Completed Dissipation

[Isolde Seibold]

2nd of Spring, 515 AV
4th bell

There was the fog, and there was nothing. And it was nice.

Quiet, as there was no sound in the fog, nothing to pierce the solitude. Peaceful, as there were no memories here, no past, and no worries, no future. There was no true present either. Just fog. White mist, swirling. Always and everywhere. And it was easy to drift in this place, and it was easy to just be nothing. And being nothing, for her, was good.

Isolde floated. She didn't do anything else; the fog excluded it all. No thoughts or movement, no motivations, no emotions. The fog was absolute; the fog was a comfort.

She stayed in that sweet and distant place inside herself for a long time, long enough that when reality came and permeated through into the mist, she didn't know what was happening. All she knew was that her unchanging world had changed. The white fog was weeping into rain around her. Melting into puddles far down and away. Leaving her. Revealing her.

It made her sad to see it leave.
---

When she woke up, it actually was as if she was waking, and that was strange because she remembered, suddenly, as if the knowledge had never gone, that she could not sleep. Not truly. Nuit didn't sleep.

Still, she felt as if she had been sleeping, for bells and bells and more than that, too. Her eyes fluttered open, brow creased slightly. Her eyelashes were wet, another anomaly: just as she could not sleep, neither could she cry real tears. It took her a while to realize what was going on. The sleep-feeling was making her mind lethargic. It was difficult to make sense of things.

The fog was around her once more, but this time it was different. For a few long chimes she thought that perhaps she hadn't woken at all, perhaps this, somehow, was a dream, as impossible as that was. Or perhaps, more likely, it was some sort of imagining. But that couldn't be right. She had woken; she had felt that. No, this was no dream.

It wasn't a dream because she could feel it, could hear it, and inside the mind-fog there was no feeling and hearing, no sensing at all. Here and now in this fog she felt the chill damp against her cold face, making her skin clammy. She felt the dew that had collected on her eyelashes; felt the small drop of water that flashed down her cheek when she blinked her eyes. Felt the patina of liquid that had condensed onto her hair.

And she heard... noises. Familiar sounds. There was a swaying, a creaking that went in time with it, a never-ending harmony of splashes and licks and burbles. The swaying stirred a soft breeze, the fog eddying around her, against her face, and she could taste a light, undisguised saltiness, and could smell fish and open air and wet, swollen wood.

At last, she realized where she was. The Docks. Syliras. Somehow that frightened and saddened her, maybe in more ways than one, but she still wasn't herself enough to understand why. She blinked, inhaling once, deeply. The world continued to sharpen into focus.

Though her eyes were already open, it was only now that she saw. There was more than just the fog, though she was truly surrounded on all sides by a soft, wet haze, but it was more than that. She could see indistinct shapes among it, even in the dark-- for it was dark, almost certainly night or early, early morning, before Syna had risen. The shapes she recognized as towering wooden ships, sails hanging still and flaccid; the creaking she had heard earlier, that had been them. The swaying had been the sound of the gentle waves washing against the Docks. The splashing had been more of the same, just on a smaller scale, as bits of water slapped against wood.

But the ships were all to the sides of her, nothing in front. Maybe far, far away, if she strained her eyes, she could see the barest profile of something; a silvery-gold outline, starting at the horizon. Either the sun was going up or the moon going down, she couldn't tell which. She was facing out towards the Suvan, and if nothing was in front of her...

Slowly, as if still in a trance --and maybe she was-- Isolde looked down. Her body seemed different somehow, though she could yet recall why, or pinpoint exactly what was different about it. Her clothes, maybe. Her clothes were different? It was hard to tell in the low light, with the fog bleaching everything to shades of gray. She supposed it didn't really matter, right now. Because right now what mattered most was where her feet were, what mattered most was where she was standing.

She was perched on the very edge of one of the docks. The toes of her boots stuck out over open air; below lay a black expanse of water. Take one step more, no, even half a step --or even just tip slightly forward, enough to unbalance her-- and she would fall in. The waves would grab her, pull her under. If she inhaled any of the liquid, it would be over: drowning wouldn't kill her outright, as dead lungs didn't need to breathe, but she knew she was not nearly strong nor coordinated enough to swim well, and especially not when her body was heavy with swallowed water. If she went under, she would not get out; from there it would be a slow and perhaps painful death, stuck beneath the waves.

Somehow the concept didn't frighten her as much as it might once have, though if she had had a pulse it would have quickened. Still, she didn't move. She just stared down, at the Sea.

She wondered idly if being underwater was anything like being in the fog. Dark instead of white, but the same in many other ways. Perhaps death itself was like the fog. She felt the dock rock gently beneath her feet.

And then, abruptly, she noticed something else. Another feeling, one she had been overlooking --or perhaps simply ignoring-- before.

Something was picking at her ankle.

It wasn't a very pronounced sensation, which was why she likely hadn't noticed it before. Just a light tapping. Now that she was paying attention to it, she could also hear a soft scuffling, in time with the light pressure against her boot. She twisted without moving her feet --this was somewhat difficult, but she managed-- and looked down.

A seagull. It was a seagull, white-bodied with pale bluish wings tipped in black. It was pecking at the back of her boot. As she looked down at it, it seemed to notice her attention, and looked up at her, cocking its head to the side. When she didn't do anything more, it went back to pecking at her boot.

Isolde watched it for a moment longer, and then something seemed to come to in her head. She turned her shoulders to face forward, wavering for a second with her arms twitching up for balance, then took a drunken stumbling step backwards. Then another. And again. When she was far enough from the end of the dock to be certain not to fall in, she stopped and knelt slowly to the sea-smoothed wooden boards beneath her. Once she was kneeling, she sunk to the ground on her side, rolled over, stared up at the dark and murky sky. Her arms folded across her stomach, holding tight to each other at the elbows. She didn't breathe or blink or move. She just held still, and watched the fog waft around her.

The seagull continued to peck at her boot, now with increasing aggravation, but eventually it gave up on whatever it wanted. Instead it waddled to her side and settled down itself, tucking its wings tight to its body and drawing its neck in. Something about the bird was familiar to the Nuit, as if she knew it, but it was difficult for her to think at all, let alone remember. "Shyke," she muttered aloud, and somehow the word seemed relevant. The seagull gave a soft call and closed its eyes.

OOCIf anyone reads this, mainly I'm writing this post just to reintroduce my character to myself, since I've been away for a while. Anyone can join if they want, but really this post was just introductory, to test the writing.

