|
|
| (4 intermediate revisions by 2 users not shown) |
| Line 1: |
Line 1: |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SixthMovement|Sixth Movement]]
| + | #REDIRECT [[ADanceOfAngels]] |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
| |
| − | | |
| − | == Music and Suffering ==
| |
| − | | |
| − | Spire...
| |
| − | | |
| − | The link between Whiteshield, a country mostly grounded, and Windia, a country in the clouds.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And it did show.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Each and every building on it was at least four stories high. Each and every building on it, even the newer ones, trying to build vertically rather than horizontally, making a place with bridges far up, roads above, and a thousandfold places for the nests for the Windian's distant cousins, the myriad of birds. And of course, many ways for their predators, the myriad of cats, walk.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Ryshassa had heard of it. Some pretty big directional gods lived here. Helped the city remain quiet, gloomy, strange as it had always been, in prayer. And something else, of course, the city was afraid of itself. She knew it from the whispers of the Winlandian soldiers, from the many god-blooded she treated. Whiteshield was a place full of those to begin with, much like the Great Forks, but the great gods of Spire bore equally great offspring.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Of course, by now, a good third of it was razed, in ruins. A second third had been razed, but among the broken buildings rose bigger buildings of ivory and ice that had not been touched yet, shining ominous as they connected to the others in all-too-familiar, but all-too-alien angles. The remaining thirds scorched by fire, essence, and claws - a destruction that aimed solely at lives. Right now, there were few more civilians alive in Spire than there were people in the army that liberated it. And many, many of those were hurt.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Windians and those better off in the Spire tried to help those wounded, dying, those who lost all their possessions and now had to fight for food... for that, the Winlandians set a clinic in a great building that had once been an office of welfare. A seven-store building connected to others by three sky-bridges - two now destroyed. Staffed by their best healers - what Elementals with healing capabilities the Winlandians could summon(Demons are not something usually employed by the Winlandias, as unlike the Realm, Sorcery is widespread in the land of wings, and thus, it is kept safe), and their best Exalted healers.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Especially, Ryshassa Krauser, Kanti and Fiona.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The Elementals, particularly the White Lilies, cooperated with the one Wood-Aspected Dragon-Blooded - from Luthia, of course - on the army, and had woven a net of creeping vines all over the building... from the outside, it looked like a gigantic garden. But it helped... flowers that inhaled infections and viruses, breathing old pure air. Glowing liquen making for a soothing, low light. Able to change color to call doctors to rooms or the lobby with a complicated key of hues and intensities. And a very pretty and refreshing enviroment amidst all the beds, the maimed, the hurt and dying...
| |
| − | | |
| − | And now, Ryshassa had two worries among those. Two victims of torture that had been taken in by Iselsis the day before... by her accounts, survivors of the attempted rebellion... that had been more than a month before. How long had they been tortured? How long had they been fed on by the pain-parasite after their torturers left? And.. after all that, is there anything left on their broken minds and souls to save?
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Even having been here daily for several days now, Ryshassa cannot help but be enthused by the sight of the lovely flowers that served both as a stunningly beautiful backdrop and a crucial part of keeping the patients alive, comfortable and healthy. It feels very natural to her, though she had Exalted as a Solar and not a Wood Terrestrial, that plant life should be a key part of the healing process.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And she, clad in her spring green kimono embroidered with songbirds and arrangements of tropical flowers in rose, purple and gold, blends into the surroundings as easily as one who had been born among flowers. The Caduceus Curatoris floats close and somewhat behind her, its presence both familiar and expected as she winds her way purposefully through the verdant halls. Eschewing her practice recently of wearing darker shades, in respect of those who lost their lives during the recent battles, Ryshassa wishes to present herself as a welcome sight to her patients who have already suffered more than a lifetime should allow.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Inclining her head courteously to the elemental attending to the survivors Iselsis brought the previous day, the Twilight healer steps closer to take a more thorough look at them. Have their dreams been troubled? Have they woken since she last arrived? She feels apprehensive deep inside, knowing that even though their bodies might be whole, their minds very well may not be.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' They are there, closer to orchids, peonies and amarylis... they sleep.... still recovering. Eyes covered with bandages. Hands and legs still covered with a very pink, frail skin, covered with ointments for better recovery. All of the scars on their bodies taken away by Ryshassa... but not on their spirits. Their breathing is slow, their slumber deep. And their soul troubled.
