It is odd, the quiet of a house. The night, the darkness of my surroundings and yet familiarity. I can walk down a hall and know every inch, as if bright in my memory, and never falter.
This silence.
No candle cracking, no blankets shifting, breathing too low to be heard.
The children do not cry or murmur, the rain does not patter the rooftop this eve.
There is total calm, infinite space surrounding my form.
My world is solid, and I am frightened to make a sound.
It reminds me of a battlefield, soldiers long gone, the dying now too dead.
So much assaults you and yet, for a single endless moment, you can stand there in total silence, a void to the world.
I can walk through this fight, but now I can not help but falter.
I write this now in waking. Nightmares return to me, even as the man who holds my whole world still rests near. As I scribe this down, the dark making my eyes strain to see, I wonder if he knows, even if I do not tell him.
The dream has returned with him.
It is damp, cold, dark. The sky is red, as if it is on fire. I am panting, unable to catch my breath. He strikes, I snap my bow in two trying to deflect it. I stagger back, raising my arms.
Red and black, my gloves are so tight.
He strikes again, I slide to the left. The ground is mud at our feet as we dance back and forth, I’ve only a dagger left in my palm.
I think he is yelling my name, the rain makes it look as if he is sobbing.
I remember feeling lost, I remember having no choice.
I see an opening, I strike with my dagger… but it falls from my hand.
He had feinted, he had shoved his spear in the opening I gave him.
I fell back in so much agony that I could not speak. The rain pelted down on my face as I lay in the mud, shivering and cold. I looked down in disbelief, the weapon jutting from my belly… black leathers split open wide, rivers of red blood trimming the fabric.
He looks down on me as I’m choking, as I look back up at him. I gasp and try to speak as he kneels but there are no words, only sounds of dying. My sounds.
He hushes me like a child, touches my cheek so gently.
I close my eyes…
Then I wake beside him.
I thought I was rid of this dream, but it seems only natural my mind reels away from me.
I am too cruel to the things I love.
I am not cruel enough to the rest.
20th Sun, 1st Umbral Moon, 1572
Deirdre Ta'ea 