[Orin Fenix]

Orin Fenix Food Equals Love Orin hadn’t been sleeping well for days now. He’d either toss and turn until his blankets were a tangle or simply lie there and stare at the ceiling for bells at a time, mind not doing anything. Orin didn’t know why he was so unsettled. He usually had no trouble sleeping through the night, so this insomnia was more than a little frustrating. At this point, Orin would be awake soon anyway, as he usually rose with the dawn anyway. Sitting up and pulling his clothes on slowly, almost in a haze Orin looked around at his bare room. Ginger was nowhere to be seen. Orin was confused, until he remembered that she had demanded to be let out earlier that evening, and Orin hadn’t seen her since. Considering he’d only met her yesterday, it was likely she’d returned to her proper owner. If not, she was a cat; she was more than capable of taking care of herself and she’d show up eventually. Grabbing his cloak on the way out, Orin pulled his door open and closed. The hallways were full of cool air. While spring had come and pushed winter away with a vengeance, winter still came creeping back at nights. Orin didn’t mind, since overall the temperature was much warmer. Orin started walking, destination clear in his mind. The gates would be closed at this hour of the day. If Orin wanted any fresh air at all, he’d have to go to the docks, which, while guarded, were open at all hours. The knight on duty waved Orin through after a cursory inspection. Orin walked into a wall of white. Apparently the cooler air hitting the warm sea breeze, or perhaps the other way around, had caused a heavy fog to spring up. It felt as though Orin were wading through a blizzard, since the fog was so thick it was almost physical. He took each step cautiously, not wanting to fall off the edge of a dock with his limited visibility. It was peaceful, this fog, if damp. Something about the thickening and thinning waves of pure white brought a relief to the mind and a balm to the soul. Orin basked in it, wanting to preserve this feeling for as long as he could. Maybe if he brought this sensation with him back to his dead apartment he could finally sleep. The fog parted in a whirl, giving him a glimpse of a figure in the distance. It looked feminine, at least height and shape wise, but Orin’s sightline was so poor at this distance that he couldn’t say for certain. There was a smaller shape at the person’s feet. Orin couldn’t make out what it was, but seeing as the woman, man, or whatever it was had no reaction Orin decided it didn’t matter. Suddenly, the person took a step backward, arms flailing as she tried to catch her balance. Orin moved forward in response, worried about her wellbeing. She took a few more wavering paces backwards, before sinking down to one knee, then finally rolling onto her back. It was decidedly odd behavior, and Orin felt compelled to check on her and see what, if anything, was bothering her. He couldn’t imagine she had just acted that way for no reason but Orin could see no visible cause. So he picked his way to her carefully, watchful for anything he might step into or fall on. Orin was clumsy at the best of times and he would likely only become more so when he couldn’t see properly. Eventually though, he arrived at the woman. Orin could see that the creature that had been by her this whole time was a seagull. It was a rather odd choice if it was a pet, but seeing as the woman—and it was a woman, Orin could see that clearly now—wasn’t chasing it away, Orin assumed it had to be. The woman herself was older looking, with her silver hair and brown eyes. Her skin was an unhealthy looking shade and there were black circles under her eyes. Orin simply put it down to the ungodly hour. Standing there uncertainly, Orin wasn’t sure if she needed help. But Orin had been lonely enough times in his life to recognize someone, or at least think he recognized someone, who needed to talk. So he cleared his throat politely. ”Ah, miss, sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t help notice you. I’m Orin, Orin Fenix. I, well, I couldn’t sleep and I saw you out here, and I thought that maybe it’s better to be alone together if you catch my meaning. You can tell me to scram if all you were looking for was some alone time.” Orin slowly lowered himself to the ground, lying on his back just as she was. It was surprisingly comfortable despite the rough wood of the docks digging into Orin’s skin. How funny if I could fall asleep uncomfortable and wet out here, and not warm and dry in my bed?” passed through Orin’s mind idly. Turning his head slightly so he could see his new acquaintance, Orin smiled tentatively, though he wasn’t sure she could see it. ”So what’re we looking at exactly?”

[Isolde Seibold]

Isolde stared up at the sky. Her mind drifted with the sound of the waves, lulled almost to a pseudo sleep again, a trance. Meditation, she thought, had brought her here. Not self-meditation, on who and what and how she was, but the other kind. A blankness of the mind.

She thought she could remember... yes, she remembered getting a new body, but that one wasn't this one, was it? She didn't know. There had been... a going off. A meeting at the gates of the city, and then the caravans had carried her deeper into the mountains than perhaps she'd ever been before, even back when she had lived at Mithryn. There had been the monster in the sky, and they had defeated it, and she had... she had burned her palm, hadn't she, burned it badly? Yes, Matthew... he'd helped her. And then after that she couldn't remember.

There were pieces. Bumping along in the caravan again. Talking to someone? Being back in Syliras, but she hadn't been back, not really. And finally in her room, the meditation... and nothing after that. Just nothing. Surrendering to the white. Going in, she hadn't thought she would come back out, not ever again. It had been the end.

Yet here she was.

The cold, damp air against her face was a reminder of that, as were the boards shifting slightly under her spine. The bird, too... she remembered him more clearly now. He wasn't really a pet, but something maybe a little less than that. She fed him, and that was why he came. He was sitting by her now. She turned her head, looking for the gull, and for the first time saw the figure standing over her. For being as surprised by the apparition as she was, the Nuit gave little reaction, except to look up at him with a tired gaze, taking in the details as best she could in the low light and fog. The figure was a young man, and from his stance he wasn't angry or disgusted by her, no tenseness around the shoulders, no harsh set to the mouth. This inference was corroborated when he spoke, and his voice was pleasantly polite:

"Ah, miss, sorry to bother you, but I couldn’t help notice you. I’m Orin, Orin Fenix. I, well, I couldn’t sleep and I saw you out here, and I thought that maybe it’s better to be alone together if you catch my meaning. You can tell me to scram if all you were looking for was some alone time."

Inexplicably, Isolde found herself swallowing, past a catch in her throat. She nodded, just a tiny movement of the head, but that seemed like enough of an invitation. The young man bent and for a second she thought he was going to try to help her up, and she wasn't certain if she should stand yet, or even if she could summon the energy... but instead he simply took a place next to her on the docks.

Once he was settled in, she could feel him looking over at her, but she didn't meet his eyes. Her mouth had tried to quiver, a response to this unexpected kindness, because for some reason his presence made her even more sad than she had been before... the feeling was accompanied by one of aching guilt, deep in her chest. Her eyes were stinging slightly, though of course no tears came; the Nuit stared stoically up at the sky, knowing that if she just held still she would be able to master herself eventually. It was quiet for a little while with nothing but the sound of the slight rustle of clothes, and the Sea, and the ships as they swayed, once punctuated by a sharp squawk by the seagull, who wasn't so certain of this new company. Isolde reached out a hand towards the bird and stroked a finger softly over his feathers, and he nipped lightly at her knuckles before settling down once more.

”So what’re we looking at exactly?” the young man asked, and she heard the slight smile in the words, rather than seeing it. Her eyes were still focused up at the sky. The horizon was perhaps a little brighter, though most of it was still dark, very dark.

Isolde swallowed again, and then tried to say something, but no words would come. She paused, took a deep breath, and tried again: "I was... I guess I was searching for some stars." Her voice was as hesitant as his had been, though in a different way. She didn't match his smile. She just couldn't do it. "But I couldn't find any. The fog... or maybe I just can't see them anymore. Maybe it's too late for them, for... I don't know. I don't know."