| |
| − | | |
| − | None watches over them, right now, a White Lily had just left....<br>
| |
| − | The scent of cinders in the air. A Fire Spider had cauterized some wounds there earlier...
| |
| − | | |
| − | Fiona walks into the room, trailing dream flowers behind her from the magic she used on all the patients of the nearby room....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Ah, good morning, Fiona," Ryshassa says as she notices Fiona's approach. The other Twilight can see that rest has done wonders for Ryshassa's health; in fact it had been but a few hours of undisturbed rest before every last unsightly gash was regenerated anew.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Have you been in to see them today yet?" She stands at the bedside of the boy, now, resting a hand gently on his brow, gazing down at his still, sleeping face. "I am going to be examining their minds, as I neglected to that evening. I will be... indisposed, at least physically, so I may need some assistance... I have no idea yet just how deep the psychological damage runs..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Fiona: ''' She looks at them, remembering what they looked like when they came in the other morning... and shivering. She comes closer to Ryshassa, worried.... "Can you do it? Won't it be too... dangerous to look into their minds? They might be too hurt... there might be traces of what fed on them..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: '''"It is not the first time I have attempted something like this," Ryshassa says, not quite reassuringly, "so I can say that it is possible, but I cannot be sure how successful I can be until I see for myself what they have suffered."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I am expecting it to be dangerous... but the worst that can happen is that I can do nothing for them at all..." For Ryshassa that is a true statement, at least, for it deeply troubles her to fail at treating a patient, even more so than the potential of danger to her own person.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "And it must be tried," she adds resolutely. "I will merely be diagnosing them first, though. You will know if I have succeeded or not."
| |
| − | | |
| − | Closing her eyes now, she summons to herself the meditative clarity of thought with which she delves into the mind of others, concentrateing not on the touch of the boy's skin against her hand, but on the spirit that sleeps encased in the flesh. His dreams, or nightmares as they may very well be, stretch out before her, as with her inner sight she perceives the map of his psyche...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Fiona: ''' The map of his psyche... seems to be drawn by a three-year-old. One who picked a box full of crayons and a blank canvas... and begun to draw many, many circles, trying to fill the place. And then, picked another crayon and drew many more circles with another color... and the only common thread are that some full circles are the same color, but there is so much overlapping, so many tangencies....
| |
| − | | |
| − | Fiona holds Ryshassa's hands, seeing the worry on her face... "You know I don't have a tenth of your abilities or focus... you know where I stop. I can't help you with that, but... if you wish, I can lend you.. or him... some hope, strength, will...."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "I would appreciate that, Fiona," Ryshasa replies. "Any aid you could give... if you can soothe him, enough that I might find a way through to him, that would be invaluable." Her voice sounds distracted, distant, as if she had heard Fiona's voice from a great ways away.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And in a way she has, for the boy's mind is a world all its own. Circles upon circles upon circles. Knowing that the usual rules of logic or nature are irrelevant here, she reaches out with a figurative hand to touch the point of most complexity, where the many-colored circles have overlapped so much that they have formed a point of thick, messily blended color.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' She moves in.... and the stairway there is filled with screams. With pleas. With whimpers. With suffering. The pain - or the memories of it - rush through Ryshassa like a tornado. A cutting-wind tornado, raking at the edges of her skin. And then.... it is past. It is all silent. And the screams are so low, almost like background music....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' The sudden change of scenery might have been jarring had Ryshassa not become accustomed to the process of moving through a mindscape. She flinches, but does not falter, when the pain hits her, but it is gone almost as soon as it has come.
