an apology / closed
what she remembers and what she sees are two different things completely.
bits of bone and fetters of cloth she longs to reach out and touch, her hand still at her side as she stands behind the still shape of her friend — her throat is stricken, breath quickened —- she hadn’t spoken yet, the quiet pat of booted padfoot upon lichen, the rustling of fabric is the only sound she made. dim clank of a satchel full of flotsam, jetsam, lagan from her past she intended to get rid of. before she departs, she tries to make nice, sidle her way through with a smile at the few who still recognized her, her shape, the cant of her voice (even if she did not recognize herself.).
kelta remembered every drift and crest of snow but by the time she reaches the outskirts of what is familiar, reaches the camp of another, her hands have touched far too much. as she walked, she dumped item after item from her bag into the snow, never to be seen again. a letter from an old lover, a black soul gem pitched far into the endless white, boxes of bone dust and dried belladonna upended upon the ground. she shakes, breath trembling in the cage of her chest – still, she forced herself forward. she had been through this before — she aches with a dim echo of pain that seeps through the hoarfrost. she had been through all of this before, an endless reminder on the thump of her heart. one day, she might return permanently to the place she used to call her home; that day is not today.
now, there is only the sound of someone breathing and the snapping of a fire soon to go out.
behind wine-colored cloth she finds him there, firelight on high cheekbones. what she remembers and what she sees are two different things completely and it frightens her, thrills her, warms the soft, hollow spot in her chest with the greatest sense of pity, tenderness and love that overflows her shape, her alembic of self, sloshes over the sides. her voice comes out more watery than she intends as she speaks, a tin cup clatters to the ground from her now tremblinghand. “mafrewel?”