She stopped, shaking her head slightly, and for the first time looked over at him. Isolde grimaced slightly, as if apologetic. "I'm... not certain how I got here," she confessed, in a stark voice robbed of what little certainty she'd had before. "I... it's hard for me, I can't seem to remember everything." She took a deep breath. "But what am I saying? I don't want to impose myself upon you, or make you pay mind to my troubles." She shook her head again, still apologetic. "You must have been out walking. I didn't mean... I didn't want to interrupt your peace." There was another moment of hesitation, then she belatedly added, as if only now remembering the pleasantries, "I'm... Isolde. Nice to meet you."

[Orin Fenix]

Orin Fenix Food Equals Love Isolde. It was an odd name but a good one and Orin tasted it on his tongue. Her tongue, Orin noticed, was black. That wasn't odd though. Orin knew there were many foods and practices that would stain the tongue that color and so he paid it no mind. "Well, Isolde, it's very nice to meet you as well. I could use the company. It's been a crazy couple of days for me, but this, this is nice. Watching the clouds of fog and all wouldn't you agree?" Orin kept his head slightly upwards. He had detected the melancholia and confusion and sense of loss in Isolde's voice and it had called to him. He might be imagining it, making it all up, but he didn't think so. Orin couldn't tell if this time held a dreamlike quality or if it was reaper than real. The soft sound of the waves lapping up against the docks and the mist everywhere gave the world a timeless feeling, as if Orin and Isolde were floating outside time and space. Orin remembered a day many years ago now for him. A little boy had just seen everything he'd known go up in flames before his very eyes. He'd been in a stupor for days afterwards until an unexpected stranger showed him kindness. It had saved him from despair. Orin might be reading too much into this situation, but maybe he could repay that favor now. Aleeza would be proud of him and how far Orin had come. And this woman bore at least a passing resemblance to Aleeza. Squinting upwards Orin tried to see the lights in the night sky but even the moon was obscured, filtered through the clouds and the fog. "You say that it's too late but I say it's too early. Way too early in the morning for either of us to be out and about." Orin quipped trying to lighten the mood. Clearing his throat, unused to making jokes of any kind, Orin blushed, glad the fog would hide the rising color on his cheeks. "I'd say it's entirely to do with the fog and nothing to do with you. But here's the nice thing about stars, and the moon and the sun. My daddy told me this." Fighting against the lump Orin always got when discussing his father, Orin continued. "Even if you can't see them now because of the snow or the rain or the clouds or in our case, the fog, they're still up there. And they'll be there the next day and the day after that so eventually you'll be able to see them." It had been one of the few lucid moments Orin had even seen in his father. Apparently it had been a favorite saying of Orin's mother. Orin angrily rubbed the tears that threatened out of his eyes. He had thought that he was over crying. Orin titled his head so he could see Isolde out of the corner of his eye. He thought it odd that she had so much trouble remembering whatever it was that was bothering her. In Orin's case, every unpleasant memory was branded in his mind. He'd been over them many times, cataloging exactly how he had messed up and bitterly realizing he could've and should've done better. Perhaps it was an unhealthy habit for Orin to have but it was too deeply ingrained into his personality to do anything about now. "Well, as to how you got here I can't answer that, but presumably you walked." Orin laughed at himself then immediately apologized. "I'm sorry that was tasteless, and, well, simply a terrible joke. I'm not exactly known for being a paragon of wit. Far from it, actually, I'm pretty stupid about most things and I talk too much and people say I'm clumsy and a chatterbox and I seem to be doing that talking too much thing right now don't I?" Orin fell silent wanting to give Isolde a chance to get a word in edgewise. Orin propped himself up on one elbow and turned to look at Isolde when she mentioned not wanting to bother him. "My troubles are quite mundane and very boring and I've spent more than enough time discussing them and turning them over in my mind. So let's focus on yours for now." Realizing that statement could be construed as terribly rude, Orin added, "Only if you want to of course. I can be a little nosy, but really I just like hearing about other's stories. Also has something to do with my complete and utter lack of niceties." Recognizing he was being a bit too open with someone who was practically a stranger and also knowing he was monopolizing the conversation, Orin fell on his back again. He was content to simply lie and wait for Isolde to tell him some or all of the things about herself. After all Orin could ask as many questions as he chose and she could choose to answer all or none of them. Orin had to give her a chance to reply though or else he'd learn nothing. There was one more thing that needed to be said, though. "Ah, you do know that there's a seagull on you right? I'm sorry I had to mention it, it's just so odd. It seems like a rather nice seagull, as seagulls go, I suppose, so it can stay if you don't want to chase it away." Having said his piece, Orin closed his eyes. It didn't make much difference since the night was so dark anyway. Orin was now just ready for Isolde's to wash over him as the fog had rolled over the land.

[Isolde Seibold]

"Well, Isolde, it's very nice to meet you as well. I could use the company. It's been a crazy couple of days for me, but this, this is nice. Watching the clouds of fog and all wouldn't you agree?"

"Mmm," the Nuit sighed, humming out a soft, almost sleepy agreement. Her eyes, a flat, almost hazel-brown, wandered aimlessly over the sky and the fog. It was nice, as he said. It was easy to lose herself in it. Though of course that, she thought, brow creasing slightly, was part of the problem, wasn't it? This fog was not in her head, she was certain of that now, it was real... but the mind-fog, in its own way that was just as real, and perhaps even more so when it came to how it affected her.

She remembered she had been afraid of it, afraid of what it might do to her. The expressionless faces of the Nuit in the Aylasas automatically came to mind, as well as the same lack of emotion painted into the blank visage of the last Nuit she had met. They all ended up like that, it seemed. Sooner or later. Isolde had used to be afraid of that fate; she had clung to her humanity as if to a lit candle in an exceptionally black and terrifying room. But now being frightened of losing herself was simply too tiring. Just thinking about it made her want to yawn, her eyes drooping slightly as if they might close.

"You say that it's too late but I say it's too early. Way too early in the morning for either of us to be out and about," the young man said-- he'd called himself Orin. Isolde turned her face to study his as he did. "I'd say it's entirely to do with the fog and nothing to do with you. But here's the nice thing about stars, and the moon and the sun. My daddy told me this." Perhaps his voice grew a little thick, despite the generally hopeful tone to the words he was conveying. Isolde felt an expression of mild sympathy on her face, sensing some sort of difficulty in him, for him to speak of this: "Even if you can't see them now because of the snow or the rain or the clouds or in our case, the fog, they're still up there. And they'll be there the next day and the day after that so eventually you'll be able to see them." He stopped, and she looked away long enough for him to rub at his eyes, though whether from sadness or tiredness, she didn't know.

In the meantime, she let herself reply. "That's true, in a practical sense." She said it before she could stop the flow of low, melancholic words, realizing too late that they might smart him. "But what of redemption?" The last came out a whisper. The Nuit struggled to continue. "What about for... for people? I think... I think my stars might have gone out long ago, but somehow I just didn't notice. Now I no longer know if they might rekindle. Perhaps they've fallen, and I've fallen with them; perhaps they've simply gone." She cast a gentle look over at Orin, sorry once again. She was sorry she was saying these things to him; she didn't want to drag him down with her. It wasn't right.

