her lips as easily as rain. She hangs onto whatever words she will offer her, Elena has always been a good listener. “If you are sure.” Her silvery voice chimes clearly into the chill autumn air. There is hesitancy, there are emotions buried beneath her skin and Elena, the healer inside her, wants to find them, to help her, but she cannot be the one to dig them up, that would be Csilla’s responsibility.
“You are far from a disturbance,” Elena reassures her with the truth. “I am just gathering herbs and other plants for the hospital, we like to keep a large batch of medical supplies,” she tells her. “I am a healer,” she says, forgetting she is a Champion. “Would you like to assist me?”Elena asks, bringing the plants she had found towards her. “You can tell me a story along the way if you wish.”
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