||[Sep. 30th, 2004|09:26 pm]
Deranged minds connecting
It’s done now.|
It’s over. I have my revenge, along with an aching feeling of emptiness that will not go away.
I wonder if he knows how long I spent trying to figure out what had happened. I wonder if he ever appreciated it; does he perhaps think that it is a sign of a task well done? He might. Or maybe he doesn’t even know, never noticed, didn’t ask. It could be that he didn’t know about the months of feeling absolutely exhausted from dreams of another world, the constant drowsiness, the numb feeling, the drop in my grades because I could never quite wake up.
Perhaps it was a flaw. Perhaps Lorion put it there. Perhaps he wished for us to have another option. So the memories tell me, but how am I to tell what is real and what is fabricated? Oh, it was a cunning spell they wove, giving me a soulstone – a soulstone! – simply so that I might lay my power there, and be defenceless. Did he laugh inwardly at my delight at such a magnificent gift?
It gave him what he wanted, for a time.
Until a trick of fate – not a coincidence; I have ceased to believe in such things – led us to that very same hill. That very same place, a chill autumn evening, with the stars so brightly above. And we were so tired, so weary, as we always were, and we told ourselves that we wouldn’t get sick from just sitting on the ground, and did. And then we drooped, and slept, and woke up to find different stars. Brighter.
My head was reeling, the spell broken at last, the aftermath making me dizzy and disoriented. I looked at my friend and saw the same mirrored on her face as we staggered to our feet.
Then, a flash among the trees. Someone, moving swiftly. One turned to more and yet more, and in moments a host of green-clad, tall, ethereal beings had surrounded us.
And we did not realize that at first, saw only the bright weapons in their hands and their fierce eyes, those eyes that I could not meet for long. And then Evarian stepped out from the throng, and eyed us with an utter lack of emotion on his face.
For the first and only time in my life I heard my friend say something about being relieved to see him, and he blinked. He had not expected us, but he had most definitely not expected that.
He said something, walking toward us, and I could not catch the words. A whirl of emotions tore through me; anger, surprise, confusion, joy, and then at last realization. I understood. It was not much I did understand, for my memory was still clouded, but one fact formed and glinted like a bared blade, like the bared blades around us.
I was not quite sure who I was; Gwen or that other? I did not know where I was. I could not understand how I had gotten there. But I knew one thing, one piece of truth. Somehow, that Elf was to blame for it all. Somehow, he had done this to me.
I felt a very girlish instinct rear its head, and I did was what perhaps the silliest and most justified thing I have ever done in my life, knowing that it would not come to pass unless he allowed it, which infuriated me even more. I brought my hand up and slapped him as hard as I could.
He could have avoided it; he is a warrior, trained to see blows forming, to know the muscles that lead limbs this way and that. He did not.
But I had forgotten:
What was once the most natural thing of the world, the instinct that kept my hands in gloves although it was not cool, or to touch only fabric if my hands were bare, to shy away from touches, to be very careful when in crowds, all that had been left behind.
So when I struck him, my hand was naked, and my mind received more than simply sensation from the blow. A torrent of memories, adding to the ones slowly sorting themselves out in my brain, memories I knew from before and memories I did not. They brought an order of sorts to my mind, but I would have much preferred it if they did not, if my empath’s gift had been left well alone.
I blinked when I noticed one of his hands steadying me, carefully not touching my skin, noticed Kriss looking at me askance, those two, such utter opposites, looking so alike for a moment as I staggered as if drunk, although he did of course know why, while I doubted that my friend remembered.
I rose up straight, refusing any more aid; he did not attempt to help me further. That memory, emerging from the flow, of Lorion labouring to manipulate my remembrances, of turning them into a story and not reality.
I smiled. It was a bitter smile, no doubt, but that was not why I used it. “You won’t get rid of me that easily,” I said, and my voice sounded brittle, the uncanny cheer in it not heartening at all.
I think of a thousand little secrets shared, and of sleepless nights when he would – with great shows of how inconvenient I was – tell me a story, or find a book he thought I’d like, or reprimand me for no good reason. I think of a cloak put on my shoulders when it was raining and I was moody, of he trying to explain an Elven way of looking at this situation of that, and I bid those memories farewell. Those memories that made me think that maybe Elves – or this one, anyway – weren’t so bad.
I shall miss them.
He says, I suppose I deserved that.
Yes, I suppose you did.