But when Orin next spoke, what he said took her completely off guard. The conversation had been so serious, so gloomy up until this point. And then he came up with this: "Well, as to how you got here I can't answer that, but presumably you walked." The young man immediately laughed afterwards, and then rambled out a quick, embarrassed apology as if he had done something wrong. But at the joke Isolde felt her own startled laugh come chuckling wryly out. The laughter surprised her; so did the smile that dimpled her face as he stumbled through his words. Isolde suddenly realized she liked this young man. She liked his spirit, the fact that he seemed to care about others, even strangers. Perhaps he might care even about someone like her. She turned slightly to see him better, propping up on one elbow as he had just a moment before.

"No, don't apologize," she said. "It was amusing advice, if practical like before. Still. I don't imagine I'd have gotten here any other way than by actually walking. So that's one mystery solved." Her smile lessened, however, when he went back to topic, mentioning the mundanity of his own troubles, and wanting to understand hers. She breathed out a cold sigh, and the rest of the smile vanished with it. Her brow knit once more; this time it did so in an effort to remember more clearly. Light brown eyes focused somewhere in the distance, searching.

Some of it, at least, was not difficult to remember, though she didn't know why she was going to tell him any of these things. Perhaps because he had made her laugh, made her smile, if only for a tick or three. Perhaps because she liked him. Or maybe she just wasn't afraid of talking about it anymore, the same way she was no longer afraid of dying.

"My troubles stretch far, far, far back, so far that it might be gaudy for me to properly enumerate them all. But, for simplicity... More recently, I... I got badly hurt," she said. A crease wrinkled the corners of her mouth, and the sadness filtered back into her voice. "There were these two little girls, you see, and I was trying to help them. They were dead. Both of them, ghosts. I... felt an affinity with them, I suppose. The little one was a relatively sweet child. Still innocent for the most part, despite having died. The older, I cared about her, but... I don't imagine she felt the same way towards me." She chuckled again, but this time it was a dark sound, devoid of humor.

"The older girl, she was sick somehow. I never really knew what was wrong with her, but... she liked to hurt people, and animals. Badly, very badly. Something h-had gone wrong inside her, I think because she had met a terrible, gruesome end. So she must not have understood that I just wanted to help her." She paused, swallowing dryly. "O-One day she attacked me, and ended up h-hurting me. She was so strong even though she looked so young, and I... I wasn't. She said she might d-do it again. Like... like i-it was merely a game. Like I was a toy to b-be broken." Isolde stopped again. One of her hands clutched tightly to the front of her coat, remembering the injuries. The girl, Kouri, had nearly killed her. She remembered the way her chest had folded in on itself, as if the ribcage inside had gone to pieces. She remembered being unable to draw breath and the ichor choking in her throat.

The Nuit suddenly noticed that her breathing had gone fast, and she calmed it, smoothing her face of its pained expression as she went. Almost offhand, now, she shrugged, then moved to sit up, tucking her legs under her. The seagull clambered onto her lap and she ran her fingers over his smooth feathers once more, a self-soothing gesture.

"I just wanted to help her," she said again, this time in a neutral tone, making sure the emotion didn't stray in. "But I was afraid of her, too. And since then... well." She gestured around, to the Docks and the fog, encompassing herself bleakly in the motion. "You see how things are now."

But at least when Orin mentioned the bird, she gave another, smaller smile, even though it was somewhat tight. "He's perhaps the only friend I have left. That's probably why I ended up here, really," Isolde murmured. "I feed him scraps, most other people treat gulls like flying rats, so of course he came to like me. He still nips, though. I think he's annoyed at me, to be honest. I haven't given him anything today." She reached a hand into her pocket, but turned it out, empty. "But it appears I don't have anything for him, right now."

OOCAngst is Isolde's specialty! ^_^

That story she told actually happened in character. There was a PC ghost who squashed my poor Nuit. Not that Isolde didn't try to fight back (and run), but ya know. Didn't work out for her.

The good thing about being a Nuit is that you can have your whole body cavity destroyed and still live! Yay!

[Orin Fenix]

Orin Fenix Food Equals Love Orin simply watched the patterns the fog made for a while as the unseen winds shifted it and made it anew. Constantly changing and never looking back, and yet, Orin liked to imagine the fog didn’t mind. The half-hinted shapes and swirls gave the outlines of a world but the watcher had to fill in the details. Isolde didn’t seem to be enjoying it quite as much as Orin did, and Orin strove to describe it to her in a way that didn’t make him seem crazy and was full of the wonder Orin was seeing. ”You know what I love about it? We could be anywhere right now. Equally between sea and sky and land. Yet everything is left up to our imaginations to create. And while the real world is beautiful too sometimes it’s nice to get away, even if it’s just to realize what you really appreciate, y’know? I know this all probably sounds incredibly naïve but it’s what I think.” Orin’s voice was soft and lower than usual, and he had slowed down the pace without realizing it until it was dreamy. He lifted one finger lazily to trace the shape of the people and places and monsters and magic that he could half-see. Orin let his finger fall. ”Well actually I was talking about a personal star, was saying that it falls but like the real stars it’s always going to rise again but, thinking back over what I said I can understand the confusion. I mean, I personally never knew the true meaning that’s just always how I had interpreted it.” But this was straying dangerously close to topics Orin didn’t want to discuss with anyone, and he stopped himself before he could start talking about his life story. In the grand scheme of things his woes were negligible. And here was someone who needed cheering up, not sob stories. Redemption wasn’t a topic that Orin had really thought about much. But now that Isolde had brought it up, he realized he did have an opinion. Too many times Orin had been slighted and abused by those who he had respected and trusted. Now, though, Orin was much better about only letting his own actions and words matter to him. Although it didn’t work all the time, he was striving to get to that place. ”Redemption is a funny one. I mean, I’m not necessarily sure you need redemption, myself, since nothing you’ve told me indicates that you’ve done anything wrong. But if that’s what you feel, then the only thing I can tell you is that, maybe you should think about where it’s coming from. Are others forgiving you or do you need to forgive yourself? And if it’s others, maybe you should think about whether what those others believe truly matters to you. Just my small musings on the matter, I’m not an expert on it or anything, actually, far from it. People mystify me and I try and avoid them, but maybe it’s given me a unique perspective on the matter.” Orin paused, wondering if he should continue, but figured every little bit helped. ”For what it’s worth, I forgive you whatever perceived sins you have.” It was only a little gesture, but Orin knew that every little bit helped. Orin felt incredibly good when Isolde chuckled at his admittedly lame joke. Perhaps his sense of humor wasn’t as terrible as he thought it was. ”Well I do like solving mysteries.” Not quite true, but Orin felt he needed to interject something there. But Isolde soon launched into at least part of her tale. Orin felt his heart ache in sympathy as she told in gory detail exactly what had befallen her. Her dry chuckle was entirely without humor or even emotion this time. Her breathing had picked up in remembered fear until she smoothed it out. But Orin could tell that she still felt it, despite her attempts to hide it. After all there were shocking similarities to her situation and what happened to Orin. And Orin was shocked to discover that he could offer advice on this matter as well. Turning his head fully, Orin let her recover slightly before voicing what was on his mind. After all, this particular part would be mostly passing on advice others had given him. When he had been broken and lost, someone had come to put him back together. ”I’m sorry. No one should be hurt like that, especially when you’re trying to help them, but you have to remember something else to: you’re still here. You’re still standing on your own two feet, well, right now you’re lying down, but you know what I mean, the sentiment is there. And, something that I took a long time to come to terms with is that not everyone, no matter how hard you try or how much you love them, can be saved. Especially from themselves. It’s a hard lesson and one I’m still learning to cope with myself. But something that helped me and I don’t know, might help you, is that I was taught that I could and should defend myself, and how to do it to boot. It did wonders for my self-confidence. Maybe you could try it too?” Feeling like he’d given Isolde much to think about, Orin wrapped up his impromptu speech. It was true that her story bore an uncanny resemblance to Orin’s but that might just be because he was layering his own experiences onto hers. Still, he thought what he had just told might just help. Following the gull with his eyes, Orin smiled a full and completely honest smile. It felt odd on him, but right. Having recently acquired a pet of his own, he knew how they could cheer a person up. ”Does he have a name?” Not waiting for an answer, Orin spoke directly to the bird. ”Well Mr. Gull, I don’t have anything to offer you right now. But if you ever stop by The Rearing Stallion, I could get you some crumbs. You too Isolde. That’s where I work I’m a cook. Ah, probably a full meal not crumbs in your case though.” Orin hesitated before he did anything he felt Isolde might feel was infringing on her privacy. ”I think he nips because he misses you not because he’s annoyed. It’s probably the only way he knows how to show affection, it’s as if you’re another bird and he’s preening you. It’s weird but true. And as to not having any friends, well,” Orin gulped but finished, ”I could be your friend. Only if you want thought. No pressure or anything but I’ve enjoyed our conversation so far and I hope you have too.” OOCOrin's father beat him to within an inch of his life and then threw him out. Then he burned Orin's house down and killed himself. A nice lady came along a few days later to help rebuild Orin. Not quite the same, but close.