| |
| − | | |
| − | It is strong here. The presence of great and terrible suffering. She follows it, more the sensation than the sounds of those screams muffled like someone had not wanted them to be heard.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But Ryshassa hears. She knows the language of pain, for healing and agony are hand in hand. Wreathed in the soothing warmth of her compassion, her mantle and shield, she presses forward. The stairway is foreboding, but her steps upon it are light and purposeful.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''I am here to help you. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' Chains begin to fall down... silently, almost.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Almost like rain....
| |
| − | | |
| − | They have blood in them.
| |
| − | | |
| − | They keep falling, and some hooks begin to appear....
| |
| − | | |
| − | And they begin to burn white-hot....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Trust us''', they say. '''Trust us, we will help. Just tell what we want to know.'''<br>
| |
| − | '''Tell us this one thing and all will be over'''<br>
| |
| − | And then another. Another.<br>
| |
| − | So many things.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And then, when all was said, there was just pain for its own sake, for daring to...<br>
| |
| − | Do what?<br>
| |
| − | He had forgotten, apparently. Or this part of him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The chains get on her path. He does not want 'help'
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' The soothing, floral environs of the clinic have disappeared to her notice now. Even Fiona's presence, close to her physical body, worried yet determined to give her support, has faded to her senses like a thought on the tip of her tongue.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The chains... do not surprise her. Not necessarily. She had not expected this to be easy. Help that has come so late that one does not believe help is possible, or needed. Ryshassa feels her eyes sting with tears at the very thought of that.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Too late? She could not be too late.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She reaches out and touches the chains. Grasps them firmly in each of her hands, slick with blood as they are, tangled with hooks that pierce at her spiritual flesh, making her corporeal body shudder. Without words she allows her presence to be known. She is golden warmth amidst the metallic tang of blood, the slashes and screams, the pain. An opening, blossoming flower. A possibility of escape, of liberation. Of hope.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But she does not press, not just yet. Choosing her words carefully she projects her thoughts.<br> ''If it is not help you wish, what is it you desire? ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Death -- of course. That is one way. One way to escape an undesirable fate. The boy's torturer would have kept him alive for as long as possible while maximizing his pain. Of course he would want it to end.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But he survived, bolstered by his half-divine blood. He survived, and the torturer is gone -- but with stubborn cruelty, his mind still replays the same memories, as if caught in a vicious loop... over... and over... ''I am here'', Ryshassa thinks gently, yet insistently, projecting her warmth through those chains, vines of gold-veined purple flowers blooming across them, challenging the darkness. ''You are not alone. The pain will end. I will be with you soon, and the pain will end. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Somewhere in reality, Ryshassa manages to nod to Fiona, to signal her that she will be going deeper -- and so she does, her hands still gripping the chains, simply walking forward as if the blood-slicked iron links are no hindrance to her at all.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' She bursts forth, everything opening for her, and she feels everything around her become tense... little tunnels of feelings and pain. He tensed himself, he tried to hide it all beneath himself... love... sorrow... pain... fear... things like happyness almost forgotten, but it is all tense. A tension that would have made blood drip from closed knuckles. So tense, so fearful. He cannot believe on her, just something else cutting and pushing its way within his body....
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa does not approach at speed... her steps are slow, but sure. Nonetheless, she feels the tension, and feels her own heart ache as he instinctively flinches away. She is still an intruder, after all... an intruder into his deepest and darkest thoughts.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Still, she is closer than before. Careful to keep the golden warmth wreathed around her -- a gentle, motherly warmth to chase away the nightmares of a child -- she pauses in her advance and slowly, deliberately opens her arms. She shows herself to be unarmed, bereft of cruel intention, a benevolent presence among the darkness and trembling emotion and bloody chains pulled taut.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''I am not here to hurt you. '' With equally slow movements she pulls her arms extended in front of her. Curling the fingers of one hand like claws, she slashes across the other wrist... with naught but her own will, she cuts herself open. ''I am just as vulnerable as you. If you must be hurt, I wish to share the burden with you. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Again, she continues to step forward, oblivious to the sting on her wrists, the blood marring her pale skin. ''But this is your mind... this is your body. I will come closer, but if any time you feel uncomfortable... tell me so, and I will pause, so you may be accustomed to me. ''
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' He sees it. She sees something resembling a person now. She sees something in the distance... like a castle, like a vault. A little bit of both. She sees the roads opening to it... as he relaxes... slightly. Letting her in... a thousand traps, barbed wire and razored trees on the way, trying to stop... not stop people going in. To hurt himself if he was to go out.... to keep him in.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa walks through. The boy's mental defenses are phenomenal... even more so that it is a defense against himself. To keep that memory away from the rest of him? To perpetuate the suffering because he no longer knows anything else beside it?
