The long corridors of the Stratton Manor flickered with the torchlight that illuminated them; the only sound within them emanating from my bare feet on the stone floor. It was rare for me to dream nowadays -very rare- yet this night tortured me with vivid depictions and sounds. So much so, in fact, that it jolted me awake. Zephyr did not lay next to me, though I did not expect him to; but the comfort would have been appreciated. Something in the room compelled me to leave it, so I scrounged the floor for a shirt and slipped my twig-like arms into it slowly, trying to make no noise in case something was watching. I felt eyes on my neck but no one was ever there, despite how quickly I could spin my head 'round to try and catch something in the act.
Alone. Wasn't I always alone?
The compulsion only grew, so I padded from the grand bedroom and into the stairway leading to the mezzanine, then the common area.. The memory of the dream jolted me from my recollection. My father. It always returned to him, didn't it? Like father, like daughter. He would giggle in delight to see me now, no doubt. The brittle bones, paper-thin skin, the struggle to breathe at the top of a flight of stairs.
What is it to fall apart? I asked myself after falling into an armchair in one of the vacant rooms; letting my head loll back onto its top. Is it worse when you, yourself, have not caused it? Week after week it has grown worse.. and it came upon me all at once. I always knew that this time would come; the time when Fel energy would become my downfall, not my tool. No one is immune to its drain. Not even me. I lift my hand into the light to inspect the flesh's pull over the bones; in months, I had gained years. The burns that riddled them before -the ones that flourished experience- now only created valleys in the skin, reminiscent of an elder's.
But these aren't just physical breaks -of course not. Some of the memories I had held onto so dearly now elude me, save for a dull wisp. Names, faces, words. Even language.. the most precious thing to me. I doubt I would be able to even speak to my father now; and he'd chastise me for it. "What is it to fall apart?" My voice.. but a rasp as I turned my hand over to inspect the palm, then the fingertips. "Nothing can stop this. I have doomed myself.. haven't I, father?"
I am damned, and I've nothing to show for it. No legacy. No children. My name is but dust to people now. I'll not be remembered as a pillar to those who needed strength, or a beacon of hope to those whom needed it.
If remembered at all, it will be as a monster. A ruthless soldier. A crazed woman. A broken one.
And for the first time in my life, I regret that that is what I chose.