[Isolde Seibold]

It seemed Orin was the epitome of hope. Isolde herself had been hopeless for so long that meeting someone like him was a little mystifying. He had likely had hardships in his life, everybody did. And yet, here he was telling her, in more ways than one, that things would be alright. She understood that time would keep turning, Syna would rise and set, plants and animals would be born and grow and die, the winds and weather would stir and fade. All of that --life, and living-- was a given. She knew very well, having outlasted --for better or worse-- an entire generation, nearly two.

And yet, despite the uncertainties of the future, he made it seem like time turning was for the better. Each day a new opportunity. She had for so long doubted that this was the case for her --had doubted that she even deserved the same opportunities that other people had, simply because of the things she had done in the past and the undead thing that she had become-- but his words made the future so tantalizing.

But the future, for her, was bittersweet. Every day that passed threatened to steal from her what she most loved in this world: memories of her family, together and whole and happy. And every day that passed threatened to steal away the rest: herself, as she was now. Feeling. Empathetic. Still... still human, at least partially.

If she decided to embrace the future, then what of her past? And what might she become?

She didn't know. It was impossible to know.

She listened captively as Orin spoke. His every perspective was different from hers:

How, instead of losing himself placidly in the fog, he used it constructively, pairing the indefinite clouds of white with his own imagination, creating something new and unique out of them.

How, instead of looking into blackness and waiting for oblivion, he watched for the stars, trusting that they would shine.

How, instead of pining over redemption and loss and hoping for acceptance, he said that perhaps redemption came from within, not without. As if self-forgiveness was perhaps more important, even, then the forgiveness of others, though she didn't believe he disvalued that, either. And Isolde wondered: if she never ceased to believe herself a monster, then how could she expect other people to see her in any other way? She followed that thought for a moment, considering, then shook her head and revised: More tellingly, how could she expect to perceive their attentions in another other way? If in her own eyes she was the lowest of the low, then how could she believe that others possibly held her highly within their own esteem? Anything she saw would be colored for the darker. Any relationship she developed would be tinged by doubt.

Somehow, that seemed an awful, self-destructive way to live.

And lastly, perhaps most importantly, how he acknowledged that not all people were capable of saving. This was a double-edged sword when it came to Isolde, for she had grown in the long years to diminish her own worth while heightening others', and yet... if not everyone could be saved, then how did he know that she was one of those who might be? It was a conundrum... but still, when he said that he forgave her, though he could not possibly know all she had done to deserve his enmity and others', she still felt a shiver race up her spine. The Nuit looked over at Orin with an expression of hope and uncertainty, nearly dumbstruck so that she could not speak. Was it really that easy?

She didn't know. But he made it seem like it could be, even for someone like her.

She realized that she had been silent, simply absorbing all that he had to say, so when he spoke of boosting her confidence she finally interjected. "I... tried it once. Learning self-defense of a physical sort. There was this man I met, and he agreed to teach me. He was an excellent warrior. It did help me, I think... because learning to defend yourself implies that you're something worth defending..." Somehow that last sentence embarrassed her, as if it revealed too much, and she ducked her head a little, hurrying on. "But after the initial glow, I don't know. Something went wrong. I don't really know how to explain it. I guess I would rather not think about hurting other people to help myself. If that makes any sense. I still have the dagger I practiced with," she patted the hilt of it, which was peeking out from the inside of her coat, "and I think I would use it, if necessary. But I guess I prefer other methods."

That last bit was referring to magic, namely, though she wouldn't say it out loud, not even here where no one was likely to overhear. Many people distrusted magic wielders in the city, and she understood why --she knew how overgiving could warp you, warp your mind-- yet somehow, casting reimancy seemed less destructive than slashing at flesh with a knife, especially since her specialty was in wind. "Plus," she added with a tinge of amusement, "I don't think people like me are meant to be warriors." Nuit were sluggish and weak and their injuries never healed. That was part of the reason she had given up on training with her dagger: battering and bruising the corpse she inhabited somehow seemed like disrespect to the person it had once been. At least reimancy didn't tear her body apart, or really weaken it in any discernible way.

”Does he have a name?” As the conversation flowed it returned once more to the gull, and Isolde promptly responded.

"Shyke," she said, and her face broke into a brief, wide grin. She found she felt better... more awake, as if the mind-fog had all but completely been burnt away by the sun. Out over the Suvan, Syna was peering over the horizon, and the sky had lightened there from the darkest blue to shades of pink and orange. But the sunrise wasn't what had changed her. No, it was something else, and she knew it was Orin's doing. He had given her reason to reconsider how she viewed herself, and that freedom was invigorating. She would definitely think on it later.