| |
| − | | |
| − | These traps and thorns, they will have to be dealt with. But for that, she needs his help.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She keeps walking, blazing with the colors of sunset, the promise of an end that will bring warmth and contentment, not the thorough end of death. Further and further, until she can hardly even register the presence of her physical self. But the golden cord of Essence still stretches out from behind her, connecting her to her body, the other end lost in the darkness around her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her steps do not falter so long as the boy does not push her away. She seeks the suffering, frightened core of him, desperately buried within this forest of denial -- and only when she finds him does she stop, and slowly sink to her knees.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' She goes through the forest.... being cut by the barbs, in the leaves, in the flowers, in the blooms. Being cut by the wind. So many cuts, and yet she strides foward... to the last bastion of his self. There she stands, before a castle that is a vault. Locking in everything of his'. All barbed. All reinforced. Lock over lock over lock. And the wind pushes out of it, strongly, sternly.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "'''GO AWAY'''" it screams...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' And the healer kneels before the vault, covered in bleeding scratches, yet holding her head high, her aura of benevolence unfaltering in its radiance. This pain is naught to her but a reminder. She has suffered much worse than this, but her suffering -- she is certain -- is nothing compared to what the boy had been through. That knowledge alone holds her spiritually steadfast as the wind screams over her.
| |
| − | | |
| − | She lowers her head, weathering the blast, her hair rippling outward, her clothes -- clothes? There is no need for such trivialities here. Only the cloak of her dark hair covers her pale, torn flesh from view. So she garbs herself with compassion and purpose. She wields with the utmost purity her sincere desire to understand all those who suffer, and thus, become one with them. It forms in her hand, a key. But what shape will this key take?
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''What is it you fear from me? '' is what she asks, from her humble place at the foot of a vault meant to deter all who would dare trespass.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Do you fear that I will hurt you? Or do you fear that I will see? ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' ''I don't want to be hurt anymore The wind says, answering all questions, in a way. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Just leave me alone. I won't be hurt anymore. I can't be hurt anymore. ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' ''You would prefer your loneliness to the possibility of pain? Never to know again the joy of companionship, the warmth of the sun, the beauty of nature and of art? The simple pleasures of good food, of making a new friend, of coming home on a cold day to curl up on the fire? ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | The key takes shape. In her hands coalesces a glittering lyre, for in the mindscape music is mere thought. It is the very memory of her lyre, and the notes she knows as intimately as her own body, that Ryshassa summons to her use.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Life has both good and bad aspects. You have been made to suffer. That is injust and it is unfair. But you have been liberated, and you have been given the opportunity to live anew when you believed your life was naught but pain. Will you now turn away from that possibility, out of fear? ''
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her fingers strum the lyre, or these figments of memory that form the shape of her lyre, coaxing forth a soothing refrain. The dulcet, crystal clear notes evoke the image of a garden. There is a stream in the garden pouring over smooth stones, eliciting a gentle, meditative rushing sound as the water trickles into a pond upon which the wind ripples lightly. Lilypads float atop the pond, and water-skaters, and beneath are koi floating dreamily in eyecatching white and orange. The sky is clear but for puffs of cloud floating lazily in the air, and all around are stands of artfully cut bamboo and cypress, the branches swaying as if they are nodding, adding a new dimension to the melody of the water.