She explained: "He's got a bit of an attitude. It's true his pecking could be affection, and sometimes it probably is... but other times I just know he does it because he's an impatient, rude little bugger. But despite that, he isn't bad." She scratched the gull fondly under the beak like one might a cat, and he nibbled at her fingers.

Isolde paused, however, as Orin offered her food and friendship, and a spear of apprehension went through her. She looked down, twisting her hands together tightly, worrying at her lip. Annoyed that she'd stopped petting him, Shyke fluttered off her lap, over the edge of the deck, to land gracefully in the water, tucking his wings in close. She watched him go, then looked back over at Orin, before looking down again. Her mannerisms were peculiar: for looking old enough to have silver hair and some fine wrinkles --and for actually being quite a bit older than that-- she had the mannerisms of a young girl. Often times people described children as having an old spirit, or as being old beyond their years. Isolde was the opposite; she had always seemed younger than she actually was.

"Um, I... I want to accept your offer," she mumbled out, leaning back slightly as if to put space between them, "But, uh, I... I d-don't want you to be misinformed." She took a deep breath. "I'm not, ah. I'm not... like you. If you d-didn't realize, that is." Most people knew what she was just by looking at her, and she no longer hid her condition with smears of makeup. But still. He should know that she wasn't human, if he didn't already. He should have the opportunity to reject her for what she was, and if he did she wouldn't blame him.

Restlessly, she went on. The stutter had come slightly back; she found she wished she didn't have to tell him, wished that she wouldn't lose his offer of friendship, though that was becoming more and more likely with every word she uttered. "I s-said before that I had an affinity for those two g-ghosts. Well, there was a reason f-for that. It's because... um, h-have you ever heard of Nuit? B-Because I... I am... one." Her body tensed as she waited for his reply. If he grew angry, she didn't know what she would do. She couldn't imagine fighting him, not after the conversation they'd just had.

OOCHow awful. Was the lady that helped him the one called Aleeza that Orin was thinking about earlier?

[Orin Fenix]

Orin Fenix Food Equals Love Isolde and Orin simply lay there for a while letting the silence stretch out between them. Syna's light started showing over the horizon painting the night sky with broad strokes. The blue was dancing artfully with the pink as if the sky was a canvas and Syna and Leth were masters of the oil and palette. The sunlight started burning through the fog, warning Orin and the planks of wood. A breeze sprang up and the rest of the fog started dispersing. This was probably Orin's favorite time of day. As was his custom, he bowed his head, although in this case he let it fall back when the motion felt uncomfortable. However, Orin could still pray on his back. "Thank you Leth for guiding us through another night and thank you Syna for bringing us another day. May you enjoy this brief time together until twilight comes again." It was a simple blessing but sometimes those were the best. And as Orin had been informed, the two deities sacrificed much of their time and the chance to be together to keep the world from plunging into chaos. So showing appreciation was the least that Orin could do. Remembering that people sometimes became agitated at the mention of gods and goddesses Orin risked a look at Isolde. "I didn't mean to disturb you. It's just, well it's kind of a daily for me to say a prayer at this time. I apologize if it bothered you." Orin really didn't think that it would. It was a fairly innocuous statement. But people were weird when it came to religion and Orin was learning that he had to be careful. It never hurt to cover all one's bases. Orin imagined that the city itself was coming to life. It was some sleeping giant was shaking off the sleep. Of course that was just a wild fancy. A pretty accurate one though. While the walls themselves might not be alive the people within them were just getting up and preparing for the day to come. This was evidenced by many tiny signs. Smoke started pouring out in thin streams from chimneys. The faint hush of the early morning was being filled with a sussuration of half heard sounds. Windows opening, feet shuffling, beds being made, breakfasts being cooked. Orin couldn't hear any of them from here but after a season of waking up he knew what they were and it was easy to fill in the emptiness with the appropriate songs of everyday life. The world hung poised ready to crash forward. It was balanced, between sleeping and waking, between this day and the next. It filled the air with an almost palpable energy. Orin felt that he could reach out and grasp it if he so chose, but it was much more thrilling to let himself be washed along with the rest of the flotsam and jetsam. This was why this time of day never failed to thrill him from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. He felt renewed, especially as it was still so young in the season and Orin was getting to see it in all its glory. Isolde said nothing for a long while. Orin was fine with that. After all he'd thrown a lot at her. He was honestly surprised she was still here. Most people would've been driven away by Orin's endless mostly inane stream of chatter. That she hadn't upped and left was a hopeful sign that maybe Orin was getting better at this whole socialization business. He doubted it though. It was much more likely that Isolde was just trying not to be rude. Or perhaps she was as deep in this strange trancelike state that was facilitated by the low light and the early hour as Orin was. Orin figured he'd pay for his lack of sleep later but it seemed totally worth it now. Most people didn't share his strange obsession with the morning. They instead partied the night away. Orin didn't pity them but he had trouble understanding them. There was so much life and light and love to be found. But he was definitely in the minority and that meant his opinions were likely flawed in some sense that Orin couldn't see since he was too close. Still he found it hard to believe reveling in the pleasant pre-dawn hours could be wrong if it brought him so much joy. Finally Isolde broke into words and Orin tuned his ear to listen. He couldn't help but smiling at the fact that she kept the dagger. Orin hadn't but he'd gotten his own blades to replace the ones he'd trained with. He fingered them now, their hilts familiar to him from long hours of practice. As well as a few emergencies and life threatening battles but Orin truly didn't think that Isolde needed to know about those. "I still try and keep my skills sharp, although I consider myself about as far from a warrior as it's possible to be," Orin commented as he pondered how exactly he should address this latest revelation. "I think that everyone is worth defending unless they've proved me otherwise. I mean I know there is evil out there and danger, don't get me wrong. I'm not quite that innocent no matter how I might long for it. And I think that if someone is trying to hurt you you have every right to try and keep yourself alive using every means at your disposal. I mean, you shouldn't be needlessly cruel, not that but if it's self-defense and you have no other choice than even killing someone is forgivable." Orin frowned. He didn't want to think that he could take someone's life. But he'd discovered over this past season that he valued his own self too much to let others damage it needlessly. It was an ugly truth, but a truth. And one Orin would do well to take to heart. Pulling out his dagger to look at it, Orin followed its lines with his eyes. It was such a little thing to hold the power of someone's life or death. But sometimes pebbles could cause avalanches. Putting it away, Orin kept speaking his thoughts allowed. "I think there are all kinds of warriors and all kinds of battles. The physical sure, those are obvious, but who says that battles of the mind and battles of the heart aren't just as prevalent and just as important to fight for. I certainly don't!" Orin was shocked at his own words. He was being downright philosophical this morning. However he'd stand by every word he'd uttered, knowing them to be nothing but true. Orin laughed out loud, and the sound rang out across the water and bounced back from the castle walls. It was a sound of pure joy even to him. And it felt as if it had been ages since Orin had simply let himself go like that. He was usually so closed off about his emotional state presenting a serene and pleasant mask to the world while inside he was a roiling mess of self-doubt and anxiety. "Shyke. I like that. It's very honest." Glancing over at Isolde Orin was pleased to se a smile gracing her face. It looked good, seeming natural, as natural as the sun rising in the sky and as beautiful too in its simplicity. "I know a little about pets with attitude myself. Actually, most of the animals I've interacted with have had more than their fair share of attitude. Maybe they know something we don't." Seizing on this as a safe neutral topic and one in which Orin actually had more than a few stories about Orin set about recounting some of the more outrageous takes for Isolde. "Let's see, there was the ram than tried to bowl me over and then these two nanny goats that had it out for me I swear. One of them refused to let me milk her, she would fight me all the way to the stand, and the other would be docile until I finished then she would try and knock over the bucket or do some other mischief. Those were the worst offenders but there were some others." It had been a long time since Orin had reminisced about his childhood and he let the memories wash over him in a flood of bittersweet nostalgia. But he had a more immediate relationship. "And yesterday this ginger cat showed up out of nowhere, well not quite nowhere there was a rat that she was chasing, but she's taken into her head that I'm her new owner and follows me almost everywhere I go. So I guess all that is just trying to say that animals show affection in the strangest ways." Shyke's head bobbed as if agreeing with Orin's assessment. It was a comical motion and Orin felt another full throated laugh bubbling up from his chest. However Orin knew the signs of agitations when they appeared in Isolde. He stiffened up himself realizing he'd done something wrong but not knowing what. I've gone and put my foot in my mouth again and just when I thought we were finally getting along! Her refusal hit Orin hard. He had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. She said she wasn't like him but didn't tell Orin what she meant by that. Orin grew more and more bewildered. At any other time he would've found it funny to see someone else stammering and stuttering their way as they stumbled to an explanation. Although Orin spared an idle moment to think that if this was how other people felt when Orin went off on a tangent or a ramble then it was no surprise that they didn't want to spend time with him. Then, with one word it all came to make a horrible sort of sense. Orin felt the color drain from his cheeks. The black tongue, the pale skin, the circles under her eyes all took on a new meaning. As did the fact that she shied away from the more martial arts. She was a Nuit. One of those strange and feared creatures who took the corpses of others to maintain their undead and immortal existences. Most of the population of Syliras harbored a deep distrust of the Nuits. They found their life unnatural and disgusting. However Orin curbed his first impulse to flee in a panicked state. Obviously the rumors were either grossly blown out of proportion or just completely made up. Isolde hadn't attacked or maligned Orin in any way. She hadn't gone after his body and try and take it over. In fact if anything Orin was the interloper. And Isolde's mind was as bright and full of life as any humans. So she might not technically be alive but she was still a person. Moreover, one who had let Orin into her heart and let him stay though he was horribly uneducated when it came to people. And it was a new year and Orin had made a vow that he'd be more adventurous and outgoing. He'd stick to that resolution now and show her the same respect and courtesy she'd shown him, even if he had to get past years of conditioning and traditions to do it. "Th-that's a shame that you can't eat, well actually can you eat? I'm sorry I'm sure that's a rude question I've just never met a Nuit before and I'll bet I have tons of misconceptions that need to be corrected." Orin was sitting up at this point. He knew he was babbling but it was an involuntary response to shock. He was still processing everything that had just happened. Taking a deep calming breath, Orin realized he had one piercing question on his mind. "This is probably awfully personal and you don't need to tell me, but I have to ask. How'd it happen." He waited almost afraid of the response before he quashed that emotion and let patience take over. He would never cause someone harm if he could help it just because they were a little different or might not fit in. He'd gone through that and he didn't wish it on anyone.