| |
| − | | |
| − | It is a garden from her childhood, but here she is full grown, perched on the deck nearby, with a bowl of rice crackers and two cups filled with steaming tea. And this vision of Ryshassa given breath by her song wears a pretty pink kimono, swaying her legs as if waiting for someone, waiting for the one who might drink from the other tea cup.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''Life can be so very cruel. But life can also be beautiful. '' Again she kneels before the forbidding, multi-locked vault, the strings of her mind-lyre still reverbrating their last wistful, achingly lovely note. ''Come with me, and I will keep you safe. If you bleed, I will be there to heal you. If you cry, I will be there to soothe you. If you wish to stand and fight, one day, I will be there behind you, supporting you along the way. Come, dearest one, and let me inside. ''
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Narrator: '''It was so very beautiful. So, so very beautiful....
| |
| − | | |
| − | Her visions.<br>
| |
| − | Her song.<br>
| |
| − | Was there any difference?<br>
| |
| − | In the dreamscape... they were one.<br>
| |
| − | One and only in their exquisite, unparallalled beauty, greater than any the boy had ever seen, heard, or felt.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And then, slowly, the darkness begun to melt. Brick by brick, the walls of the castle were deconstructed before Ryshassa, slowly, moving at the rhytm of her music, in a sad, slow, careful fashion. Still shy. Still cautious. But little by little, won by her.... until he is beside her, blonde hair and glasses and suit, strings coming from him and going into the unraveled wilderness all around them, outside of Ryshassa's garden... walking tentatively towards the healer... afraid... but hopeful.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: '''Still kneeling, not attempting to make any sudden movements, Ryshassa gazes up at the boy as he approaches. Not until he comes close enough to touch does she raise a hand and extend it to him, palm up. Her pale skin is scraped raw in places, the signs of her journey to penetrate his boundaries, but her hand does not shake. It is a sign of welcome she offers him, her face kindly, almost motherlike, as she beckons to him.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "You are a brave young man," she says approvingly, now that she can see him up close. The glasses in particular make her smile. If not for the hair color he could be a little Alexsei. "Let's go home now, shall we?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' He moves his own hand to hers'... then stops... then begins to move again... and this continues for a long few moments, until he finally reaches to her, holding her hand. Feelings its warmth. As they touch Ryshassa sees scenes from his life... fighting for Spire. Fighting for his friends. Together with the youth and a few gods, trying to overthrow the shadows that had fallen over them... they were based on their university, even. Smart kids trying their best. The university that became their prision, their torture chamber.... "Go? Out there...?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "Back to the outside world, yes." Ryshassa squeezes his hand comfortingly. "There is still a war, but you are in a safe place now. I and the other healers and nurses will be caring for you. I promise you, you will be cared for, and we have strong allies to protect you, like Iselsis and Dorian. They were the ones that brought you to me," she explains.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Something she has neglected the entire time to do suddenly crosses her mind. "And my name is Ryshassa Krauser," she introduces herself courteously. "By what name may I call you, when we wake in the clinic?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' "Rain." He nods. "Resplendent Rain."
| |
| − | | |
| − | He feels her squeeze, closing his eyes... "It is... still going on? I... I want to rest. I just want to rest..." he turns around, looking at all the strings coming out of him, forming the horizon and sky... "And it is... too complicated. I would have to disentangle so much..."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' "I can help you with that, Rain," Ryshassa says patiently, looking up with him. She touches the strings closest to her free hand, massaging at a particularly stubborn knot. Her fingers are deft and sure, much as they are with the strings of her lyre, and she nods with satisfaction as it untangles.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Ryshassa stands now, releasing Rain's hand, patting him reassuringly atop the head before taking a step back. She is wearing the same pink kimono that her song had summoned forth, but it is now shimmering with ribbons of Essence. Strands of gold flow across it like waves of calming water. Lotus flowers in opalescent shades pattern the hanging sleeves. Butterflies with purple petal-wings flutter gracefully across the breast of the garment, as if the kimono is a living landscape.
| |
| − | | |
| − | The strings extending from the boy are a landscape of their own, as well. But it is troubled. It is tangled, its paths doubling in on each other so that they collectively lead nowhere at all. It is as if someone has taken a sheet of beautiful music, but rearranged the notes this way and that so that the whole sounds nothing like it was meant to be, creating a cacophony of clashing chords, a disarray of dissonant melodies each hanging by a measure without proper resolution. But each string is still, by itself, a concrete whole. She can still intuit from each seperate piece how they might relate to the other.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And so she plays them. Much like she played her lyre constructed of thought, she begins to weave a song from the string of memory which flow out of Rain. Her spiritual body ducks and weaves among them much like a spider navigating a web, caressing strands with her splayed fingers as she goes, picking and choosing the misplaced memories that will unravel the tangles. Every strand that is plucked resonates with vivid tone -- sometimes joyful, sometimes sad, sometimes heated, sometimes calm -- and as each seperate, sustained note blends together, they form a resounding chorus.
| |
| − | | |
| − | But it is not ''her'' song. She is merely interpreting it, recreating the melody which is the heart and soul of Resplendant Rain -- and through it, making him whole.
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Narrator: ''' And so she does, for a long, long while.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Time seems to disappears as she unentangles his strings...
| |
| − | | |
| − | And at some point during that, he was there to help.<br>
| |
| − | Many of him.<br>
| |
| − | The child. The savant. The rebel. The adventurer. The friend. The coward. The lover. The dreamer.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Together, they helped her, every passing string revealing another facet of him....
| |
| − | ... and of his mindscape, as she saw him emerging again... a cathedral of crystal and oak, filled with books and dreams.
| |
| − | | |
| − | And when it was finished, only loose ends lurked in the far reaches, tangles in the edges that would take far, far too long to try to disentangle. For now, he was whole. And on the balcony of the cathedral of his soul, listening to the beat of a fox-shaped heart, he heled her tightly, and cried. Something he would have to do many, many times outside. But something he had to do here, before going any farther...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Exhausted but satisfied with her work. Ryshassa holds Rain close to her, allowing him to gain strength from her presence. She notices something, as she strokes his hair and shushes his tears -- some of those very same strands she touched, now loop back straight to her. They are the barest wisps of contact, but they are there, and growing stronger even as they stand there together.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''I cannot leave him behind'', she realizes, almost belatedly. ''I must take him with me, wherever I go. It would be cruelty not to do so''. But the realization comes with a wave of contentment as she comes to the conclusion that she does not mind at all.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Are you ready now, then?" Ryshassa says gently, as soon as has calmed enough to breathe easily. "I will be here outside, just like I am holding you here. Standing right over your bedside, and with miss Fiona there, too. She is a good person, so don't worry."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Let us go." And she takes his hand again, leading him unhurriedly back the same way she came, back towards consciousness.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Resplendent Rain: ''' "Yes. I... think. I think I am." He smiles... even as his mindscape shudders.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I will never know until I try, right?"
| |
| − | | |
| − | "But as long as you are helping me... I think everything will be..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | But he was not holding her hand anymore. Everything begun to lost... focus. All became fuzzy. There was a... weight, added to it. Such a heavy weight. Something hurting his lungs... burning... like... air? Air. Something... light. Light on his eyes... soothing light. As he felt the burning, it was like the flowers changed, making him inhale their perfume, and all was sweet... it was sweet as he opened his eyes, slowly focusing on the woman and girl before him him. "... alright."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "I..."
| |
| − | | |
| − | "Thank you, Ryshassa..." His eyes filled with tears. But all he could do was smile...