[Isolde Seibold]

They watched Syna's rise together, and when Orin uttered a short prayer Isolde bowed her own head slightly, though she payed homage to neither Syna nor Leth. It was interesting to her, how caught up in this moment Orin seemed to be. Just as she had been energized by his presence, his guidance and words, he now seemed rejuvenated by the onset of a bright, new day. His zeal was contagious, and when he let out a trumpeting laugh she felt herself chuckle again in response.

A rare moment of contentedness filled her up, and as she studied the blossoming sky she realized that she was happy for having met him. Orin seemed to be a delightful person, someone who could make others happy simply by being in proximity. Perhaps it was only her, but that was the affect he was having, and she basked in the feeling while she could. While it lasted.

As he spoke of various animal stories, Isolde kept smiling, listening. She sat up a little straighter, hands folded on her lap, and when he was finished she asked, "Not to pry, but do you mind me asking where you grew up? It's just that your stories remind me of my home, Mithryn. We had animals there... goats like you mentioned, sheep, horses. When I was a kid, I myself didn't have any pets, really... but when I grew old enough to move out of the family home, we had a chicken coop, and my... ah, my best friend Vaughn loved birds, so invariably we had some of those around, though they were more family or friends than simple pets." She sighed, but it was a happy sound, reminiscent rather than lamenting.

It seemed it was her turn to babble on. She hadn't talked to someone like this, just talked, in so long. It was nice. "Then there was another friend of mine, Kieran. He was also good with birds, I think that's why I grew to like them so much. Once he had a golden eagle, raised it to adulthood from an egg. That was a huge creature. Eagle was so big we would take him coyote hunting, and my other friend Piper, a Pycon, would ride on his back up into the sky." She titled her head up slightly, squinting against the rising light as if she might see them there, swooping above in ever widening circles.

"Animals can be quite funny," she finally agreed, "But that's part of the beauty of them, isn't it? They're so honest in what they feel and how they show it. In some ways, I do think they're smarter than us."

But, inevitably, the feeling of peace had to end.

Isolde could physically see when the simple goodness of the moment left: it drained with the blood from Orin's face, sat in his widened eyes as he stared at her, knowing now what she was and afraid for it. Immediately, Isolde rocked back, arms drawn close to her body, making sure that if he did something --pushed her, tried to grab her, even attacked her-- he would have to reach far to do it. The mood had soured so easily, and she hated it. She hated that he looked at her like that. Not because she thought that he shouldn't; she had felt what he was feeling about herself and more. But just because that look on his face was a part of what she was now. And she didn't think she would ever get used to being thought of as an abomination. Not ever.

Still, he surprised her. She saw the resolution come into his face and wondered what might be backing it, waiting with bated breath for things to come together or fall apart... and astonishingly, they came together. Orin made a benign statement about her not being able to eat, sitting up as straight as she was in his shock, and she answered in a low, calm voice, trying to keep it steady, not wanting to agitate him further. "No, it's fine. You're entitled to ask questions. I'm the one who's sorry. I'm sorry I am... the way I am. As it is, to answer you, no. I can't eat. Honestly, it's been so long I don't even remember... I can't miss it. Not anymore." The Nuit grimaced slightly. She remembered that she'd especially liked apples and other sweets back when she was truly alive, but in lieu of forgetting more important, intimate things --like the exact shade of her daughter's eyes, and the sound of her bubbling, giggling laugh-- she had allowed herself to forget the little things. She no longer knew the texture of certain foods, or why she had even liked them in the first place.