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' It takes a moment for Ryshassa to regain her bearings. She has never been quite so deep inside a person's mind for so long before. But Rain's voice brings her back to her senses, and she gazes down at the boy smiling up at her from his bed.
| |
| − | | |
| − | "You are welcome, Rain," she replies fondly, stroking his cheek. "You will be fine now."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She turns to Fiona, keeping his hand tucked safely in his for the meantime. "I'm sorry, how... how long was I out? I hope I didn't worry you any. But he should be all right now. The memories will resurface, of course, but he will be able to cope with it, with time."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Fiona: ''' She smiles. Her hand warm over Ryshassa's, from where it had never left. Happy. Hopeful. "A few hours..." her eyes guide Ryshassa's gaze outside, the shades of eventide already setting in the now-clear sky... "I was worried, yes... but now I am happy. You did so much, so fast... you are... great." The girl's voice is filled with admiration. Admiration for her fellow Solar, for her focus, for her empathy...
| |
| − | | |
| − | ... and only after that does Fiona looks at the boy. Of course, the magic of the chains worked far too well. Looking at her, the boy saw a little girl, so much younger than Ryshassa, so awe-struck, so cute and... submissive-seeming, and could never, ever, guess she was a powerful sorceress of Sapphire, able to shake the foundations of the city. "Rain, is it? Pleased to meet you. I am Fiona... I guess we will see alot of each other while you recover."
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Resplendent Rain: ''' "Resplendent Rain..." His words are soft, as he tries to get used to using his mouth for something other than screams again, to use his tongue - his new one, a new tongue, a new throat... so much of his body is... different, somehow. And the place... all the flowers... all the plants... the scent of medicine, clearly an hospital... and their faces... that of his savior and her... student? aide? Well, she was friends with Ryshassa... and from now on, he would have the deepest respect for anyone who could say that "Pleased to meet you, Fiona... "
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa is not too surprised to know how much time has passed; she figured just as much. "I don't think I can feel right helping one and leaving the other to suffer though..." Her eyes glance worriedly toward the other bed. "But I need some time to recover, and I have a meeting with Cael this evening..." Pertaining to her request earlier on for him to teach her sorcery, of course. Though now that she thought of it, she could just as well have asked Fiona, who is a Twilight just as she is.
| |
| − | | |
| − | ''She should be all right, everyone here is doing their best to take care of them. '' The healer nods to herself, though her face shows signs that, if circumstances were different, she'd drop all other obligations or rationality to help the girl as well.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Turning her attention back to Rain, she says, "Fiona helps in the clinic as well. So I hope that the two of you can become acquainted while you are here. I do have business that will take me away from the clinic at times, but there are people I trust watching you here. And you should be used to the Elementals, I believe it is typical for Windians to ask the help of Elementals in healing...?" She gives Fiona a glance, not being a native by any means.
| |
| − | | |
| − | '''Fiona: ''' "A little. Spire is full of Winlandians, but not really a Winlandian city, you see. Elementals aren't used as commonly here as in the main kingdom. And even there, things like that are more the province of Luthia, the breadbasket of the Winged Kingdom." She says in a very scholarly manner. One would expect her to pick a top hat to say so! "And... don't worry, Ryshy. It'll be fine. We will take good care of her... I will fill her with dreams and strength... and tomorrow, you will give her the same. It is a horrible thing to have to choose... but every life we can save matters. And tomorrow, we will save hers' as well." he comes closer, slipping her arms around the older woman, hugging her tightly. "Don't worry. You are our heroine..."
| |
| − |
| |
| − | '''Ryshassa: ''' Ryshassa looks deeply grateful as she returns Fiona's hug. "Thank you so much, Fiona. I'm glad that I have you to depend on. And the clinic here is nothing short of exceptional, so I'm sure it will be fine."
| |
| − | | |
| − | She smiles at Rain, almost reluctant to leave his side so soon. "I have some business in the Palace, but I will be back to check on you soon, all right? Just get some rest now, it is well deserved."
| |
| − | | |
| − | By the time Ryshassa has given some directions to the staff on caring for Rain and the girl overnight, she is already cutting it close to meet with Cael. Nonetheless, it would do her weariness some good to bathe and change before then... so with a last hurried goodbye to Fiona, she strides towards the clinic exit with a satisfied smile on her face.
| |
| − | | |
| − | Nothing lifts her spirits more than knowing she can return hope to those who have lost it.
| |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | | |
| − | ----
| |
| − | | |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/SixthMovement|Sixth Movement]]
| |
| − | * - Back to [[GoldenCat/DanceOfAngels|A Dance of Angels]]
| |