And then he had to go and ask that question, the one she had only ever breached with the very ghost child who had nearly killed her, and only then accidentally: "This is probably awfully personal and you don't need to tell me, but I have to ask. How'd it happen."

For a tick Isolde just stared at him, brows furrowing in distress. Her hands had pressed together hard in her lap again. She hunched her shoulders, then drew her eyes away. "Ah," she said, or tried to say. Her voice nearly cracked it was so dry. She cleared her throat, blinking her eyes rapidly as if to banish intangible tears. "T-That's... painful," she managed to say. "Even... e-even thinking about it, b-but..." But maybe she should tell him. Tell him something. He had thus far been very understanding, and she felt an inexplicable closeness or connection to him, one she was not certain he felt, one he probably could not feel towards someone --something-- like her... but that didn't stop her from liking him. From feeling that he could be a friend, as he had said earlier. She took a deep breath.

"I had a h-husband. He was... a good man. But, like the g-ghost child I told you of earlier... something went wrong in him. I think... no, I k-know. I know it was m-my f-fault." Unthinkingly, one of her hands had pressed to her face, covering her mouth slightly, either in horror or sorrow. Both showed clearly on her face, despite her efforts at hiding them. She turned her head away. That was easier. It was easier to say aloud if she thought only the Suvan would hear.

"I-It's a long story and one I can't... I just can't go into fully right now. But, ah... he went insane. Not all at once, but slowly. And a-at the end..." There was a long pause. Her voice had gone hoarse. "He thought it would be b-better for us. To stop living, a-and be like this. He thought... I don't know all he thought, but he..." Another deep breath. She was trembling. "Well we e-ended up like this t-together. B-But it wasn't w-what he wanted, a-after all. And it was n-never what I wanted. B-But I couldn't go back."

[Orin Fenix]

Orin grinned widely at Isolde. ”As a matter of fact I grew up in Mithryn as well! Small world huh? Well I mean not really I’m sure there are tons of people in Syliras from Mithryn and the other way around of course but you know what I mean.” Orin felt his smile falter as Isolde described her friends. But it would be horribly unkind of Orin to begrudge her those memories just because he hadn’t had any companions of his own growing up. Orin liked to think that he’d turned out just fine despite that. So he let his dark thoughts go, casting them away to be swept out to sea by the wind. Or, at least, that’s how his fancy imagined it. ”Animals are pretty remarkable sometimes, I agree. I mean, otherwise I don’t think we’d keep them around as often as we do.”

Orin knew he had ruined everything. Obviously, if the fact that Isolde was essentially curling into a ball and shutting herself off from the world again was any indication, Orin had let his fear shown. He felt terrible. Especially since she was clearly trying so hard to rise above the challenges her life had thrown at her. If Orin was in her place he didn’t know if he could persevere, let alone keep going day after day. If anything, after his initial and completely unjustified revulsion had passed, Orin felt even more strongly that Isolde was a good person and worth loving.

Orin tried desperately to find a way to mend the rift he had unwittingly caused between them. ”Well it’s a shame that you can’t eat, although I’m still not convinced that is entirely true. Have you ever tried, just, I don’t know, tasting something? Not even swallowing but putting it in your mouth?” It sounded rather inane, especially since Orin didn’t think it would work, but anything was worth a shot right now. Orin fell silent, but he recovered stronger than before. ”Well, in the grand scheme of things it’s not a big deal. So what if you can’t taste anything? You can see the world around you. You can touch a fabric and feel its softness and its texture. And you can hear the sounds of life all around you. So I don’t think not having taste is that bad, all things considered.” Orin tried to put the strength of his conviction behind that statement. It was true that there were so many possible senses. While Orin personally cared for the intricacies of taste and smell he knew most people ignored them as lesser.

However, whatever progress he might have just made up was lost when he asked her what he knew was a question she would be reluctant to answer. After all, if someone had asked Orin for his life’s story he would have frozen up as well. And Isolde’s reaction made it clear that it was even more awful than Orin could imagine. Orin felt helpless. Comforting people in distress wasn’t a strong suit of his. But seeing as he had been the direct cause of it, he would never forgive himself if he didn’t at least try.

Orin placed a hand on her knee cautiously, but firmly. It was almost as if he were afraid she were a wild animal to bolt at the first sign of trouble. But he felt it important to reestablish some sort of tangible connection between the two of them. ”I’m sorry. I should’ve known better than to bring that subject up. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Orin bowed his head. He reached deep within himself to pull out a core of serenity and calm. This next part would probably be the hardest task he’d ever undertaken, but it needed to be done. If he didn’t at least try, Orin couldn’t live with himself.

Lifting his gaze up Orin looked out to see. He didn’t think he could get through this if he tried to watch Isolde at the same time. He kept his hand where it was though, hoping that she of all people would understand. ”My father and my mother were very much in love. My father once told me that they likened their passion to that shared by Syna and Leth. And like Syna and Leth, destiny had other plans in store for them than to simply let them be.” Orin’s voice was flat and completely without inflection. If he gave into to emotion now he’d never be able to pick up the thread of his past again.

”I was always told that I took after my mother. I never knew. She died giving birth to me they say, and my father would never really talk about her except at the rarest of times. My father took her death hard. I know it must’ve been incredibly difficult for him, having me as a living, breathing reminder of what he had lost. I guess he couldn’t get over the fact that I had lived and she had died. I never asked him though.”

“Regardless, he blamed me for his loss. He spiraled out of control. He started drinking and it got worse and worse until one day he found an outlet that he liked even more. He hit me. Again and again and again. And all I kept thinking was that it’s my fault, I should’ve been a better son, or I should’ve died and my mom should’ve lived. I tried everything I could to make him love me but he couldn’t. Couldn’t even bear looking at me towards the end. One day, he caught me disobeying him and he went berserk. Screamed at me, and hit me until I was almost lifeless before tossing me out. I patched myself up but inside something was broken. I was in pieces. And then, the unthinkable happened. He burned down the cottage and died. To this day I don’t know whether he did it intentionally or not.”

Orin felt the first prickle of tears in his eyes and he blinked furiously. He wasn’t done quite yet. He had to finish before he was overcome by grief. ”I spent a long time knowing I was at fault for everything. But slowly, the color started coming back into my life and I started listening to the birds sing again. Little things but they meant so much more. And I came to realize that I cannot be held responsible for other’s actions. And I know in my heart of hearts that people who really love each other would never intentionally cause someone pain of that magnitude. If they do, then they’re not worthy of your love.” Orin finally risked meeting Isolde’s eyes. He knew his were shining from a combination of tears and checked fury and pride that he’d come to this point. This felt like a new beginning for him, which was very apt since it was a new year as well. ”So, I don’t think you made your husband go crazy. I think he did that to himself and he was callous enough to take you with him.” Orin smiled but it was bittersweet. It was unfair that life had to hurt you so deeply before it let you pick yourself up.

Now Orin could break away and let his tears fall. They poured in a silent flood that mixed with the sea below. There was a metaphor there if Orin could only see it.